Pretty soon they had plunged into the brush and scrub-oak chaparral almost at the bottom of the precipice; they had got away. Jimmie drew a long breath. In the excitement he had forgotten all about himself. Now he came to, and discovered that he was standing out here, alone, on a curve of the basin rim; and that the soldiers, the nearest only a few paces away, holding their smoking carbines were surveying him keenly. Some had begun to steal around, to head him off. Naturally they took him for an Apache. The canvas suit man had seen as quickly as any of the soldiers. “No cuidado, muchacho! Ven’ aqui! (Don’t be afraid, boy! Come here!),” he called, in Spanish, to Jimmie. And added, in English, to the soldiers: “Bring that boy in.” Jimmie did not wait to be brought in. He raised his hand in the “peace sign,” and ran forward, crying: “I’m not Apache. I’m American. I’m Jimmie Dunn, Lieutenant Bourke! Hello, Tom Moore! Don’t you know me?” V JIMMIE REPORTS FOR DUTY “Well, for goodness’ sake!” Bronzed Lieutenant Bourke stared: runty Packer Tom Moore gaped amidst his wrinkles; everybody stood stock-still, amazed. Jimmie’s shrill announcement, as he ran in, created a sensation. Now Lieutenant Bourke hastened to him; so did Tom Moore; so did Lieutenant Ross: all the officers and men within hearing pressed around him. “By gracious, boy, we thought you were a bleached-out Tonto!” exclaimed Tom. “What are you doing here?” demanded Lieutenant Bourke. “Pete Kitchen said the Chiricahuas had you.” “They did,” answered Jimmie, so glad to speak English again. He found the words a little stiff on his tongue, but he had not forgotten. “I ran away.” “Those were Tontos, weren’t they? How came you among the Tontos?” “I wasn’t among ’em. They didn’t have me.” “Are you here alone?” Huh! Jimmie looked around an instant; he was so happy that he was a-tremble. He did not sight Micky; the soldiers were covering the very spot where he and Micky had been hiding, but Micky was not with them. He had mysteriously vanished. Jimmie had promised not to betray him, and must keep his word. “Yes, sir.” So far as he knew now, that was true. “How long have you been traveling?” “Nearly a week, I guess.” “Well if that ain’t the limit!” exploded weazened Tom Moore. “You’d better report to the general, Jimmie,” bade Lieutenant Bourke kindly. “General George Crook――that man in the canvas suit. He’s our department commander now, so don’t omit to salute him. Come along.” Scanned by curious eyes, Jimmie followed First Lieutenant John Bourke to where the man in the canvas suit was standing expectant, his shot-gun at an order. The lieutenant saluted, and Jimmie saluted. That was regulations.