“Geronimo says he will talk with the general.”
Still, Geronimo did not enter the camp. He halted a short distance out, amid some white-barked sycamores and shaggy cottonwoods, near the river. The general and officers advanced, to hold the talk, and a crowd followed, eager to hear.
There were the general, Lieutenant Maus, Lieutenant Shipp and Lieutenant Faison; Surgeon Davis (who had recovered from his hard trip); Captain Roberts and young Charley Roberts; Major Bourke; Chief Packer Tom Moore, ex-Assistant Jimmie, Pack-masters H. W. Daly and Harvey Carlisle, Packers Shaw and Foster; Mayor Strauss, of Tucson; Photographers Fly and Chase; Tony Besias, old Concepcion, José Maria Yaskes, and other interpreters; Chief Scout Tom Horn, Sergeant Micky Free, Alchisé, Ka-e-ten-na, Chato, and others of the scout companies; and even a little boy named Howell who had traveled along from a ranch thirty miles away.
Chihuahua was here, smiling and good-natured. So was Nah-che—not smiling, but on the contrary looking grim and anxious. Jimmie saw Porico, or White Horse, Geronimo’s brother. No squaws had come over, and only a few of the warriors sat together; the majority were scattered, well armed, wearing two cartridge-belts, and prepared to fight and flee, if an attempt were made to seize them.
Everybody except the general, Chihuahua and Micky appeared to be rather on edge. And no wonder. After all these months of worry and work, growing old chasing Geronimo on the heart-breaking trails, was this the end at last? Jimmie suddenly felt old, himself. How far had he trailed the fighting Apaches? Two thousand miles, at least!
“Ka-e-ten-na says the Chiricahua will shoot if we try to hold Geronimo,” whispered Micky. “They made Maus promise that the Gray Fox would bring no soldiers down. That is bad.”
“But the scouts will fight.”
“Yes, they will fight,” nodded Micky.
Geronimo was speaking, as he sat twisting a strand of buckskin in his nervous hands.
“Everybody on the reservation was unfriendly to me. Chato and Micky Free stirred up trouble against me; they lied about me to the soldier-captain Davis, and he spread the lies. The papers told bad stories on me. They said that I ought to be arrested and hung up. I don’t want any more of that talk. [Why don’t you speak to me and look with a pleasant face?] What is the matter, that you don’t smile on me? Why did you give orders to have me put in prison? I had tried to do right. Remember that I sent you word I would come from a long distance to speak with you here, and you see me now. If I thought bad or had done bad, I would not have come.”