Jimmie had been with the Cochise Chiricahuas about a year, as he reckoned, because winter (and not a cold winter) had passed, and the yuccas, or Spanish-bayonet cactuses, and the mescal, or century plant cactuses, were again in bloom with their tall, stately plumes of white, which indicated May. All this time nobody had come looking for him, and he did not know what was going on outside――at Pete Kitchen’s or at Tucson or at Camp Grant or at Joe Felmer’s, or anywhere. All the news was Apache news; gossip about hunting and raids, and cowardly Mexicans and stupid Americans. Camps had been changed frequently, for the Chiricahuas did not remain long in any one spot. He had not seen Red-head in several months. According to Nah-che the soldiers were getting more numerous, and were fighting all the Apaches――the Chiricahuas and the Tontos and the Yavapais or Apache-Mohaves and the Mogollons: all who would not settle down at peace like the White Mountains and the Warm Springs. Part of the winter had been spent in Mexico, but just now the camp had been located again amidst the Chiricahua Mountains. Most of the warriors were out on a big raid, under Cochise and Geronimo. They had not taken any of the older boys. By this it looked as though they were going into American country, where they might meet the soldiers. Nah-che admitted as much. He said that report had come of a killing of friendly Apaches at Camp Grant, so it was useless to trust the White-eyes (as the Americans were called); they were the enemies of the Apaches, and Cochise had gone to kill all the Mexicans and Americans that he could find, down there. Jimmie felt anxious. He well knew how cunning and bold the Cochise Chiricahuas were. They had plenty of arms, including guns that they had captured. They were particularly eager to kill a young American war-captain who had been leading soldiers upon their trail. “Was he a new young war-captain?” “No, he was an old young war-captain――a horse chief. He had killed Apaches out of Tucson and Camp Grant both.” As Nah-che would not talk any more about him, Jimmie might only guess. But all the young officers in the First and the Third Cavalry at Camp Grant had been brave. The Cochise and Geronimo party were gone more than half a moon before word arrived from them. Then, one morning, two runners or messengers, Porico (“White Horse”), who was Geronimo’s brother, and Hal-zay, who was a half-brother to Nah-che, appeared. They had traveled hard and were tired, but they brought exciting news. The Chiricahuas had ambushed twenty American soldiers and scouts at the Bear Springs in the Mestinez (Mustang) Mountains only a day’s march east from Tucson; had killed six of them, maybe more, and had driven the rest back clear into Camp Crittenden, southeast of Tucson; would have surrounded and killed them, too, had they not fought so skillfully.