“Maybe yes, maybe no,” replied Maria, shrugging his shoulders. “If they might believe all Americans like they believe that one-armed man—but who knows? Anyway, he is not afraid, and he speaks truth. What kind of a man is that other general, the comandante named Crook?”
“They can believe him, too,” asserted Jimmie. “He’s a fighting general, and a peace general, both. He’ll carry war to those Apaches that stay bad. He’s ready now to move against the Tonto.”
“Good,” grunted Maria.
The abandoned stage station of Dragoon Springs, on the west slope of Dragoon Pass, had been appointed as the council place. No Chiricahuas and no token of any council were sighted here; but a stout, broad-shouldered officer with black hair and heavy “shoe-brush” moustache met the Captain Sumner party in the road.
He was Captain Sladen, General Howard’s aide. He said that the Chiricahuas had seen soldiers in the road, this very morning; therefore Cochise insisted that the council be held off at one side, where the Chiricahuas might protect themselves.
Guided by Captain Sladen on a narrow saddle trail running south, the party rode a mile or two, through a rolling park of grass and oaks and mountain mahogany—and then here came General Howard and his Chiricahuas!
Haw, haw! Even the sober Maria laughed. The general was aboard a mule, and behind his saddle sat a painted, naked Chiricahua, holding fast with both arms around the general’s waist! [It was the piercing-eyed Geronimo!]
[IT WAS THE PIERCING-EYED GERONIMO!]
That was a great position for a brevet major-general of the United States army; but it looked “friendly”!