“What is the matter?” were yelling the Chiricahuas above, to the Chiricahuas below.
“The white war-captain has us. We fight no more,” called the Chiricahuas who had surrendered. “It is no use. Our own people fight against us.”
Two old squaws clambered half-way down.
“Ask the white war-captain if we will be hurt?” they screamed.
The general sent out Micky and Scout To-klani (Plenty Water) and one of the Chihuahua Chiricahuas. To-klani’s sisters belonged to the Chihuahua band, and the Chiricahuas all knew him.
“The white war-captain says that he does not care whether you surrender or not,” announced To-klani. “Chihuahua has surrendered. We are only waiting till the rest of his people and the little white boy come in. If you come you will not be harmed, but if you do not come you will be killed.”
This set the Chiricahuas on the cliff to thinking. Evidently now that they had found their best camping-place occupied, and so many of the other Chiricahuas surrendered, they did not know quite what to do. As Frank Monach remarked: “That’s a heap joke. Expect we look mighty comfortable, at our little love-feast.”
Within about an hour, the Apaches came down. It was Geronimo, all right—he, and Nah-che, and Chato, and thirty-three warriors. They all carried the latest model repeating rifles, and the best nickle-plated revolvers, and they stared about very uneasily.
They began to ask questions of the scouts; Nah-che sighted Jimmie, and sidled over to him.