“It is well to be full,” said Micky, chewing hard. “We may not eat again for a long time.”
“Why, Red-head?”
“Because,” asserted Micky, changing to Mexican-Spanish, “now Apache catch Apache. We start soon. If you want to go, you had better be getting ready.”
“Where are they? How do you know?” demanded Jimmie.
Micky swallowed a large mouthful of mule meat, and held his chunk in the coals again, with a sharpened stick.
“I know,” he said. “Soon all the soldiers will know, so I will tell you what I could not tell you before. Cluke knew, when we left Camp Grant. He had talked with Bocon (which was Spanish for Big Mouth), and with Nan-ta-je. Major Brown knew, too. But it has been a secret. We are here to fight Delt-che’s Yavapai where they have hidden in the Four Peaks above the Salt River. Nan-ta-je was brought up, there, when he was a boy. It is a big cave, in the face of the canyon made by the Salt River. It is reached by a secret trail from above. Nan-ta-je knows the trail. He told Bocon and Bocon told the Gray Fox, and they arranged, at Camp Grant. First we were to chase Chuntz, who had killed your Francisco. That has been done, and he has got away. Now we will follow Nan-ta-je to the cave of the Delt-che people.”
“How far, Micky?” breathlessly asked Jimmie.
Micky proceeded to gnaw his meat chunk, hot though it was.
“A night’s march, over the mountains along the Salt River. We start as soon as a bright star rises over the hills in the east. The soldiers must leave their horses, and all wear moccasins, to make no noise, and must get there before daylight. If we are discovered on the trail, we will be killed, every one of us. Nobody can escape, then. That is what Bocon and Nan-ta-je say, and they know. It will be a fine fight, anyway. The Yavapai will be in their cave, behind a rock wall across its mouth, and we will be on a flat place outside, in front; and those who fall off will land, in the river, far below. Yes. That is why I came, to see. You must run off from your pack-mules and be there, too, Cheemie.”