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"Don't talky-talk!" cried Suma-theek impatiently. "I mean you love him with a big love?" Pen looked into Suma-theek's face. She had grown very close to the old Indian.

At Suma-theek's earnest petition, Jim allowed the Indians to carry the coffin on their shoulders up the trail behind the lower town to the mesa crest where the little graveyard lay. And Jim also gave Suma-theek permission to make a farewell speech when the grave had been filled. The missionary had protested but Jim was obdurate. "Suma-theek owes his life to Iron Skull.

A man ran up to the little group then plunged back toward the hall. "A rope!" he yelled. "Bring a rope. They've got the two hombres." Men seemed to spring up out of the ground. "Run, Pen, toward the upper camp!" cried Jim. "I won't!" exclaimed Pen. "They won't shoot while a woman is standing here." She plunged away from Jim and caught Suma-theek's arm.

Above the distant roar of old Jezebel, old Suma-theek's foreman's whistle sounded clear and sweet as he signaled his men. This was Geronimo's country, the land of the greatest of the Apache fighters. All about were the trails he and his people had made. Yonder to the north, across a harsh peak, was Geronimo's own pass. And now the last of Geronimo's race was building new trails for a new people.

"Come into us!" one of them shrieked. "I ain't had a fight since I killed six Irishmen on the Makon and ate 'em for breakfast." There was a swaying, a sudden closing of the crowd, when down from the mesa rushed old Suma-theek's bucks. They swept the mob aside like flying sand and closed about the little group against the wall.

"And chief, he say: 'You and your children's children shall be chiefs. I have not known love and so I die." Suma-theek's mellow voice merged into the desert silence. "But the eagle and the flag?" asked Jim. "Injuns no understand about them," replied the old chief. "You sabez the story old Suma-theek tell you?" "I understand," replied Jim.