“Chato” and “Loco” told General Crook this morning that “Hieronymo” had sent them back to say that the Chiricahuas were very much scattered since the fight, and that he had not been as successful as he anticipated in getting them united and in corraling their herds of ponies. They did not want to leave a single one of their people behind, and urged General Crook to stay in his present camp for a week longer, if possible. “Loco,” for his part, expressed himself as anxious for peace. He had never wished to leave San Carlos. He wanted to go back there and obtain a little farm, and own cattle and horses, as he once did. Here it may be proper to say that all the chiefs of the Chiricahuas--“Hieronymo,” “Loco,” “Chato,” “Nané,” “Bonito,” “Chihuahua,” “Maugas,” “Zelé,” and “Kan-tenné”--are men of noticeable brain power, physically perfect and mentally acute--just the individuals to lead a forlorn hope in the face of every obstacle. The Chiricahua children, who had become tired of swimming, played at a new sport to-day, a mimic game of war, a school of practice analogous to that established by old Fagan for the instruction of young London pickpockets. Three boys took the lead, and represented Mexicans, who endeavored to outrun, hide from, or elude their pursuers, who trailed them to their covert, surrounded it, and poured in a flight of arrows. One was left for dead, stretched upon the ground, and the other two were seized and carried into captivity. The fun became very exciting, so much so that the corpse, ignoring the proprieties, raised itself up to see how the battle sped. In such sports, in such constant exercise, swimming, riding, running up and down the steepest and most slippery mountains, the Apache passes his boyish years. No wonder his bones are of iron, his sinews of wire, his muscles of India-rubber. On May 27, 1883, the Chiricahuas had finished roasting enough mescal to last them to the San Carlos. One of the Apache scouts came running in very much excited. He told his story to the effect that, while hunting some distance to the north, he had discovered a large body of Mexican soldiers; they were driving back the band of cattle run off by “Hieronymo,” and previously referred to. The scout tried to communicate with the Mexicans, who imagined him to be a hostile Indian, and fired three shots at him. Lieutenant Forsyth, Al. Zeiber, and a small detachment of white and Indian soldiers started out to overtake the Mexicans. This they were unable to do, although they went some fifteen miles.