Burroughs, Edgar Rice by The War Chief

Author:The War Chief
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI WAR CHIEF OF THE BE-DON-KO-HE

SHOZ-DIJIJI liked the new camp which lay in rugged,

timbered mountains south of the town of Casas Grandes, in the state of Chihuahua. There was water there and game and the hated soldiers of the pindah lickoyee could not follow. When they had settled down to the routine of camp life he would tie Nejeunee before the tepee of Ish-kay-nay. Just now, with several other braves, he was hunting, for the long march from the north had depleted the stores of the Be-don-ko-he.

For three days the chase continued, covering mountains

and plain, and during that time the hunters brought in a variety and abundance of red meats. In many a pot boiled savory stews of venison, antelope, beef or mule, the sweet aroma of cooking food mingling with the scent of the pine forest in the pure air of the high sierras, while below in the plain many a frightened peon huddled his family about him behind the barred door of his adobe shack the while he mourned the loss of his live stock.

Their bellies filled, peace hovering about them, elated by their victory over the soldiers of the white-eyes, the Be-donko-he rested in camp. The warriors smoked and gambled, the women worked and gossiped, the children played. Upon distant lookouts sentinels scanned the country for the first sign of an approaching enemy.

The Be-don-ko-he felt secure. But a chain is as strong only as its weakest link. Perhaps a sentinel was shirking; perhaps there were other Indians who knew the Mother Mountains better than the Be-don-ko-he knew them. How else might be explained the long file of armed men creeping upward through a narrow, timbered defile toward the camp of the Apaches?

Twenty-four of them were Mexican regulars and with them were forty Indian allies, hereditary enemies of the Be-don-ko-he.

Geronimo sat before a rude brush shelter, smoking, while Sons-ee-ah-ray ground maize in a metate. Ish-kay-nay, sewing beads to the yoke of a buckskin shirt, worked industriously at her side, while Shoz-Dijiji, squatting in the circle, watched the girl's nimble fingers and beautiful face. Several children played about, sometimes listening to the talk of their elders. At a little distance, her back toward them, sat Geronimo's motherin-law.

She took no part in the conversation, never addressed any of them and was never addressed by them, and when necessary to refer to her signs were invariably employed. Notwithstanding the fact that Geronimo was very fond of her he might never speak to her--thus are primitive peoples slaves to custom, even as we.

Shoz-Dijiji was narrating again his encounter with the

three white men and the white girl near Billings' ranch.

"Why," asked Geronimo, "did you not kill the white-yed girl? It was not wise to let her go back to her people and say that she had seen an Apache in war paint."

"Was she very pretty?" demanded Ish-kay-nay.

"Yes," replied Shoz-Dijiji.

"Is that why you did not kill her?" There was a note of jealousy in the girl's voice. She could be jealous of a white woman.

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