“Well, what do you think about it, Shoz-Dijiji?” parried Luke.
“I think mebby so she give me’ job, but Shoz-Dijiji not so damn sure about her father. He no like Shoz-Dijiji.”
“Don’t you know that her ol’ man’s dead?” demanded Luke.
“Dead? No, Shoz-Dijiji not know that. Shoz-Dijiji been down in Sonora long time. How he die?”
“He was murdered jest outside the east pasture and — scalped,” said Luke.
“You mean by Apaches?”
“No one knows, but it looks damn suspicious.”
“When this happen?” demanded Shoz-Dijiji.
“We found him the mornin’ after you took thet there pony out of the east pasture.”
Shoz-Dijiji sat in silence for a moment, his inscrutable face masking whatever emotions were stirring within his breast.
“You mean they think Shoz-Dijiji kill Billings? Does Chita think that, too?”
“Look here, Shoz-Dijiji,” said Jensen, kindly, “you done me a good turn oncet thet I aint a-never goin’ to forgit. I don’t mind tellin’ you I aint never thought you killed the ol’ man, but everyone else thinks so.”
“Even Chita?” asked Shoz-Dijiji.
“I wouldn’t say she does and I wouldn’t say she doesn’t, but she aint never took off the thousand dollar reward she offered to any hombre what would bring you in dead.”
Not by the quiver of an eyelid did Shoz-Dijiji reveal the anguish of his tortured heart as he listened to the words that blasted forever the sole hope of happiness that had buoyed him through the long days and nights of his journey up through hostile Sonora and even more hostile Arizona.
“You get one thousand dollars, you kill me?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Why you no kill me, then?”
Jensen shrugged. “I reckon it must be for the same reason you didn’t kill me when you had the chancet, Shoz-Dijiji,” he replied. “There must be a streak of white in both of us.”
“Good-bye,” said!Shoz-Dijiji, abruptly. “I go now.”
“Say, before you go would you mind tellin’ me fer sure thet it wasn’t you killed the ol’ man?” asked Luke.
Shoz-Dijiji looked the other squarely in the eyes. “If Wichita Billings offer one thousand dollar reward to have Shoz-Dijiji killed she must know Shoz-Dijiji kill her father. Good-bye. Shoz-Dijiji ride straight up coulee, slowly. Mebby so you want one thousand dollars, now you get it. Sabe?” He wheeled Nejeunee and walked the pony slowly away while Luke Jensen, slouching in his saddle, watched him until he had disappeared beyond a low ridge.
Not once did Jensen experience any urge to reach for the six-shooter at his hip or the rifle in its boot beneath his right leg.
“I could shore use a thousand dollars,” he mused as he turned his pony’s head back toward the Crazy B Ranch, “but I don’t want it thet bad.”
As he rode into the ranch yard later in the afternoon he saw Wichita Billings standing near the bunk house talking with “Kansas.” Luke was of a mind to avoid her, feeling, as he did, that he should report his meeting with Shoz-Dijiji and dreadIng to do so because of the fear that a posse would be organized to go out and hunt the Apache down the moment that it was learned that he was in the vicinity.
But when Wichita saw him she called to him, and there was nothing less that he could do than go to her. She had finished her conversation with “Kansas,” and the latter had gone into the bunk house when Luke reached her side.
“Walk up to the office with me, Luke,” said the girl. “I want to talk with you,” and he fell in beside her as she walked along. “I have just been talking with ‘Kansas,’” she continued, “and he tells me that a few head are missing off the north range. Did you miss any today or see anything unusual?”
Had he seen anything unusual! There was a poser. Luke scratched his head.
“I wouldn’t say that they was any more critters missin’;” he replied, “an’ I wouldn’t say as they wasn’t.”
He looked down at the ground in evident embarrassment. Wichita Billings, who knew these boys better than they knew themselves, eyed him suspiciously. They walked on in silence for a few moments.
“Look here, Luke,” said the girl, presently. “Someone is stealing my cattle. I don’t know who to trust. I’ve always looked to ‘Smooth’ and you and ‘Kansas’ and Matt as being the ones I sure could tie to. If you boys don’t shoot straight with me no one will.”
“Who said I warn’t shootin’ straight with you, Miss?” demanded Luke.
“I say so,” replied Wichita. “You’re holding something out on me. Say, I can read you just like a mail order catalogue. If you don’t come clean you’re through your pay check’s waiting for you right now.”
“I kin always git another job,” parried Luke, lamely.
“Sure you can; but that isn’t the question, Luke,” replied the girl, sadly.
“I know it ain’t, Miss,” and Luke dug a toe into the loose earth beneath the cottonwood tree. “I did see somethin’ onusual today,” he blurted suddenly.
“I thought so. What was it?”
“An Apache — Shoz-Dijiji.”
Wichita Billings’ eyes went wide. Involuntarily her hand went to her breast, and she caught her breath in a little gasp before she spoke.
“You shot him?” The words were a barely audible whisper. “You shot him for the reward?”
“I shore did not,” snapped Luke. “Look here, Miss, you kin have my job any time you want it, but you nor no one else kin make me double cross a hombre what saved my life — I don’t give a damn who he killed — I beg yore pardon, Miss — and anyway I haint never believed he did kill your paw.”
In his righteous indignation Luke Jensen had failed to note what appeared to be the relaxation of vast relief that claimed Wichita Billings the instant that he announced that he had not shot Shoz-Dijiji. Could it be that Wichita, too, had her doubts?
“Did you ask him about the killing? Demanded the girl.
“Yep.”
“What did he say? Did he deny it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say he did and I wouldn’t say he didn’t.”
“Just what did he say?”
“He said that ef you was offerin’ a thousand dollars fer him dead you must be plumb shore he done it.”
“How did he know about the reward?”
“I told him.”
“You told him?”
“Shore I did. I don’t think he done it. Ef I hadn’t told him he was a comin’ here an’ some of the fellers would have plugged him shore. You ain’t mad, are you?”
“You are very sure he didn’t kill Dad, aren’t you, Luke?”
“Yep, plumb certain.”
“But he didn’t deny it, did he?”
“No, an’ he didn’t admit it, neither.”
“There may be some doubt, Luke. I’m going to draw down that offer, because I can’t take the chance of being mistaken; but as long as I live I shall believe in my heart that Shoz-Dijiji killed my father. If you ever see him again, tell him that the reward has been called off; and tell him, too, that if ever I see him I’ll kill him, just like I think he killed my Dad; but I can’t ask anyone else to. Send ‘Smooth’ here when you go back to the bunk house.”
As Luke was walking away the girl called to him.
“Wait a minute, Luke, there is something else,” she said. “I have just been thinking,” she continued, when the youth was near her again, “that the Indian you saw today might have had something to do with the cattle stealing. Had you thought of that?”
Luke scratched his head. “No, ma’am, I hedn’t thought of that; but now that you mention it I reckon as how it ain’t at all unlikely. I never seen one yet that wouldn’t steal.”
“I guess we’re on the right trail now, Luke,” said the girl. “Don’t say anything to anyone about seeing him. Just keep your eyes open, and let me know the minute you see anything out of the way.”
“All right, Miss, I’l
l keep a right smart look out,” and Jensen turned and walked toward the bunk house.
As Wichita waited for her foreman her thoughts were overcast by clouds of sorrow and regret. The animosities that were directed upon Shoz-Dijiji were colored by the shame she felt for having permitted her heart to surrender itself to an Indian. That she had never openly admitted the love that she had once harbored for a savage did not reconcile her, nor did the fact that she had definitely and permanently uprooted the last vestige of this love and nurtured hatred in its stead completely clear her conscience.
It angered her that even while she vehemently voiced her belief that Shoz-Dijiji had killed her father she still had doubts that refused to die. She was bitter in the knowledge that though she had suggested that he was stealing her cattle, deep in her heart she could not bring herself to believe it of him.
Her somber reveries were interrupted by the approach of Kreff.
“There are a couple of things I wanted to speak to you about, ‘Smooth,’” said the girl.
“Fire away, Chita,” said the man, with easy familiarity.
“In the first place I want you to pass the word around that the reward for bringing in that Apache is off.”
“Why?” demanded the man.
“That’s my business,” replied the girl, shortly. The words and her tone reminded Kreff of the dead Boss — she was her father allover — and he said no more.
“The other thing is this report about cattle stealing,” she continued.
“Who said there was any cattle stealin’ goin’ on?” he asked.
“Luke has missed a few head off the east range.”
“Oh, that kid’s loco,” said Kreff. “They’ve drifted, an’ he’s too plumb lazy to hunt ’em up.”
“‘Kansas’ has missed some, too, from up around the Little Mesa on the north range,” she insisted. “I don’t know so much about Luke, he hasn’t been with us so long; but ‘Kansas’ is an old hand — he’s not the kind to do much guessing.”
“I’ll look into it, Chita,” said Kreff, “an’ don’t you worry your little head no more about it.” There was something in his tone that made her glance up quickly, knitting her brows. His voice was low and soothing and protective. It didn’t sound like “Smooth” Kreff in spite of his nickname, which, she happened to know, was indicative of the frictionless technique with which he separated other men from their belongings in the application of the art of draw and stud.
“You hadn’t ought to hev nothin’ to worry you,” he continued. “This here business is a man’s job. It ain’t right an’ fittin’ thet a girl should hev to bother with sech things.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve got you and the other boys for, ‘Smooth.’”
“Yes, but hired hands ain’t the same. You ought to be married — to a good cow man,” he added.
“Meaning?” she inquired.
“Me.”
“Are you proposing to me, ‘Smooth’?”
“I shore am. What do you say? You an’ me could run this outfit together fine, an’ you wouldn’t never hev to worry no more about nothin’.”
“But I don’t love you, ‘Smooth.’”
“Oh, shucks, that aint nothin’. They’s a heap o’ women marry men they don’t love. They git to lovin’ ’em afterwards, though.”
“But you don’t love me.”
“I shore do, Chita. I’ve allus loved you.”
“Well, you’ve managed to hide it first rate,” she observed.
“They didn’t never seem no chance, ‘til now,” he explained; “but you got a lot o’ horse sense, an’ I reckon you kin see as well as me thet it would be the sensible thing to do. You cain’t marry nothin’ but a cow man, an’ they ain’t no other cow man thet I knows of thet would be much of a improvement over me. You’ll larn to love me, all right. I aint so plumb ugly, an’ I won’t never beat you up.”
Wichita laughed. “You’re sure tootin’, ‘Smooth,’” she said. “There isn’t a man on earth that’s ever going to try to beat me up, more than once.”
Kreff grinned. “You don’t hev to tell me that, Chita,” he said. “I reckon that’s one o’ the reasons I’m so strong fer you — you shore would make one grand woman fer a man in this country.”
“Well, ‘Smooth,’ as a business proposition there is something in what you say that it won’t do any harm to think about, but as a proposal of marriage it hasn’t got any more bite to it than a white pine dog with a poplar tail.”
“But you’ll think it over, Chita?” he asked, drawing a sack of Durham and a package of brown papers from his shirt pocket.
“You dropped something, ‘Smooth,’” she said; gesturing toward the ground at his feet. “You pulled it out of your pocket with the makings.”
He looked down at a bit of paste board, at one half of a playing card that had been torn in two — one half of the jack of spades.
17. CHEETIM STRIKES!
It was night. The oil lamps were burning brightly in the barroom of the Hog Ranch. The games were being well patronized. The 1 girls were circulating among the customers, registering thirst. It looked like a large night.
In the back room two men, seated at opposite sides of a table, were conversing in low tones. A bottle, two glasses, and a mutilated jack of spades lay between them. One of the men was Cheetim, the other was Kreff.
“How much longer does thet feller think we kin hold them critters without hevin’ every galoot in the Territory ridin’ onto ’em an’ blowin’ the whole business?” demanded Kreff.
“I been tellin’ him to see you,” said Cheetim. Kreff pushed the jack of spades across the table to the other man. “You take this,” he said.”You see him oftener than I do. Don’t turn this over to him ‘til you git the money, but tell him that ef he don’t get a hump on hisself we’ll drive the bunch north an’ sell ’em up there. They can’t stay around here much longer — the girl’s wise now thet somethin’s wrong. Two of the hands has told her they been missin’ stock lately!”
Cheetim sat in silence, thinking. Slowly he filled Kreff’s glass, and poured another drink for himself.
“Here’s how!” he said and drank.
“How!” replied Kreff.
“I been thinkin’,” said Cheetim.
“Don’t strain yourself, ‘Dirty,’ “ Kreff admonished him.
“It’s this-a-way,” continued the other, ignoring Kreff’s pleasantry. “Ef it warn’t for the girl we could clean up big on thet herd. This here Agent’ll buy anything an’ not ask no questions.”
“What do you want me to do,” inquired Kreff, “kill her?”
“I want you to help me get her. Ef I kin get her fer a few days she’ll be glad enough to marry me. Then I’ll give you half what I get out of the cattle.”
“Ride your own range, ‘Dirty,’” rising, “and keep off o’ mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ef either one of us gets her it’s me, that’s what I mean.” There was an ugly edge to his voice that Cheetim did not fail to note.
“Oh, hell,” he said, “I didn’t know you was sweet on her.”
“You know it now — keep off the grass.”
* * * * *
A pinto stallion, tied to a stunted cedar, dozed in the mid-day heat. His master, sprawled at the summit of a rocky knoll, looked down upon the other side at a bunch of cattle resting until it should be cooler, the while they pensively chewed their cuds. A youth lay upon his back beneath the shade of a tree. A saddled pony, with drooping head and ears, stood near by lazily switching its tail in mute remonstrance against the flies. Bridle reins, dragging on the ground, suggested to the pony that it was tethered and were all-sufficient. Somnolence, silence, heat — Arizona at high noon. Shoz-Dijiji surveyed the scene. With a reward of a thousand dollars on his head it behooved him to survey all scenes in advance. The reward, however, was but a secondary stimulus. Training and environment had long since fixed upon him the habit of reconnaissance. Immediately he
had recognized Luis Mariel. If he were surprised he gave no evidence of it, for his expression did not change. His eyes wandered over the herd. They noted the various brands, ear-marks, wattles, jug-handles, and though Shoz-Dijiji could not have been termed a cattle man he read them all and knew the ranch and range of every animal in the bunch, for there was no slightest thing from one end of Apache-land to the other that an Apache let pass as of too slight importance to concern him. He saw that most of the cattle belonged to Wichita Billings, but he knew that it was not a Crazy B cowboy that was herding them, for the Crazy B outfit employed no Mexicans.
Long before Luis Mariel was aware of the fact Shoz-Dijiji knew that several horsemen were approaching; but he did not change his position since, if they continued in the direction they were going, they would pass without seeing him.
Presently four men rode into view. He recognized them all. Two of them were Navajoes, one a half-breed and the fourth a white man — the Indian Agent.
Shoz-Dijiji did not like any of them, especially the Indian Agent. He fingered his rifle and wished that Geronimo had not made that treaty with General Miles in Skeleton Canyon. Presently Luis heard the footfalls of the approaching horses and sat up. Seeing the men, he arose. They rode up to him, and the Agent spoke. Shoz-Dijiji saw him take a bit of paper from his pocket and show it to Luis. Luis took another similar bit of paper from his own pocket and compared it with the one that the Agent now handed him. Shoz-Dijiji could not quite make out what the bits of paper were — from a distance they looked like two halves of a playing card.
Luis mounted his pony and helped the men round up the cattle, but after they had started them in the direction of the Agency Luis waved his adios and reined his pony southward toward the Hog Ranch.
Shoz-Dijiji remained motionless until all were well out of sight, then he wormed his way below the brow of the hill, rose and walked down to Nejeunee. He had spent the preceding night in the hogan of friends on the reservation. They had talked of many things, among them being the fact that the Agent was still buying stolen cattle at a low price and collecting a high price for them from the Government.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 612
