“Do not know.”
“You do not live on the rancho?”
“For little while.”
“You have father, mother?”
“No. Apaches kill them.”
“My father, mother, brothers, sisters, all killed,” lamented Maria, weeping. “Alas! All killed, by Apaches.”
“We run off, pretty soon?” proposed Jimmie.
“No!” opposed Maria, in much alarm. “Must stay. Be Apaches. They not let us run off. Big country. Get lost and die. Get caught and be killed.”
But Jimmie had made up his mind that he was not going to be an Apache; he would escape if he could. Or maybe he would be rescued.
However, here came the captain chief, and the bell-wether Apache boy, and the strange red-headed boy with the one blue eye.