The last week of March had opened. The moon was near the full. Tom Moore, walking briskly, caught Jimmie bossing the repairs on some aparejos, out at the Bowie mule sheds.

“Word’s come,” rapped Tom. “I’m to take a pack-train down to Maus to-morrow, and the general will follow.”

“Is Geronimo there, Tom?”

“I don’t know; but he’s promised to be there in four days. Anyhow, we’re to pack a lot of rations; and looks like we’re to feed some Injuns and fetch ’em back. Do you want to go ’long and see the finish?”

“Sure thing, Tom.”

“Bueno! I thought you would, but I can use somebody else if you’re not fit. All right, then. We’ll pull out at eight o’clock.”

The Lieutenant Maus command had been camped one hundred miles south of Bowie, or ten miles below the border. But Geronimo had refused to meet the general there, and had appointed the Cañon de los Embudos (Funnels Canyon), twelve miles below the border and twenty miles west, where the country was rougher.

Alchisé, Ka-e-ten-na, and Tony Besias and another official interpreter went with the pack outfit. There were two old Chiricahua squaws, also, from the bunch who had been taken prisoners at the Geronimo rancheria last January. They, and Alchisé and Ka-e-ten-na were counted upon to spread “good talk” among the Chiricahuas. Mayor Strauss, of Tucson, who had been at Bowie discussing affairs with the general, joined by special permission.

The general overhauled the pack-train on the second day out. He and his staff, including Major Bourke and Captain C. S. Roberts, of the Judge-Advocate Department, were in an ambulance. Captain Roberts had brought his ten-year-old son, Charley, who was seeing army life in the Southwest; and there was an escort of scouts, with the inevitable Micky as scout sergeant.

Before the Lieutenant Maus camp was reached, the company had grown larger. Two photographers named Fly and Chase had joined; and a Mexican, José Maria Yaskes, who had lived with the Chiricahuas; and several ranchers and cow-boys.

“All want to see Geronimo—but I guess the Gray Fox wants to see him worst of anybody,” laughed Micky.

On the morning of March 25 Alchisé and Ka-e-ten-na sent up a smoke signal, to tell the camp and Geronimo that the general was near. Lieutenant Shipp, Chato and two others rode out to guide the detachment in.

The Maus camp was well located, upon a mesa commanding water and grass, in the canyon. Geronimo’s camp was just as strongly located, a half mile away—on the top of a lava cone surrounded by bristly gulches.

The packers already in camp thought that there would be no trouble. Geronimo had been over every day, to ask when the general was expected for the talk; Chihuahua had sent word that he was prepared to surrender at any time, and do exactly as the general told him to do.

“Chihuahua will leave Geronimo; Nana has left Geronimo; soon he will have nobody,” Chato repeated. “Geronimo and Chihuahua are living separate now. Nana is too old to run any more.”

After the general had lunched, there was sudden exclaiming and pointing. A large party of Chiricahuas were descending from their cone.

“Geronimo!”

“Here comes the old rascal!”

The Chiricahuas rode on, up the canyon, and Chief of Scouts Horn met them. He returned, and reported.

“Geronimo says he will talk with the general.”

Still, Geronimo did not enter the camp. He halted a short distance out, amid some white-barked sycamores and shaggy cottonwoods, near the river. The general and officers advanced, to hold the talk, and a crowd followed, eager to hear.

There were the general, Lieutenant Maus, Lieutenant Shipp and Lieutenant Faison; Surgeon Davis (who had recovered from his hard trip); Captain Roberts and young Charley Roberts; Major Bourke; Chief Packer Tom Moore, ex-Assistant Jimmie, Pack-masters H. W. Daly and Harvey Carlisle, Packers Shaw and Foster; Mayor Strauss, of Tucson; Photographers Fly and Chase; Tony Besias, old Concepcion, José Maria Yaskes, and other interpreters; Chief Scout Tom Horn, Sergeant Micky Free, Alchisé, Ka-e-ten-na, Chato, and others of the scout companies; and even a little boy named Howell who had traveled along from a ranch thirty miles away.

Chihuahua was here, smiling and good-natured. So was Nah-che—not smiling, but on the contrary looking grim and anxious. Jimmie saw Porico, or White Horse, Geronimo’s brother. No squaws had come over, and only a few of the warriors sat together; the majority were scattered, well armed, wearing two cartridge-belts, and prepared to fight and flee, if an attempt were made to seize them.

Everybody except the general, Chihuahua and Micky appeared to be rather on edge. And no wonder. After all these months of worry and work, growing old chasing Geronimo on the heart-breaking trails, was this the end at last? Jimmie suddenly felt old, himself. How far had he trailed the fighting Apaches? Two thousand miles, at least!

“Ka-e-ten-na says the Chiricahua will shoot if we try to hold Geronimo,” whispered Micky. “They made Maus promise that the Gray Fox would bring no soldiers down. That is bad.”

“But the scouts will fight.”

“Yes, they will fight,” nodded Micky.

Geronimo was speaking, as he sat twisting a strand of buckskin in his nervous hands.

“Everybody on the reservation was unfriendly to me. Chato and Micky Free stirred up trouble against me; they lied about me to the soldier-captain Davis, and he spread the lies. The papers told bad stories on me. They said that I ought to be arrested and hung up. I don’t want any more of that talk. Why don’t you speak to me and look with a pleasant face? What is the matter, that you don’t smile on me? Why did you give orders to have me put in prison? I had tried to do right. Remember that I sent you word I would come from a long distance to speak with you here, and you see me now. If I thought bad or had done bad, I would not have come.”

General Crook made no bones about answering.

“I gave no orders to have you arrested. If you left the reservation because you were afraid, why did you sneak all over the country killing innocent people and stealing horses? Your story is all bosh. You sent up your people to kill Chato and Lieutenant Davis. Everything that you did on the reservation is known. There is no use in your trying to talk nonsense. I am no child. You promised me in the Sierra Madre that the peace should last, and you have lied. How do I know but that you are lying now, when you say you want peace? Have I ever lied to you? You must make up your mind either to surrender or to stay out on the warpath. If you stay out, I will keep after you and kill every one of you if it takes fifty years. I have said all I have to say. You had better think, to-night, and let me know in the morning.”

The perspiration had burst out upon Geronimo’s face and hands. He would have said more, but the general arose, as signal that the talk was at an end. Only the two photographers were happy; they had taken a number of excellent pictures.

This evening and night the two camps remained apart. In the Maus camp there was a great deal of discussion. Nobody might yet foresee what the Chiricahuas under Geronimo would do.

“A thousand troops couldn’t get those bronc’s, where they’re located,” asserted Tom Moore. “They’d scatter like quail and be off into Mexico, at first sign of trouble. Anyhow, Maus agreed not to attack ’em, and while the general mightn’t have made any such agreement himself, he’s bound to stick by it.”

“You and I will go over in the morning, Cheemie,” said Micky. “We will see for ourselves.”

So they did. Major Bourke, Mayor Strauss, of Tucson, Pack-master Carlisle and others likewise went. It was indeed a strong position, well up among broken lava, with every jacal or hut defended by a cactus fence. A number of jagged rifts had to be crossed, and there were ravines leading away.

No army officer, Major Bourke alleged, could have chosen a better situation or made more of it.

Geronimo and his warriors were in council, and could not be approached. None of the Chiricahuas would talk; even Nah-da-ste declined to speak to Jimmie, but hid her face.

Young Charley Roberts was the only visitor who could attract attention. The little girls followed him around, giggling, and passing compliments upon him. It reminded Jimmie of the time, long ago, when he had been giggled at in a Chiricahua camp.

Nothing happened this day. Matters looked bad. In the morning Alchisé and Ka-e-ten-na came into camp. They had been spending their time in the Geronimo camp, to spread peace talk. Ka-e-ten-na was to tell the Chiricahuas of the sights that he had seen in San Francisco.

They brought word from Chihuahua that whether Geronimo decided to surrender, or not, he himself would appear with all his band at noon, and do as “Cluke” said to do.

At noon Chihuahua appeared. Geronimo and Nah-che and old Nana were with him. Geronimo’s face was blackened, as sign of mourning. The general talked with them, again, at the same place as before.

“I am glad to see you, Cluke,” said Chihuahua. “I am now in your hands. You may do as you please with me. I am going over to stay with you in your camp.”

“What have you decided?” asked the general, of Geronimo.

“My people are afraid to go with you, for fear they will be punished. They do not want to be punished. We will go with you if we are allowed to live as before.”

“That is all nonsense,” retorted the general. “I do not trust you any more. If you go with me, you must understand that you all will be put in the guard-house until Washington tells me what to do with you.”

“How long will we be kept prisoners?”

“You will be sent away, like Ka-e-ten-na was. That cured Ka-e-ten-na and made him good. It will make you good, because it will change your hearts. You say that lies are told about you on the reservation. If you are sent away, there will be no lies.”

“How long will we be sent away?”

“Maybe one year, maybe two years. You may take your families with you. Only Nana shall stay; he is too old to make trouble.”

Geronimo shifted uneasily, and gazed appealingly around.

“I will talk no more,” stated the general. “To-morrow morning I shall go back to Fort Bowie. If you decide to stay away, you will not be safe anywhere in Mexico. You cannot hide from me. This you already know.”

“We will march to Fort Bowie, and there you may send us away, as you say,” spoke Geronimo desperately. “But we must march freely, by ourselves. I cannot make my men give up their guns, until they are in the fort where you will protect them. There are bad people along the way who would kill us. Your young soldier-captains might not be able to control their scouts, and the scouts would kill us. I want you to promise that we shall not be made prisoners until we arrive at Fort Bowie. Otherwise, I cannot persuade my men, and there will be war.”

The general eyed him fixedly.

“It is agreed,” he said.

Geronimo was much relieved, and shook hands with him.

“Geronimo speaks the truth,” declared Ka-e-ten-na, that evening. “If the general had not agreed, there would have been war. The Chiricahua were ready to fight and run away. But they would rather be put in prison a little while, and see such things as I have seen.”

Orders were given to be prepared to move in the morning. The general was going on ahead, to Bowie, and get instructions from General Sheridan at Washington; Lieutenant Maus was to follow, with the Chiricahuas.

That night there seemed to be a wild time in the Geronimo camp, half a mile distant. Gun shots could be heard, and shrill whoops. During breakfast in the morning there were many rumors. Jimmie got the truth from Micky.

“Much whiskey in the Chiricahua camp,” said Micky, with shrug of shoulders. “Ranch man send it in, and sell at one dollar a gallon. Geronimo drunk, many others drunk.”

The general, when he rode by, looked worried. But he had to reach the telegraph at Fort Bowie as quickly as possible. It was understood that he had ordered Lieutenant Maus to destroy all the whiskey that could be found, and to hasten on with the Chiricahuas.

So the camp was broken, and moved on the back trail, with directions to halt at ten miles, and wait. The lieutenant stayed behind with Concepcion the interpreter, to wait for the Geronimo camp to move.

In the afternoon he arrived at the halting place. The Chiricahuas were following, but Geronimo had told him not to hang around or he might be killed by some of the drunken warriors.

Chihuahua sent for Chief of Scouts Horn, and asked that he and all his band be put under guard.

“I don’t like that, Cheemie,” uttered Micky. “When Chihuahua does such a thing, he sees ahead. He is afraid of what will happen if his people get the whiskey, too.”

Geronimo made camp again about half a mile away, as before, and in a strong position. Everybody was ordered to keep away from it, so as to avoid trouble; but the lieutenant took Ka-e-ten-na and rode over.

When they returned, Ka-e-ten-na reported that Geronimo was still drunk, and he and another chief were riding around on one mule; and that Nah-che had shot his wife.

Now the ranch which had supplied the whiskey was near. Lieutenant Shipp took a detail over, to search the ranch and destroy the liquor.

Tom Moore, the old frontiersman, swore vigorously.

“It’s sure a dog-gone shame that for a few dirty dollars any man will throw the whole country open again to an Injun war. For that’s what it means, if those Chiricahuas lose their heads. When whiskey gets in, the brains go out.”

Concepcion said that the whiskey seller had been filling the Chiricahuas with lies also: he had told them that they were to be killed as soon as they reached Bowie. He did this, so that they would stay out and he might sell them more whiskey.

However, the night quieted the Chiricahuas in their camp. The lieutenant sent over, once, to investigate. The warriors were said to be sleeping.

But in the morning, which was March 29, while Jimmie was pulling on his boots before breakfast, he saw the lieutenant dash away, with Ka-e-ten-na, in the direction of Geronimo’s camp. In about an hour they returned. The lieutenant stopped here where Tom Moore was overseeing the unpacking of the pack-trains, for the day’s march. He looked oddly haggard, but spoke with a hard, quick accent.

“Geronimo, Nah-che and twenty men and thirteen women are gone. I’ll require a pack-train and several of your best men, to follow them with. You can report to Shipp. Faison will go on to Bowie.”

Tom’s jaw dropped, and for a moment he acted as if too full for utterance. This, then, was the outcome of all those other bitter pursuits—poor Captain Crawford’s death—the general’s painstaking methods!

“That dog-gone liquor!” he growled.

Jimmie sprang forward, and saluted the lieutenant.

“I’d like to go with the packs, sir.”

“You would? Why? You’ve been once, and you know what it means?”

“Well, I’d like to try again, sir. I won’t get enough till Geronimo gets enough.”

The lieutenant’s face lighted up.

“If that’s your spirit, there’s no man I’d rather have with me. So you and Moore settle it between you.”

And he galloped on.

“Gosh, but this will break the general all up,” muttered Tom. “All right,” he added. “You get your outfit together and go along with Maus.”

Chihuahua, Nana, and sixty or seventy others of the Chiricahuas still remained. Lieutenant Faison was to take them on, up to Bowie. Lieutenant Maus and Lieutenant Shipp, with a company of the scouts and Jimmie’s pack-train, set out in the opposite direction.

But it was no use. Geronimo had been thoroughly frightened by the stories told him. Now his party traveled afoot, over country where horses and mules could not travel. In three days the trails had split and had become impossible, and the scouts had to give up.

So the command turned back. When they arrived at Bowie on April 3, this 1886, they learned that General Crook was no longer the commander in Arizona!