A white girl had better be dead than married to an Indian."
Wichita nodded. "Yes, I know," she whispered, "and yet he is as fine as any man, white or red, that I have ever known."
"Perhaps, but the fact remains that he is an Apache."
"I wish to God that he were white!" exclaimed the girl.
A knock on the door put an end to their conversation, and Wichita arose from her chair and crossed the room to admit the caller. A tall, good looking subaltern stood smiling on the threshold as the door swung in.
"You're prompt," said Wichita.
"A good. soldier always is," said Mrs. Cullis. "That is equivalent to a medal of honor, coming from the wife of my troop commander," laughed King as he stepped into the room.
"Give me your cap," said Wichita, "and bring that nice easy chair up here beside the table."
"I was going to suggest that we take a walk," said King, "that is if you ladies would care to. It's a gorgeous night."
"Suits me," agreed Wichita. "How about you, Margaret?"
"I want to finish my sewing. You young folks run along and have your walk, and perhaps Captain Cullis will be here when you get back. If he is we'll have a game of euchre."
"I wish you'd come," said Wichita.
"Yes, do!" begged King, but Mrs. Cullis only smiled and shook her head.
"Run along, now," she cried gaily, "and don't forget the game."
"We'll not be gone long," King assured her. "I wish you'd come with us."
"Sweet boy," thought Margaret Cullis as the door closed behind them leaving her alone. "Sweet boy, but not very truthful."
As Wichita and King stepped out into the crisp, cool air of an Arizona night the voice of the sentry at the guard house rang out clearly against the silence: "Number One, eight o'clock!" They paused to listen as the next sentry passed the call on: "Number Two, eight o'clock. All's well!" Around the chain of sentries it went, fainter in the distance, growing again in volume to the final, "All's well!" of Number One.
"I thought you said it was a gorgeous night," remarked Wichita Billings. "There is no moon, it's cloudy and dark as a pocket."
"But I still insist that it is gorgeous," said King, smiling. "All Arizona nights are."
"I don't like these black ones," said Wichita; "I've lived in Indian country too long. Give me the moon every time."
"They scarcely ever attack at night," King reminded her.
"I know, but there may always be an exception to prove the rule."
"Not much chance that they will attack the post," said King.
"I know that, but the fact remains that a black night always suggests the possibility to me."
"I'll admit that the sentries do suggest a larger assurance of safety on a night like this," said King. "We at least know that we shall have. a little advance information before any Apache is among us."
Numbers Three and Four were mounted posts, and at the very instant that King was speaking a shadowy form crept between the two sentries as they rode slowly in opposite directions along their posts. It was Shoz-Dijiji.
Though the Apache had demonstrated conclusively that Wichita Billings' intuitive aversion to dark nights might be fully warranted, yet in this particular instance no danger threatened the white inhabitants of the army post, as Shoz-Dijiji's mission was hostile only in the sense that it was dedicated to espionage.
Geronimo had charged him with the duty of ascertaining the attitude of the white officers toward the departure of the War Chief from the reservation, and with this purpose in view the Black Bear had hit upon the bold scheme of entering the post and reporting Geronimo's' departure in person that he might have first hand knowledge of Nan-tan- des-la-par-en's reaction.
He might have come in openly in the light of day without interference, but it pleased him to come as he did as a demonstration of the superiority of Apache cunning and of his contempt for the white man's laws.
He moved silently in the shadows of buildings, making his way toward the adobe shack that was dignified by the title of Headquarters. Once he was compelled to stop for several minutes in the dense shadow at the end of a building as he saw two figures approaching slowly. Nearer and nearer they came. Shoz-Dijiji saw that one was an officer, a war chief of the pindah-lickoyee, and the other was a woman. They were talking earnestly. When they were quite close to Shoz- Dijiji. the white officer stopped and laid a hand upon the arm of his companion.
"Wait, Wichita," he said. "Before we go in can't you give me some hope for the future? I'm willing to wait. Don't you think that some day you might care for me a little?"
The girl walked on, followed by the man. "I care for you a great deal, Ad," Shoz-Dijiji heard her say in a low voice just before the two passed out of his hearing; "but I can never care for you in the way you wish." That, Shoz-Dijiji did not hear.
"You love someone else?" he asked. In the darkness he did not see the hot flush that overspread her face as she replied.
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