“There’s a big field for discussion, which it isn’t worth while for us to enter; but sometimes I wonder whether, if the right course had been pursued, this trouble would not have ended long ago.”
“Of course it would,” broke in the lieutenant with some heat; “if the management of the Indians had been left to the army, there would have been mighty little fighting, for the redskins would have been treated honestly, and that’s all they ask. It’s the Indian ring at Washington that raises the mischief; they’re continually poking their nose into our affairs, and when Crook or Miles gets everything running smoothly, those scoundrels arrange for a big swindle and divvy.”
The lieutenant looked round at the stolid faces of the two dusky scouts, as if to learn whether they were listening.
“I don’t think there’s any danger of their reporting me, but I wish we could have the whole gang of plunderers right here and put them in front, when we start on a chase after Geronimo and his hostiles.”
“It would be a mighty good thing if you could,” assented Freeman, who had seen much of the frightful mismanagement of Indian affairs; “but it is as it was during the civil war: the men who yell the loudest for a fight are those who stay at home. No fear of any one of them showing himself within reach of a hostile. However we have got to take things as they are. We are confronted by a condition, not a theory. We are in danger from the worst warriors that ever scalped a woman or dashed out the brains of a baby. If the Apaches are likely to make a raid through this section, I must look after my family, who are peculiarly exposed, as is the family of Captain Murray.”
“Yes,” said the lieutenant thoughtfully, “you and he are neighbors, and both of your homes are in great peril—halloo!” he added looking around; “Mendez seems to have discovered something.”
CHAPTER IV.
GERONIMO.
Having descended the elevation to meet his three friends, Captain Freeman, like them, was on a broad open plain, which bore some suggestion of a valley. For a mile to the westward a ridge rose to a height of several hundred feet. On the other side of this ridge and close to it, wound a tributary of the Salt River. The stream was narrow, but of uncertain depth, being shallow in many places, while in others it could be crossed only by swimming.