“I want a job, Frank.”
“Thought you had one.”
“I had, but I’ve left. I’m too lame for scout work; I can pack, though. How about it?”
“Well,” drawled Frank, sizing him up, “the old man’s partic’lar. The pack outfits have got to be the kind that’ll keep agoin’. We’re due to follow those bronc’s till we get that boy back, even if we travel clear to the City of Mexico.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here,” retorted Jimmie. “I can pack and sit a mule.”
“All right. Old Jack Long’s watchin’ you, I reckon. He took a lot o’ stock in you. You’re hired. So get your war-bag an’ fall in.”
XXI
TO THE STRONGHOLD OF GERONIMO
“Fight to a finish, or a surrender, b’gosh,” announced Frank, to-day. “Chiricahuas can take their choice. But the old man’s goin’ after ’em. We’ll have no murderin’ an’ boy-stealin’ in this department. Everybody, man an’ mule, is ordered to meet him at Willcox, pronto (quick). So this outfit’ll hit the high places in the mornin’.”
Jimmie and the other packers at San Carlos, where they had been waiting prepared, gave a cheer. It was now the first week in April. The killing of Judge McComas and Mrs. McComas, and the stealing of little Charley, had occurred on March 28. Chato had escaped into Mexico again, having lost only one warrior, except——