The general had questioned the Chiricahuas closely. They all stuck to the one story, and seemed to be speaking the truth. Six-year-old Charley probably had been so frightened that he had run until exhausted and lost in the dense brush. No trace of him was ever discovered.
When the general finally issued the order that camp should be broken in the morning, and the start made for San Carlos, Geronimo was smiling and ready. He asked only that the first marches be slow, so that the Chiricahuas who were still out might catch up. There seemed to be no end of those Chiricahuas who were still “out.”
“We expect you to protect us from the Mexican soldiers,” said Geronimo. “My old men and women who are coming cannot fight.”
“I will protect you,” promised the general.
This appeared to make Geronimo happy and satisfied.
However, in the morning a sudden delay occurred. The pack-trains were loaded and waiting, the cavalry had formed, all the Chiricahuas were herded together, the scouts were on the flanks, but the general had sent for Geronimo—was talking earnestly to him.
Presently Archie MacIntosh came trotting back, ahorse, as if with an eye to seeing that everything was closed up.
“What’s the trouble ahead, Archie?” hailed Frank.
Archie grinned from his sun-burned face, and paused.
“Just been discovered we’re about a hundred bucks shy. They disappeared between sunset and sunrise. Looks as though that old rascal of a Geronimo had put one over on us.”