“Yes—a bitter memory, chief!” replied Colonel Colvin. “The Army does not talk of it much. Curious!” he exclaimed, looking at the coin and evidently searching back in his memory. “Why, I was in that fight myself!—I remember that coin—or a piece just like it—I gave one to a poor squaw whom we found badly wounded with a baby in her arms. She was the only one left alive in all those heaps of slain Apaches. Gad, but that massacre was a devilish piece of business for the Army to have to do!”
“I am that baby, my white father!” said Honanta, drawing himself up dramatically. “The sole living survivor of Apache Cave—and unconquered! My heart told me that this young man, whose name was also Colvin”—indicating Sid—“was your son. Therefore I spared him, when my old men advised that he be slain, since he had discovered this our refuge.”
He waved a fringed arm around at the mighty walls of Red Mesa. “This was our home!” he declaimed. “No more! The white man came, and he took our water. All of it! Our home is dead. We must go!”
“Where will you go, chief?” asked the Colonel, eying Honanta keenly.
“I know not,” said Honanta, wearily. “Somewhere out into the desert, where my people can find peace again.”
“Listen, chief!” said Colonel Colvin earnestly. “Where I live is called the Grand Cañon of the Gila. Your people knew it well, once. High above us towers a mighty peak, all orange in the glow of the sun, and across it a great band of pure white. That peak you have heard of, I know, chief!” declared Colonel Colvin, and Honanta nodded in confirmation. “In the valley of our river are timbered ranges, where deer and bear and turkey run wild and trout fill the streams. Across from us are steep precipices along which leads the old Apache Trail—the home of your fathers, chief. I own much land there, plenty for all of us. This mine the boys tell me of in your Red Mesa will buy more. If that golden double eagle means any obligation to you, chief, will you come to my place with your whole band—there to live as did your fathers?”
Honanta hesitated. His eyes beamed with pleasure, yet a troubled, doubtful expression in them told Sid that he was wondering how long our government would let them stay there. Better than the reservation the freedom of the desert!
“That orange mountain was once a sign of the Great Mystery to your people, chief,” went on the Colonel, his voice still more persuasive and compelling. “It stands there yet, a sign that His ways are unchanging, His mercy everlasting. Come! There is room there for all of us!—and I will see to it myself that our government grants you freedom—as it has already done for the Mohave Apaches.”
Honanta’s eyes widened at that last! It was news to him that the policy of our government had in any way liberalized! Then he stretched out his hand, his eyes glowing.
“My white father is kind! He is noble-hearted and just!” he exclaimed. “Would that he and my own father, Chief Chuntz, had known each other otherwise than over a rifle barrel! I owe you my life, Colonel Colvin; you have brought me back my son. I thank the Great Mystery that He whispered in my heart to spare yours! In the name of my people, I accept your offer, Colonel, gratefully!”