“No guarantee is needed, from either side,” severely answered General Howard. “Here is General Crook. With his army and his authority he will see to it that justice is done exactly as I have outlined!”
“Good!”
“Bueno, bueno!”
“Inju!”
The word was repeated in a perfect storm of languages. The gathering was all excitement and relief. Everybody seemed to approve of what the general had said; that is, everybody except the district attorney and a few scouts and ranchers who did not believe in yielding peace terms to any Apaches whatsoever.
The Arivaipa-Pinals and the Papagos and the Pimas and the Apache-Mohaves and the Tontos hugged one another; some of the Mexicans hugged some of the Indians; General Crook and the officers laughed. It was a happy solution of a serious problem.
“Kinder like a love-feast, after all, warn’t it!” remarked Joe Felmer. “Huh! Wall, I reckon the gen’ral knows how the President’ll decide.”
Probably General Howard did, for in due time the children were given over to the Es-kim-en-zin band, by orders from Washington, and Es-kim-en-zin always remained at peace.
Amidst the hurly-burly of excitement Jimmie found himself close to General Crook, who was talking earnestly with Joe Felmer and old Jack Long. That was his style; he did not go much on red tape, but spoke direct to officers and enlisted men alike.
Here in his travel-stained canvas suit without any mark of rank on it, he scarcely would be taken, again, for a general commanding all the big Territory of Arizona. He was thinner than when Jimmie had last seen him, before; his face was lined, and he looked as though he had been working hard, and worrying too.