"After some miles of this blinding of the trail they came upon a white
horse that was tied to a tree. They mounted double, and rode all day as
fast as he could lash the pony, until, near nightfall, it fell from
exhaustion, whereupon he killed it and cooked some of the carcass. The
bronco Indian took himself off for a couple of hours, and when he
returned, brought another horse, which they mounted, and sped onward
through the moonlight all night long. On that morning they were in the
high mountains, the poor pony suffering the same fate as the others.
"They stayed here two days, he tying her up whenever he went hunting,
she being so exhausted after the long flight that she lay comatose in
her bonds. From thence they journeyed south slowly, keeping to the high
mountains, and only once did he speak, when he told her that a certain
mountain pass was the home of the Chiricahuas. From the girl's account
she must have gone far south into the Sierra Madre of Old Mexico, though
of course she was long since lost.
"He killed game easily, she tanned the hides, and they lived as man and
wife. Day by day they threaded their way through the deep canons and
over the Blue Mountain ranges. By this time he had become fond of the
White Mountain girl, and told her that he was Massai, a Chiricahua
warrior; that he had been arrested after the Geronimo war and sent East
on the railroad over two years since, but had escaped one night from the
train, and had made his way alone back to his native deserts.
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