Of all the murderous chiefs of the Apaches, including in the list such demons as Victorio, Nachez, Chato, Loco, and Juh, perhaps none had given the military authorities more trouble than Geronimo. Certainly none was more warlike, for at the age of sixteen Geronimo had become a chief. From that time his raiding began, his blood-thirsty operations being carried on in Northern Mexico and Southern New Mexico and Arizona. When one side of the border became too hot for him, Geronimo would slip across to the other, repeating and repeating the maneuver until finally run to earth and driven to the place where he belonged. Watching his chances, he would again dig up the hatchet stealthily, evade the vigilance of his guards, “jump” the reservation and continue his old tactics. That hair-raising cry, “The Apaches are up!” was to be expected at any moment, and never failed to inspire panic among the white settlers of the arid lands. Among his lesser accomplishments Geronimo was said to be a past master in the art of manufacturing illegal _tizwin_, a native beverage, of which there is more fight and deviltry in a single glass than in a whole barrel of ordinary fire-water. Not only was he reported adept in _tizwin_ production, but also it was said that he had extensive knowledge of poisonous herbs, and of others with purely narcotic properties--such as those which science calls of the _datura_ family--indigenous to the soil over which he roamed. How much of all this was true and how much false will probably never be known; but that a part, at least, was reliable, the weird disaster which befell the scout and his pards will bear testimony. From the northern outlet of Bonita Cañon Little Cayuse led the way directly westward through a spur of the Chiricahuas. Traveling was rough and difficult, and toward nightfall the scout deemed it essential that they should locate a spring or water-hole and rest their mounts for a few hours. Silver Heels and Navi, despite the vaunts of their owners, had begun to show unmistakable traces of weariness. Cayuse’s service with the army had given him a good knowledge of the topography of that part of the country, and he lead the scout and Dell toward a spring with which he was well acquainted. The spring was in a little valley, hemmed in on all sides by granite bluffs. Before descending into the valley, the scout and his pards made a careful survey of the spring from a safe distance. Water was a precious quantity in those parts, and its presence was quite apt to draw the roving bands of red trouble-makers. Careful scouting failed to reveal the presence of any Apaches, and the three riders picked their way down the valley’s slope and reached the spring. The spring was merely a scant dribble of water from a crevice in one of the bluffs. Under it, however, a basin-shaped rock formed a pool. This reservoir had filled, and there was sufficient water for the horses as well as their riders.