“I said that the Chiricahua were running away.”
The three other Indians murmured angrily. The two young bucks besides Nah-che and Chato Jimmie did not know. He had not seen Nah-che and Chato for several years, either. They had grown. Chato was ugly, because of his flattened nose, but Nah-che was supple and handsome.
“No matter,” said Nah-che, to his companions. “This is my brother. He did right. He is brave. He shall not be harmed. Give him his gun and let him alone. We are not afraid of the soldiers.” He addressed Jimmie. “Yes, chi-kis-n, we are running away—all the Warm Springs and Chiricahua except the Taza band. There are many of us, and we know there are not enough soldiers in Arizona to stop us. We can whip the Camp Thomas soldiers first, and whip the rest as they come. Geronimo is with us, and Loco, and one hundred warriors who belong to Juh and me.”
“Why are you running away, chi-kis-n?” asked Jimmie. “I thought you and Juh were already run away. People said you were in Mexico.”
“We were,” replied Nah-che. “We live in Mexico. That is the only place for us. Nana is there, too; and Chihuahua. Now Juh and I have come up to help Geronimo and Loco get away.” He began to talk hotly. “Why do we all run away? That is a foolish question. We will not be moved around so, and put in sickly places among Indians who don’t like us. We would have stayed at our home in the Dragoon Mountains, and have been happy. A few of us drank whiskey sold us by bad white men, and we all were blamed. The San Carlos is not a good place. The White Mountains tell false stories about us, the agents steal our rations from us and we go hungry. The white traders would rather sell things to us, and cheat us. So Juh and I ran away. Now there is talk that the white men want all the San Carlos country, because of mines, and that the Apaches will be taken away, many miles, to a strange land. Geronimo says he has been told to come to Camp Thomas, for a talk—and if he goes there, he will be put in prison again; maybe killed, like Mangas Coloradas was killed. We would rather die on the warpath than die in prison or in a strange land. So we all, the Chiricahua and the Warm Springs, except Taza’s squaw-people, will live in the Mexican mountains. There we can lead our own life. The Mexicans dare not fight us, we have plenty guns and plenty food, the American soldiers cannot cross the line, to follow us.”
“Don’t you fool yourself,” retorted Jimmie. “Crook will come, and he will go anywhere.”
“Cluke is a good man. If he had stayed, maybe there would be peace instead of war,” responded Nah-che. “There has been one other good man, at San Carlos. He was the soldier-captain Chaffee. Why does the White Father at Washington let us be cheated, like children, by dishonest agents? Why does he listen to bad tongues, that say we must not stay where we were promised we might stay? But good-by, chi-kis-n. Now there is war between us. The Chiricahua are never coming back to be cheated again. You have been chi-kis-n; but you are American and I am Apache, so when we meet in war, look out for yourself. It will be man to man. We are no longer boys.”
Nah-che wheeled his pony. With a whoop, away they four tore, flourishing their guns.