“Here,” thought Shoz-Dijiji, “I may be able to learn what is happening between the soldiers and my people.” So, as often happens, the ignorant savage sabed when it was to his interest.
“Me savvy,” announced Shoz-Dijiji. “Shoz-Dijiji talk English good.”
“Why, you told me when I saw you before that you didn’t,” exclaimed the girl.
Shoz-Dijiji smiled. “Me savvy,” he repeated. “Tell me where all these soldiers go? Where are my people that you call Cheeracows?”
“They’ve gone out—they’re on the warpath—and they’re just naturally raisin’ hell. Didn’t you know, or—Shoz-Dijiji, are you with a war party?”
“No, Shoz-Dijiji alone. Been away. Come back. No find people. Shoz-Dijiji is looking for his people, that is all. You tell him. Where are they?”
“They been mostly around Fort Apache,” said the girl. “There was a fight at Cibicu Creek and they killed a lot of soldiers. Then they attacked the fort. Old Whoa was leading them.”
Shoz-Dijiji, watching the girl as she talked, was struck by her beauty. To him it seemed to have a wonderful quality that he had not noticed upon their previous meeting, even though he had then been impressed by her good looks. If he had not loved Ish-kay-nay with such fierce devotion perhaps he might have seen in Wichita Billings a mate well suited to a great war chief.
“Were many Indians killed at Cibicu Creek?” asked Shoz-Dijiji. “Were their women there with them?”
“I have not heard but just a little of the fight,” replied Wichita. “Captain Hentig and some of his men were killed and old Bobbydoklinny.”