Camp Thomas had been established just at the southeast corner of the San Carlos reservation, or thirty-two miles up the Gila from the agency quarters. Jimmie’s business as line-man was to ride between Thomas and the second Camp Grant, and to see that the line was in order.
There was still constant trouble at San Carlos. The Apaches there had no faith in the Government. The good ones saw little reason in remaining good. Their only reward had been San Carlos, and they hated San Carlos. The Chiricahuas especially were restive. A long time ago Taza had died, while in Washington trying to talk for his people. Geronimo was head chief, and Nah-che was his partner in everything.
Parties frequently broke away from the reservation, for Mexico. At this very moment Chief Whoa and Nah-che were out again, with a band. They had fled to join old Nana, who at almost ninety years was living wild!
Geronimo and two hundred of his Chiricahuas, and Loco and the Warm Spring Apaches, were at the San Carlos, but likely enough they would run away, too, whenever they took the notion. They despised the Taza people as “squaws” and cowards; the other Indians, in turn, despised them as trouble-makers.
General Crook was in the north. He had conquered the Sioux and the Cheyennes, and was busy keeping them at peace.
General O. B. Willcox, of the Twelfth Infantry, commanded in Arizona. The Sixth Cavalry had replaced the Fifth Cavalry. But there were not enough soldiers, most of the white interpreters and scouts had been discharged, and the Apache police were supposed to maintain order upon the reservation.
The military telegraph had connected all the army posts. There was a civil telegraph, also—for the railroad had arrived.
The Southern Pacific Railroad crossed the southern part of the Territory, about by the old stage route. Through the northern part of the Territory the Atlantic & Pacific Railroad was crossing the great Mogollon Plateau, where General Crook had broken a trail in the campaign of ten years ago.
The telegraph line had puzzled the Apaches very much, as “big medicine.” They called it “pesh-bi-yal-ti”—“the talking wire.” But they were learning to interfere with it by cutting it, and inserting a little piece of rubber. Then the wire quit “talking.”
A sharp eye was required to see such a break, which usually was near a pole or tree up which the Indians had shinned. Jimmie had the eye. Also, he was not afraid. He was accustomed to the country, and to the Apaches.