“Geronimo speaks the truth,” declared Ka-e-ten-na, that evening. “If the general had not agreed, there would have been war. The Chiricahua were ready to fight and run away. But they would rather be put in prison a little while, and see such things as I have seen.”
Orders were given to be prepared to move in the morning. The general was going on ahead, to Bowie, and get instructions from General Sheridan at Washington; Lieutenant Maus was to follow, with the Chiricahuas.
That night there seemed to be a wild time in the Geronimo camp, half a mile distant. Gun shots could be heard, and shrill whoops. During breakfast in the morning there were many rumors. Jimmie got the truth from Micky.
“Much whiskey in the Chiricahua camp,” said Micky, with shrug of shoulders. “Ranch man send it in, and sell at one dollar a gallon. Geronimo drunk, many others drunk.”
The general, when he rode by, looked worried. But he had to reach the telegraph at Fort Bowie as quickly as possible. It was understood that he had ordered Lieutenant Maus to destroy all the whiskey that could be found, and to hasten on with the Chiricahuas.
So the camp was broken, and moved on the back trail, with directions to halt at ten miles, and wait. The lieutenant stayed behind with Concepcion the interpreter, to wait for the Geronimo camp to move.
In the afternoon he arrived at the halting place. The Chiricahuas were following, but Geronimo had told him not to hang around or he might be killed by some of the drunken warriors.
Chihuahua sent for Chief of Scouts Horn, and asked that he and all his band be put under guard.
“I don’t like that, Cheemie,” uttered Micky. “When Chihuahua does such a thing, he sees ahead. He is afraid of what will happen if his people get the whiskey, too.”