“My father, mother, brothers, sisters, all killed,” lamented Maria, weeping. “Alas! All killed, by Apaches.” “We run off, pretty soon?” proposed Jimmie. “No!” opposed Maria, in much alarm. “Must stay. Be Apaches. They not let us run off. Big country. Get lost and die. Get caught and be killed.” But Jimmie had made up his mind that he was not going to be an Apache; he would escape if he could. Or maybe he would be rescued. However, here came the captain chief, and the bell-wether Apache boy, and the strange red-headed boy with the one blue eye. “Ugashé!” roughly ordered the captain chief, of Maria. Poor Maria obediently arose and shuffled away. The captain spoke to Jimmie, and smiled. He, also was a fine-looking Apache: almost six feet tall and straight and sinewy, with square face and thin, determined lips, and those extraordinary sharp eyes. Jimmie stood up. “Chi-kis-n,” said the captain, and nodded aside at the bell-wether boy. “Chi-kis-n” was Apache for “my brother.” The Apache boy grinned and held out his hand. “Chi-kis-n,” he greeted. The red-headed, one-eyed boy explained in Spanish. “Your name Boy-who-falls-asleep, his name Nah-che. But you must call him chi-kis-n――my brother.” “Muchos gratias (Many thanks),” answered Jimmie, shaking hands with Nah-che. Nah-che was a stocky, round-faced boy, and Jimmie liked him in spite of that trick with the sheep bell. “The chief’s name is Go-yath-lay,” continued the red-headed boy. “He is war-captain of the Chiricahua. Nah-che is son of Cochise, head chief.” The war captain, who had been listening intently, trying to understand the words, nodded, and spoke again in Apache. “Your chi-kis-n will show you,” translated the red-headed boy, who knew Spanish and Apache both. “Aqui (Here),” bade Nah-che: and Jimmie followed him to one of those regulation Apache jacals――a low round-topped hut made from willow branches stuck in a circle and bent over to fasten together, with pieces of deer hide and cow hide laid to cover the framework of the sides, and flat bundles of brush to thatch the roof. The jacals resembled dirty white bowls bottom-up. Each had a little opening, as a door to be entered only by stooping half double. Before the hut an Apache woman in a loose cotton waist worn outside a draggled calico skirt was busy cooking. She stirred the contents of an iron kettle, set upon a bed of coals in a small shallow pit. She threw back her long, coarse black hair and scanned Jimmie curiously while Nah-che spoke a few words to her. Then repeating the title “chi-kis-n” Nah-che strolled away. The woman smiled broadly at Jimmie, took him by the arm, and talking to him led him inside the hut. The earth had been dug out, there, so that they might stand, in the middle, and not strike their heads on the ceiling. The woman made Jimmie remove his trousers and shoes; and leaving him his ragged shirt tossed to him a pair of old moccasins.