“So I’ve heard. If one asks personal questions, one is apt to get shot, eh?”
“Yes, or if two asks ’em.” They both laughed.
“Well, please don’t shoot me until you have told me if you know an Apache called Shoz-Dijiji.”
“Yes, why?” He thought her tone suddenly constrained, and he noted how quickly she turned and looked him full in the eyes. Even in the dark he felt the intensity of her gaze.
“We had a little brush with them just south of the border,” he explained. “This fellow captured me. He could easily have killed me. In fact he was about to when he seemed to recognize me. He let me go because I was a friend of yours. He even killed another buck who tried to shoot me. He said you had been kind to him.”
“Yes,” said the girl. “He saved me once from a tin-horn who was tryin’ to get fresh. After that I had a chance to help him once. I’m mighty glad I did.”
“So am I—it saved my life. He sent you a message.”
“Yes?”
“He said that he could not return your pony because it was dead, but that he would send your friend back alive instead—he seemed to take it for granted that I am your friend.”
“Aint you?”