Geronimo and his warriors were in council, and could not be approached. None of the Chiricahuas would talk; even Nah-da-ste declined to speak to Jimmie, but hid her face.
Young Charley Roberts was the only visitor who could attract attention. The little girls followed him around, giggling, and passing compliments upon him. It reminded Jimmie of the time, long ago, when he had been giggled at in a Chiricahua camp.
Nothing happened this day. Matters looked bad. In the morning Alchisé and Ka-e-ten-na came into camp. They had been spending their time in the Geronimo camp, to spread peace talk. Ka-e-ten-na was to tell the Chiricahuas of the sights that he had seen in San Francisco.
They brought word from Chihuahua that whether Geronimo decided to surrender, or not, he himself would appear with all his band at noon, and do as “Cluke” said to do.
At noon Chihuahua appeared. Geronimo and Nah-che and old Nana were with him. Geronimo’s face was blackened, as sign of mourning. The general talked with them, again, at the same place as before.
“I am glad to see you, Cluke,” said Chihuahua. “I am now in your hands. You may do as you please with me. I am going over to stay with you in your camp.”
“What have you decided?” asked the general, of Geronimo.
“My people are afraid to go with you, for fear they will be punished. They do not want to be punished. We will go with you if we are allowed to live as before.”
“That is all nonsense,” retorted the general. “I do not trust you any more. If you go with me, you must understand that you all will be put in the guard-house until Washington tells me what to do with you.”
“How long will we be kept prisoners?”