Jimmie gazed after only for a moment. Then he was aware that all his left shoulder and arm were red and paining. The bullet had slashed a furrow an inch deep through the muscles of the upper arm, but the blood was clotting and he did not pause to tie a bandage on.
He unstrapped his climbing irons, kicked them off as he stooped to pick up his revolver, and hobbled for his horse; mounted and raced for Camp Thomas.
Camp Thomas had only two reduced companies of the Sixth Cavalry. When he got there, the two companies were drawn up in column of twos in front of the adjutant’s office, as if ready to start out. Micky Free was here, with a party of White Mountain and Tonto scouts. The telegraph instrument was clicking rapidly.
“Hello, Cheemie!” intercepted Micky, gaily, in his Spanish. “You been fighting, what?”
“Not much,” panted Jimmie, pulling short. “When do you start?”
“Pretty soon, when the talking wire is done. They are telling what you said, to the other posts. You did good work, Cheemie. The wire from San Carlos is cut, but Tom Horn (he was a white scout and packer at San Carlos) brought more news by horse, and Sibi has been here. Now they are out, spying on the trail, and we will follow. It has been a big outbreak.”
“Were you there, Micky?”
“No; but I heard it, and the agency Indians have signaled, and Tom Horn was there. All the Chief Loco Warm Springs and the Geronimo Chiricahua have gone. They number seven hundred. The trouble was this. You know Stirling?”
Jimmie nodded. Mr. Stirling was chief of the agency police. These were not scouts, but Indians appointed by the agent as policemen.
“Some days ago Stirling tried to arrest a Chiricahua who had been making whiskey. The Chiricahua ran and Stirling missed him and hit a squaw. That turned the Chiricahua bad, although Stirling said he was sorry. They have been getting bad anyway, because there is talk that all the Indians are to be moved far away, so that the Americans can dig coal on the reservation. Last night Juh and Nah-che sent in word that they were near, waiting to help Loco and Geronimo. This morning the Chiricahua and Warm Springs began to pack up, and Stirling and Navajo Bill, a policeman, charged them alone, to break them up. The Chiricahua had been waiting for this. They shot Stirling one hundred times at once, and a squaw cut off his head and it was kicked about like a ball. He was a very brave man, that Stirling. Navajo Bill wasn’t hurt, but another policeman was killed, and one Chiricahua. Now the Warm Springs and Chiricahua are out—and I think they will keep right on going.”