According to Hank great work had been done. Chief Chalipun—or “Charley Pan,” as they called him—had sent word that he would come into Camp Verde and treat with the general for peace. Already three hundred other Yavapais and Hualpais had surrendered at Camp Grant.
Naturally, Jimmie was eager to get up to Verde, meet Joe, and the rest, and report for active duty. He had thrown aside his crutch; the only thing that bothered him now was a limp, and an occasional twinge when he twisted his leg.
So he gladly rode north with Hank and others, by the military road up the Verde River for Camp Verde, ninety miles.
He was just in time. The general was here; the last of the scouting parties, under Lieutenant Almy and Lieutenant Bourke, had arrived from the Tonto Basin; Chief Big Mouth, Alchisé, Nan-ta-je, Bobby Do-klinny, and Micky Free were here, with the triumphant White Mountains; and Chief Chalipun himself had brought in three hundred more Yavapais, for the peace talk.
The happy Crook men all looked as tough as had Hank Hewitt’s squad. The majority of them wore canvas suits, like the general’s; and the suits, and the faces, and the hair and whiskers, told a tale of many smoky campfires and hard marches.
“Hey!” Joe greeted. “That doc. stretched one leg more’n he did the other! Old Jack said he’d left orders to have ’em both stretched alike.”
Poor old Jack! But Jimmie laughed bravely, and he and Joe shook hands. Micky Free pattered across in his ragged moccasins, grinning. His brick-red hair hung upon his shoulders, his red moustache had increased, his one blue eye danced in his freckled tanned face.
“How, Cheemie!” he hailed. “You’re all right? Good! A three-legged deer runs faster than a four-legged deer. You did not miss much. We had no fights like the cave fight.”
There was not much time for hobnobbing. Chalipun was anxious to talk with the general, and the general was anxious to settle matters with Chalipun; and everybody wished to hear the confab. On this, the sixth day of April, 1873, the talk occurred.