Part 8

Maria spoke in Spanish except when an Apache word seemed handier. Jimmie understood. It was a great convenience to speak in two languages, at once. As for Jimmie, he knew three languages.

“Would you like to go?” asked Maria. “You come with me, and we will see Cochise, and Geronimo and Nah-che and all of them.”

“I’d like to go, but I don’t believe I can, Maria,” faltered Jimmie. “I’ve got to stay with the atajo.”

“Are you an arriero? Who is your patron?” inquired Maria. “I will ask him.”

But Patron Jack Long already had the matter on his tongue.

“Hyar’s a muchacho (boy) you can have, if you want him, cap’n,” Jack was saying to the cavalry captain. “He lived with old Cochise a while in these very diggin’s. Speaks ’Pache, an’ consider’ble Mex. Reckon we can spar’ him from the pack outfit, if you’ll fetch him back to Bowie ’fore we leave thar.”

“Does he speak English, though?” demanded the captain. “I’ve got a guide with me――Maria, there――who speaks Mexican and Apache.”

“Does he savvy Americano? Sure he does, bein’ that his name’s Jimmie Dunn, an’ his folks were both ’Mericans ’fore the ’Paches got ’em, an’ he’s been brung up by Joe Felmer at Grant. Speak American? Speaks it better’n I do, ’cause he had schoolin’ back East.”

“All right. I’ll take him, and much obliged to you,” said the captain. “Lived with Cochise, did he? How was that?”

“’Cause he couldn’t help it. Thar warn’t any ‘how’ to it, ’cept the ‘how’ o’ stayin’ close an’ playin’ possum till he had a chance to skip out. The Chiricahua jumped him an’ some o’ Pete Kitchen’s sheep south o’ Tucson a couple o’ year ago, an’ tuk him along same time they tuk yore Mexican. That Maria Jilda an’ him were captives together. He’s chi-kis-n to Nah-che, old Cochise’s son. But he’s plumb American ag’in, now. If you meet up with any ’Paches an’ want to talk with ’em, he’ll interpret for you.”

“Hah!” exclaimed the cavalry captain, eying Jimmie, as did the other men. “He’ll do finely, then. Come with us, boy. We’ll return you to your outfit to-morrow. Let’s go on, gentlemen.”

“Wall, I don’t wish you any hard luck――or that Gin’ral Howard, either,” called Jack, after――for Jack said whatever he chose. “But ’cordin’ to my notion the peacefulest kind o’ Chiricahua is a dead Chiricahua, an’ you can tell Cochise Jack Long says so. Hey, Jimmie!” continued Jack. “You tell yore chi-kis-n to tell his dad thar’s a gent in a canvas suit, up at Whipple, who’s comin’ down hyar pronto (quick) with a double-bar’l ‘peace policy’ guaranteed to turn wild ’Paches into tame ones.”

They left Lieutenant Almy’s little detachment starting onward, and old Jack grumbling as he signaled his pack train to “march.”

XI

IN THE STRONGHOLD OF COCHISE

Riding on beside Maria, Jimmie learned more about General Howard and the Chiricahuas.

The general had returned as far as the Warm Spring reservation in New Mexico, with Pedro and Miguel and Santos and the other delegates to Washington. Then he had engaged two Warm Spring guides――young Chie, son of Mangas Coloradas, and Ponce, son of another of Cochise’s old-time friends; and with them, and Captain Sladen his aide, and Tom Jeffords, a red-haired, red-bearded American trader whom the Chiricahuas never harmed, he had proceeded right on west, into the mountains, to find Cochise.

The rest of his party he had dismissed, to wait for word from him, at Bowie.

It had been anxious waiting, for who might foretell what Cochise would do? But suddenly, one day, the general had appeared again, at Bowie, with only Chie as companion. He had met Cochise, in the Stronghold; had talked with him, as man to man; and now he was here, in order that the word should be sent out all along the line: “The Cochise Chiricahuas have promised peace. Do not interfere with them.”

With that, he had immediately returned to the Stronghold; and now Captain S. S. Sumner, commanding Camp Bowie, and several of his officers and a few civilians, were outward bound, to be present at the council.

“Do you think that the Chiricahua have quit forever, Maria?” asked Jimmie, as they jogged along.

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” replied Maria, shrugging his shoulders. “If they might believe all Americans like they believe that one-armed man――but who knows? Anyway, he is not afraid, and he speaks truth. What kind of a man is that other general, the comandante named Crook?”

“They can believe him, too,” asserted Jimmie. “He’s a fighting general, and a peace general, both. He’ll carry war to those Apaches that stay bad. He’s ready now to move against the Tonto.”

“Good,” grunted Maria.

The abandoned stage station of Dragoon Springs, on the west slope of Dragoon Pass, had been appointed as the council place. No Chiricahuas and no token of any council were sighted here; but a stout, broad-shouldered officer with black hair and heavy “shoe-brush” moustache met the Captain Sumner party in the road.

He was Captain Sladen, General Howard’s aide. He said that the Chiricahuas had seen soldiers in the road, this very morning; therefore Cochise insisted that the council be held off at one side, where the Chiricahuas might protect themselves.

Guided by Captain Sladen on a narrow saddle trail running south, the party rode a mile or two, through a rolling park of grass and oaks and mountain mahogany――and then here came General Howard and his Chiricahuas!

Haw, haw! Even the sober Maria laughed. The general was aboard a mule, and behind his saddle sat a painted, naked Chiricahua, holding fast with both arms around the general’s waist! It was the piercing-eyed Geronimo!

That was a great position for a brevet major-general of the United States army; but it looked “friendly”!

A large cavalcade of warriors painted and weaponed pranced on every side. They left a little space about a red-painted horseman who stayed near the general.

“Cochise,” said Maria. “I see Taza, too; and Nah-che.”

The Chiricahuas uttered a loud whoop. At signs from the red-painted horseman they spread right and left along the opposite edge of this park. When the Bowie party and Captain Sladen arrived, General Howard and the Cochise company were waiting.

“D’yuh notice?” remarked Jack May, one of the men who had been sent to Bowie by the general. “Ev’ry bronc’ (‘broncho’ was a name for the wild Chiricahuas) is stationed where he can dive into that little canyon an’ be out o’ sight in a jiffy. Those fellows are smart.”

Cochise had daubed all his face with vermilion. He seemed tense and excited. His large black eyes darted to and fro, searching for treachery. His hair was graying, Jimmie observed; he had grown much older.

Taza was here. And in the background, Chato and Nah-che. Jimmie signed to Nah-che, and Nah-che responded, but he did not dare to come over, yet.

The council was begun at once, with General Howard and officers, and Cochise and his captains, sitting in the middle of the circle.

A tall red-bearded man, who was Tom Jeffords the trader, did the interpreting.

“The Great White Father has sent me to make peace between the Chiricahua and the Americans,” said General Howard.

“Nobody wants peace more than I do,” answered Cochise. “I have done no harm since I came from the Cañada Alamosa. My horses are few, and I am very poor. Once we were a large people. We lived well, at peace with everybody except the Mexicans. But one day the soldiers seized my best friend and killed him when he was in prison. Right there at Apache Pass other soldiers hung up my brother, after they had attacked me when I had surrendered. So I have fought the Americans and the Mexicans, but the Chiricahua are getting less every day. Why shut us up on a reservation? We will keep the peace, but we wish to go around free, the same as other people.”

“That cannot be,” kindly explained the general. “Some bad white men might fire on you, or some of your wild young men might fire at the white men. Then the peace would be broken. The Great White Father, who is President Grant, will agree that you live at the Cañada Alamosa. That is a fine country, and you liked it.”

“We would be there now if the white people had not driven us off,” answered Cochise. “They might drive us off again, and I will not go to the Tularosa. The Apaches there get sick, and die. Give me Apache Pass. That is my home. I will protect all the trails. I will see that nobody is harmed by any Indians. But my people will not go back to the Cañada Alamosa. They are afraid. They would not be allowed to stay there.”

“Then,” said the general, “we will give you this country right here. We cannot give you Apache Pass. We will fix the boundaries at once. Does that suit you?”

“Yes,” declared Cochise, pleased, “that is good. We will keep my Stronghold, and the country around, of the Dragoon Mountains and the Sulphur Springs Valley.”

“It is settled,” agreed the general. “I have full authority to say so. This shall be your country forever, if you keep the peace. See, I place this stone upon the mesa.” He moved a rock. “Now, as long as this stone lasts, so long shall last the peace between the Chiricahua and the Americans. You may have your friend Tom Jeffords for agent.”

“That is good,” repeated Cochise. “Staglito (Red Beard) is our friend.”

“You must send for all your Chiricahua to come in. Tell them that when they are off the traveled roads they must show a white flag of peace, so that there will be no mistakes. When they are on a traveled road they must meet other people without any running or fear, as the white people do.”

“That is good,” approved Cochise. “The stone lies on the mesa. The white people and the Chiricahua will drink of the same water and eat of the same bread, and be at peace.”

Now there was a shaking of hands all around, and the general and Captain Sumner and Tom Jeffords proceeded to arrange with Cochise and Geronimo the boundaries of the Chiricahua reservation.

“Let us talk with Nah-che,” proposed Jimmie, to Maria. There had been no call for them in the interpreting, and now was their chance to look up Nah-che.

“Chi-kis-n,” greeted Jimmie, extending his hand to grasp Nah-che’s.

“Welcome, chi-kis-n,” replied Nah-che, as they shook.

Nah-che had grown into almost a warrior.

“How is Nah-da-ste?”

“She is not here. The women and children are in another place, till the chiefs know whether it is peace or war.”

“It is peace, chi-kis-n.”

“I think so,” answered Nah-che frankly. “The Chiricahua wish peace. They will keep their promise if the white people will keep theirs. As long as Staglito stays with us, there will be no trouble, because he understands us. All these wars between the Americans and the Apaches come because they do not understand each other. I think if there were more one-armed soldier-captains there would be fewer wars. That other soldier-captain, Cluke, is honest, too, we hear. Why doesn’t he come to see us?”

“He is getting ready to fight those Indians who are bad,” said Jimmie. “He was told to wait until the one-armed general had offered the Chiricahua peace. Now he will go to war against the Tonto and the Yavapai, who have refused peace.”

Taza joined them, and shook hands. He was carrying a beautiful breech-loading rifle――an officer’s rifle. Eying it curiously, Jimmie suddenly recognized it. It had been the rifle of stripling Lieutenant Reid Stewart, the dandy “shave tail”――it was the only one of its kind――engraved so fancifully; that is, Jimmie had seen the lieutenant with it, at Camp Grant; and now Taza had it!

Taza must have noticed Jimmie stiffen and choke, for he said, in Spanish:

“_No trieste, hermano_ (Do not feel badly, brother).” And in Apache, “We all do things in war that we would not do in peace.”

Nevertheless, on the way to Camp Bowie, after the council, Jimmie could not forget the sign of Lieutenant Reid’s rifle, in the Chiricahua camp. He was such a young officer, to have been killed so soon, without having had a chance to defend himself. And Cochise had declared that his people had done no harm since leaving the Cañada Alamosa!

But then, that was Indian way. And Apaches had been killed, too, by the white men. War was a cruel game.

General Howard did not return to Camp Bowie. He had gone the other way, to Tucson, with his party and his ambulance. From Tucson he was going to San Francisco, to report to General Schofield; and from there he was going to Washington.

He certainly had accomplished a great work, only――――

“Will the peace last as long as the stone, do you think, Maria?” asked Jimmie.

“The white people will break the stone, amigo mio,” said Maria. “Some day they will break the stone, because they want the land where it lies. Then there will be war again, and you and I will fight Nah-che. But Cochise spoke straight. The Chiricahua in Arizona are tired. Did you hear about the joke on the one-armed general?”

“No.”

“Nyle-chie-zie, who is Cochise’s brother-in-law, wanted to trade two of his young wives to the general for the general’s four wagon-mules. The general said he already had a wife. But the girls said that made no difference; they would all get along together nicely. If the general had not explained that the laws of the Americans forbade him to have more than one wife at a time, he might have been in much trouble, I think.”

“Yes, many wives at once are a trouble,” asserted Ponce, who, with Chie, was returning to the Warm Spring bands. “The soldier-captain saw Cochise’s hand. That is why he refused the two girls!”

“What was the matter with Cochise’s hand?” queried Jimmie.

They all were talking in Apache.

“Those two big holes in it are where one of his wives bit him. He was afraid he would be sick, so he burned the places.”

“The one-armed soldier-captain is very wise,” laughed Chie. “He does not wish to lose the only hand he has.”

“But it is true that white people are allowed only one wife at a time,” insisted Jimmie. However, Ponce and Chie did not act as though they believed this.

Camp Bowie was reached early the next morning. It was a small army post, about the size of Grant, composed of log and adobe buildings set in a clearing on a hill in the middle of the celebrated Apache Pass over the Chiricahua Mountains that extended on southward into Mexico. The pass was long and rolling, between high brushy, thinly timbered slopes. Bowie commanded the stage road both ways for two or three miles.

This had been Cochise’s favorite resort, in former days. At the east end of the pass was where his brother had been hanged, after the fracas eleven years ago, or in 1861. There had been no Camp Bowie, then; only the stage station.

But Bowie was established the next year, 1862――the same year as Camp Grant――and like Camp Grant, since that time it had been trailing Apaches almost every day. What with the attacks on the stages, east and west, and on livestock, and what with the vengeful ambushing of the soldiers themselves, by the Chiricahuas, anybody stationed at Bowie was certain to have plenty of excitement. Why, the graveyard there was enough to give one the shudders. It was a famous graveyard.

Before inspecting the graveyard, Jimmie reported to Jack Long. Jack and the pack train were here. So was Lieutenant Almy, being entertained by brother officers of the Fifth and Third Cavalry.

“So it’s sure ’nough peace, is it?” commented Patron Jack, after he had heard the story of everything that had occurred near Dragoon Springs. “All right. Gin’ral Howard means well, like as not. But did you tell old Cochise what I said? No? Humph! One thing’s sartin, anyhow: if he was put on trial before a jury o’ Arizony people, they’d vote yewnanimous to hang him an’ half his band. Yes, sir-ee.”

“You bet yuh,” chimed in Slim Shorty, the cencero.

And, as a matter of fact, when the general arrived at Tucson, the newspaper and people there talked just as Jack talked. They said that Cochise should be punished, instead of being granted a reservation, and his Stronghold, for his own. Nevertheless, Cochise stayed there, true to his word, until he died, in 1874; and Taza also kept from war, until in 1876 he died. But with Geronimo and Nah-che matters went different, just as Maria prophesied.

“Now I will show you the graveyard, amigo,” proffered Maria, when Jimmie had been dismissed from duty, by old Jack.

The graveyard really was about the only thing of consequence to see, at Bowie. It was the largest graveyard at any of the army posts in Arizona. The many wooden slabs, marking the resting-place of soldier and traveler, read much alike, except for the names.

“Killed by the Apaches.” “At the Hands of the Apaches.” “Victim of the Apaches.” “Met his Death by Apaches.” “Of Wounds Inflicted by the Apaches.” And so forth, and so forth.

Maria seemed to be proud of this collection, but it was too melancholy for Jimmie. He was very glad when, on a sudden, a series of loud whoops attracted his attention. A short, brick-topped, familiar figure in old shirt outside of old trousers, was beckoning to him, on the way from the parade ground. A trumpet was blowing “Boots and Saddles,” cavalrymen were running to the stables, and packers were hustling at the post mule-corral.

So Jimmie legged back, to find out what was up. Micky Free, the red-head, met him, and grinned delightedly, his one blue eye sparkling. Micky had started a moustache, red like his hair. He showed hard travel.

“Hello, Cheemie. Your patron says for you to come quick, if you want to go to Camp Apache.”

“When did you get in, Micky?” panted Jimmie, as they trotted on together.

“Just now. Alchisé (Al-chi-say) and I bring dispatches. The canvas suit general is at Camp Apache, and everybody is to join him there, to go against the Tonto.”

XII

GENERAL CROOK RIDES AGAIN

“That’s right,” Patron Jack was urging, among the fast working men. “Move yore feet, hombres, or the cavalry’ll beat you. The old man’s up yonder, waitin’ on his mule, with both bar’ls loaded. Mebbe it’s peace in the south but it’s war in the north.” And to Jimmie: “Say, muchacho! Thar’s livelier things’n graveyards. We’re goin’ after Chuntz an’ the rest o’ those boy murderers. So you jump an’ help the cook.”

Alchisé and Micky Free had brought orders from General Crook at Camp Apache to Lieutenant Almy to join him there at once with all the cavalry and pack-mules that could be spared from Camp Bowie.

Of course, the orders had not explained why; but the busy-minded Micky asserted that everybody at Apache knew why: they knew why, because the Sierra Blanca or White Mountains had been asked to send their young men with the soldiers and help to drive the bad Tontos and Apache-Mohaves out of the Tonto Basin. These Tontos and Yavapais were making trouble between the white men and the red.

The pack-train was ready first. In an hour the cavalry were ready, and the column moved out of Bowie, for Camp Apache, two hundred miles by trail north across the mountains.

Maria had to stay behind, at Bowie.

“Good-by, amigos,” he bade, to Jimmie and Micky. “Some day we will go together against the Chiricahua, with your Crook.”

There were fifty cavalry, mainly of the Fifth Regiment, and some fifty pack-mules which carried only supplies for the march. Micky and Alchisé led by the best trail, so that the trip was made in five days.

Now Jimmie had an opportunity to see the famous Camp Apache, in the grassy, well timbered and well watered Sierra Blanca or White Mountains of northeastern Arizona. By reason of the fine hunting and fishing, and scenery and climate, it was considered to be the prize army post of the Southwest.

It had been located in 1870, and was at first called Camp Ord, and Camp Thomas. The Chiricahuas had sneered at the White Mountain Apaches, who had permitted a soldier fort to be established among them. But Chiefs Pedro and Miguel and Pi-to-ne and all had continued to live just west of the post, and to remain tame Indians. In this they were wise.

With the twelve hundred tame Indians, and the many soldiers, some infantry but the majority cavalry, Camp Apache proved to be a stirring place. General Crook had arrived, with his escort; clear from Fort Whipple, two hundred and fifty miles west. He had traveled fast, breaking camp by four o’clock every morning, and now he was hustling matters so that he might set out for Camp Grant, to the southwest, and organize an expedition from there.

Lieutenant Bourke was at work enlisting the White Mountain young men. Most of the White Mountains were very anxious to take the war-path against the bothersome outlaw Tontos and Yavapais. Alchisé enlisted, so did Na-kay-do-klunni, so did a sub-chief named Es-qui-nos-quiz-n or Big Mouth, so did Nan-ta-je (Nan-tah-hay), a Coyotero; so did nearly one hundred others.

Micky knew every one of them. But his band was the Chief Pedro band.

“Are you coming, Micky?” eagerly asked Jimmie.

“Maybe. I will wait and see, Cheemie, until I can tell where there’ll be the best fighting.”

“We’ll catch the Tonto, won’t we, Micky?”

“Oh, yes,” assured Micky. “That Cluke is cunning. All the way over he saw that the water of the high places was frozen; winter has come and the Tonto and Yavapai will be staying home. They cannot move their rancherias, easy. I will go to Camp Grant with you, anyway,” added Micky. “But don’t say so, to other people. I am not an Apache. I will do as I please.”

General Crook did not delay an instant at Camp Apache after he had turned his orders into action. Upon the second morning after the arrival of the reinforcements from Camp Bowie he started, with cavalry and pack-mules and those White Mountain scouts who were ready, for Camp Grant.

He directed that the rest of the Apache scouts were to follow, in three days. They would find many other Indians at Camp Grant, who would try to be braver than the Sierra Blanca.

“My young men will show how the White Mountains can fight,” had answered old Pedro.

General Crook was in a great hurry.

“Yuh see,” explained Patron Jack, to the men who were astonished by being roused out at two in the morning and led on without a halt until late afternoon, “the old man’s promised to meet a lot more chiefs at Grant, besides those Sierra Blancas, an’ he knows he’s got to keep his word. If you don’t keep yore word with Injuns, they call you a liar.”

The distance by trail from Apache to Grant was a little more than one hundred miles――but each mile, as Cargador Frank Monach put it, meant one mile up, two miles down, and one mile across! Alchisé and Archie MacIntosh the Hudson Bay trapper, were the guides. Micky Free had not appeared, at the start; and when Jimmie, disappointed, inquired about him of Alchisé, Alchisé claimed to know nothing about Micky. He only shrugged his shoulders, and grunted:

“Maybe come, maybe stay. Who can tell?”

The second day’s march was terrific, into canyons and out again; and when darkness fell the column was still struggling to find a camping-place. The mules and the cavalry horses had all they could do to keep their feet amidst the brush and rocks; the general rode from head to rear, encouraging, and looking after men and mules――he sought no rest, for himself, and everybody worked like a demon. But Alchisé and Archie MacIntosh, in trying a short cut, had missed the trail.

Jimmie was toiling and urging with the rest, in the depths of a star-canopied black canyon, when he heard a laugh, close at his ear, and a voice that said, in Apache:

“Why do you work so hard, Boy-who-sleeps? Are you afraid the Tonto will get away?”

It was Micky Free, bareback on a mule. He could scarcely be seen, but Jimmie recognized his speech.

“Where did _you_ come from?” demanded Jimmie crossly.

“Oh, I am here,” laughed Micky. “I know all this country very well. I told you I was going to Camp Grant.”

“Then you’d better get to work,” retorted Jimmie. “I haven’t any time to talk.”