There was another period of anxious waiting. They took turns doing look-out duty from a high rock. With Concepcion’s aid, Jimmie packed the mules. About ten o’clock he could stand the suspense no longer.
“If we moved on we probably would meet the word from the captain, and get there all the sooner with the packs, doctor,” he proposed.
“All right. But Concepcion and I can’t move fast.”
They toiled on, following the trail. At noon they met Dutchy.
“The soldier-captain says to come, with mules and medicine-man and Concepcion.”
“Did you whip the Chiricahua?” queried Jimmie.
“Yes. We ran them like turkeys. Capture everything—many horses. Chiricahua get away, but they send word they will talk to-morrow.”
The doctor, who had been outstepped by Jimmie and the mules, limped eagerly in, with poor old Concepcion in his wake.
“What’s the news? Have they got Geronimo?”