He nodded. “Me savvy. Shoz-Dijiji no kill until he find his people. If they on war trail Shoz-Dijiji fight with them. Shoz-Dijiji a war chief. White warriors kill. Apache warriors kill. That is right.”
“But you must not kill white people at all.”
“All right—you go tell white warriors they must not kill Apaches. They stop, Shoz-Dijiji stop. Now you go get pony for Shoz-Dijiji. Big talk no good now—no can eat—no can ride. Go.”
The girl could not but smile as she turned away and rounding the summit of the hill dropped down toward the ranch house in full view of those gathered there. At sight of her they all arose and several started in her direction, her father among them.
“Where in all tarnation you been, Chita?” he demanded when they were close enough for speech. “I thought I told you to stay in town until this fracas blowed over.”
“Well, it has blowed over, hasn’t it?” she asked. “We heard yesterday that the hostiles was all headed for the border, so I thought I’d come home. I’m sure sick o’ them tin-horns in town.”
“Where’s Buckskin? Why in all tarnation you hoofin’ it?”
“Pitched me off a mile or so back yender,” she explained. “I was takin’ a short cut through the hills.”
“You saw no sign of hostiles, I take it, Miss Billings?” suggested the officer, a young cavalry lieutenant.
“Nary hostile,” she replied.