“When fighting Geronimo,” counseled the scout, “it’s well to look with suspicion on what an Apache says. Only the Pimas are to be depended on when fighting Apaches. Pimas have been foes of the Apaches for a hundred years and more, and never a Pima has raised his hand against a white.”
Just here the Apache came in. He wore a pair of blue overalls, fastened to his waist with a piece of rope. His shoulders were bare.
Standing silently before Markham and Buffalo Bill for a moment, he turned slowly and exhibited his back. Great, livid welts crossed and recrossed the coppery skin.
“Well!” exclaimed Markham, as the Apache faced about. “So you were captured by Geronimo, were you, Chico?”
“Si,” snarled the red man.
“Where?”
“Blind gully off Tres Alamos Gulch.”
“Fifteen miles away!” muttered Markham. “When was this?”
“Last sleep.”