“Did you hear tell thar’s a Chiricahua buck been fetched in who claims he broke from the Chato bunch ’cause he wants peace?” queried Long Jim Cook.
“No. Where is he?”
“In the guard-house. They got him locked up till the old man talks with him. His name is ‘Peaches,’ or somethin’ like that.”
“Mebbe he brings some sort o’ word from Geronimo. You know the old man sent one of those squaws that he captured, back down, last fall, to tell the Geronimo band they’d better change their minds.”
Jimmie asked Micky Free.
“He is not a Chiricahua,” said Micky. “He is a White Mountain, but he married two Chiricahua squaws, so he had to live with the Chiricahua. His name is Pa-na-yo-tish-n (Coyote-saw-him). He does not like the Chiricahua, now. They are living in the mountains five days’ travel from Arizona. They have plenty wood, plenty water, plenty grass, plenty meat, and kill plenty Mexican soldiers with rocks because they must save cartridges. That is why Chato made his raid up north: to get cartridges. Pa-na-yo-tish-n ran away. He says he does not want to fight, and there are others who do not want to fight, but they are afraid of Geronimo. He knows the trail to Geronimo, and will lead the general straight. Then maybe we talk, maybe we fight. It will be a good fight, Cheemie. Geronimo has seventy men, and fifty big boys who can fight like men. Yes, if they have powder, and do not get starved, and the talk is bad, we will see much fun. I think that even the packers will better watch out sharp.”
Micky Free always had hopes. He was a regular fire-eater.
The cavalry from Fort Apache, and the pack-train, and about one hundred Apache scouts from the San Carlos and the White Mountain reservations marched across country to Willcox. Pa-na-yo-tish-n (whom the soldiers and packers called “Peaches”) was taken along, as a prisoner, in handcuffs.
Willcox, the nearest station on the Southern Pacific Railroad, just west of Railroad Pass over the Chiricahua Mountains, was overflowing.