Part 15 (1/2)
Geronimo saw Captain Crawford and Lieutenant Gatewood, army officers whose deeds had earned them the respect of all Apaches. There was Al Sieber, famed chief of scouts and one of the very few white men who could think like an Apache. Mickey Free, whom Cochise had been accused of kidnapping years before, stood ready to tell Geronimo and General Crook what each said to the other. Geronimo spoke Apache, Spanish, and some English. General Crook spoke and understood English only.
Proud and haughty as the Apache himself, every inch the warrior, General Crook's eyes met Geronimo's. They did not look away.
Geronimo asked, ”What would you talk about?”
”Your return to Arizona,” said General Crook.
Geronimo said, ”You think I will live again on the hot flats of the Gila?”
”It was not I who sent you there,” said General Crook. ”Choose your home. There are the White Mountains.”
A mighty yearning stirred in Geronimo's heart. He was homesick for Arizona, and the White Mountains.
”What else do you ask?” Geronimo inquired.
General Crook said, ”Your promise to live in peace.”
”Who promises me that the white man will also keep the peace?” Geronimo asked.
”I do,” said General Crook. ”And have you known me to lie?”
”I have never known Chief Gray Wolf to speak falsely,” Geronimo admitted. ”And I see no treachery here.”
Humor lighted General Crook's eyes. ”How many of your warriors surround us, Geronimo?”
”Do you think I came in fear?” Geronimo asked angrily.
”I did not say that,” said General Crook. ”I asked how many of your warriors surround us.”
”Some,” Geronimo admitted. ”But they are to shoot only if you start a battle.”
”See for yourself that we want no battle,” General Crook said. ”Will you come back to live on the Apache reservation if you may choose your home in the White Mountains?”
”I will if I may do that,” Geronimo said.
”Will you live in peace?”
Geronimo promised, ”I will live in peace.”
”When will you come?” General Crook asked.
”When I am ready.”
Geronimo turned on his heel and strode away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
_The Discontented_
A mile and a half from his farm on Turkey Creek, in Arizona's White Mountains, Geronimo skulked in a thicket and looked sourly at a flock of wild turkeys. They were so many that they seemed a living carpet over the five-acre clearing in which they were catching gra.s.shoppers. But they held no charm for Geronimo. Who besides white men would eat a bird that ate snakes?