As the renegades broke camp and moved slowly in the direction of Crawford’s outfit a swart Mexican cavalryman, concealed behind the summit of a low hill, watched them, and as he watched a grim smile of satisfaction played for an instant about the corners of his eyes. Ten minutes later he was reporting to Captain Santa Anna Perez. “They shall not escape me this time,” said Perez, as he gave the command to resume the march in pursuit of the illusive enemy. A short distance from Crawford’s camp Geronimo halted his band and sent Shoz-Dijiji ahead to arrange a meeting between Geronimo and Crawford for the purpose of ratifying the understanding that Shoz-Dijiji and the officer had arrived at earlier in the day. With a white rag fastened to the muzzle of his rifle the Black Bear approached the camp of the scouts and, following the instructions of Crawford to his men, was permitted to enter. Every man of Crawford’s command Shoz-Dijiji knew personally. With many of them he had played as a boy; and with most of them he had gone upon the war trail, fighting shoulder to shoulder with them against both Mexicans and pindah-lickoyee; but today he passed among them with his head high, as one might pass among strangers and enemies. Crawford, waiting to receive him, could not but admire the silent contempt of the tall young war chief for those of his own race whom he must consider nothing short of traitors; and in his heart the courageous cavalry officer found respect and understanding for this other courageous soldier of an alien race. “I am glad that you have come, Shoz-Dijiji,” he said. “You bring word from Geronimo? He will go with me to General Crook?” “Geronimo wishes to come and make talk with you,” replied the Black Bear. “He wishes his own ears to hear the words you spoke to Shoz-Dijiji this morning.” “Good!” said Crawford. “Let Geronimo—” His words were cut short by a fusilade of shots from the direction of the renegades’ position. Crawford snatched his pistol from its holster and covered Shoz-Dijiji. “So that is the word Geronimo sends?” he exclaimed. “Treachery!” The Apache wheeled about and looked in the direction of his people. The scouts were hastily preparing to meet an attack. Every eye was on the renegades—in every mind was the same thought that Crawford had voiced—treachery! Shoz-Dijiji pointed. “No!” he cried. “Look! It is not the warriors of Geronimo. Their backs are toward us. They are firing in the other direction. They are being attacked from the south. There! See! Mexican soldiers!” The renegades, firing as they came, were falling back upon the scouts’ camp; and, following them, there now came into full view a company of Mexican regulars. “For God’s sake, stop firing!” cried Crawford. “These are United States troops.”