XXVII
THE WORST ENEMY OF ALL
The last week of March had opened. The moon was near the full. Tom Moore, walking briskly, caught Jimmie bossing the repairs on some aparejos, out at the Bowie mule sheds.
“Word’s come,” rapped Tom. “I’m to take a pack-train down to Maus to-morrow, and the general will follow.”
“Is Geronimo there, Tom?”
“I don’t know; but he’s promised to be there in four days. Anyhow, we’re to pack a lot of rations; and looks like we’re to feed some Injuns and fetch ’em back. Do you want to go ’long and see the finish?”
“Sure thing, Tom.”
“Bueno! I thought you would, but I can use somebody else if you’re not fit. All right, then. We’ll pull out at eight o’clock.”
The Lieutenant Maus command had been camped one hundred miles south of Bowie, or ten miles below the border. But Geronimo had refused to meet the general there, and had appointed the Cañon de los Embudos (Funnels Canyon), twelve miles below the border and twenty miles west, where the country was rougher.
Alchisé, Ka-e-ten-na, and Tony Besias and another official interpreter went with the pack outfit. There were two old Chiricahua squaws, also, from the bunch who had been taken prisoners at the Geronimo rancheria last January. They, and Alchisé and Ka-e-ten-na were counted upon to spread “good talk” among the Chiricahuas. Mayor Strauss, of Tucson, who had been at Bowie discussing affairs with the general, joined by special permission.
The general overhauled the pack-train on the second day out. He and his staff, including Major Bourke and Captain C. S. Roberts, of the Judge-Advocate Department, were in an ambulance. Captain Roberts had brought his ten-year-old son, Charley, who was seeing army life in the Southwest; and there was an escort of scouts, with the inevitable Micky as scout sergeant.