General Crook and the Fighting Apaches / Treating Also of the Part Borne by Jimmie Dunn in the days, 1871-1886, When With Soldiers and Pack-trains and Indian Scouts, but Employing the Stronger Weapons of Kindness, Firmness and Honesty, the Gray Fox Worked Hard to the End That the White Men and the Red Men in the Southwest as in the Northwest Might Better Understand One Another

by Edwin L. Sabin

“Repeat. Who are you?”

“Too nervous. Steady, boy,” cautioned Jimmie, to himself. He was not an expert operator, anyway. But this was a crisis.

He hastily started to repeat. The four Indians were right at the foot of the pole, yelling at him.

[“Get down, get down!” they ordered, furiously, in Apache.] He gazed full into their upturned, painted faces—and into the muzzles of their rifles; and he grinned sickly and continued to send.

“Injuns out. Big band. Sig., Dunn. Injuns out. Big Band. Sig., Dunn. Injuns out. Big band. Sig., Dunn.”

Would Camp Thomas never O. K.? Would those muzzles below never belch their balls and rip him and hurl him headlong?

“No tiras (Don’t shoot)!” suddenly yelped one of the voices, from one of the painted faces.

Nah-che! And Chato (Flat-nose), too! The muzzles were lowered—the scowling Chato’s last of all.

“Come down, chi-kis-n,” ordered Nah-che.