The general sat in a chair on the porch of the post headquarters. With him were Captain and Brevet Colonel J. J. Coppinger, Twenty-third Infantry, who commanded Camp Verde, a number of aides, and spare, black-whiskered Antonio Besias, the Apache-speaking Mexican interpreter; and Nan-ta-je.
The general also had grown whiskers. A sandy full beard it was, rather thin on the chin but bunching thickly down from the cheeks.
“Tell Chalipun I am ready to hear what he has to say,” directed the general, to Antonio.
Chief Chalipun, his black snaky hair cut square across the forehead and confined by a band of red flannel, stood straight and spoke with fierce energy.
“My people are done fighting the white people,” he said in good Spanish. “We have come in because we want to be at peace. The Gray Fox has too many cartridges of copper, and we have very few. We can fight the Americans alone, but now our brothers are fighting against us, too, and we do not know what to do. We cannot sleep at night, for fear of being surrounded. We cannot hunt, because there are always soldiers within sound of our guns. We cannot cook mescal, because the smoke and the smell of our fires bring the soldiers to us. We cannot live in the valleys; the valleys are full of soldiers. And when we hide in the snow of the mountains, our Apache brothers follow us, with soldiers. We have no place to go; our men and women and children are dying. We want to be at peace with the whites, and be told what to do.”
“I have heard what Chalipun has said,” answered General Crook—Antonio Besias translating, sentence by sentence, into Spanish. “It is good. I will take him by the hand. If he keeps his promise to live at peace and stop killing people, I will be the best friend he has ever had. If any of his people have died, that was their own fault. I sent messages to them, asking them to come in. When they refused, I had no way to do but to fight them and kill them.
“The Yavapai have said that the white people began the war. It is no use now to talk about who began the war. There are bad men among all peoples. There are bad Americans, and bad Mexicans, and bad Apaches. The thing to do now is to forget this, and to make a peace that will last forever. It must be a peace not only between the red men and the white men, but also between the red men themselves. There must be no more fighting and stealing.
“The red men in Arizona shall live by the white man’s laws; they shall be treated exactly as the white men are treated, and shall not be punished unjustly. If they think that they are being treated unjustly, they must tell the soldier-captain who has charge of their reservation, and he will do right by them. They must remain where they are put, as long as there are any bad Indians out in the mountains to make trouble. They must not cut off the noses of their wives, as a punishment. They shall have their own soldiers, to arrest drunkards and thieves and other bad persons. They shall be allowed to work and earn a living, like the white men. And the sooner they go to work, the better, because when a man has nothing to do, he is liable to get into mischief.”
With that, the general advanced and shook hands with Chalipun. The assembled Yavapais seemed satisfied.
“It was a good talk,” agreed Jimmie and Micky.