“Die, Ned-ni!” he growled, glaring into the eyes of his foe. He drove his blade deep into the breast of Juh. “Die! Ish-kay-nay is avenged!”
Again and again the blade sank deep into the heart of the Chief of the Ned-ni, his arms dropped limp, he reeled and tried to speak, to beg for mercy. Then it was that Shoz-Dijiji, the Be-don-ko-he, put both palms against the bloody chest of his antagonist and pushed him backward. Screaming, Juh toppled from the rocky ledge and, turning and twisting, his body fell down, down to the jagged rocks a thousand feet below.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE WAR DANCE
A YOUNG man dismounted in the yard of the Billings ranch and approached the owner who, following the noonday meal, was tip-tilted in an arm chair against the adobe wall of the building, picking his teeth and conversing with his daughter.
“I don’t reckon you’re the boss?” suggested the young man.
“Yep,” said Billings, “I reckon as how I am.”
“I don’t reckon as how you ain’t needin’ no hands?”
“What kin you do?”
“I kin ride some, and rope.”
“Ben sick?” asked Billings, noting the other’s pale face.