“I didn’t come in here to fight them,” smiled the general. “I came in to make peace. But those who won’t make peace and keep it, I’ll fight very hard――they may depend on that also. I promised the White Mountain Apaches that I’d protect the good Indians and punish the bad ones; and the only way to control Indians is to do exactly what you promise to do. Now we’ll all have to wait until Mr. Colyer of the Peace Commission has tried. He’ll give them an opportunity to gather upon reservations and learn to support themselves without murdering and stealing. A great deal of the fighting between the Indians and the whites has been unnecessary, because there are white men who don’t believe in good Indians. You go to your friends at Camp Grant. Learn all you can about pack-mules and soldier duties, too, and don’t forget Apache. I haven’t any doubt that some day you can help the Government very much.” When at last Jimmie was delivered at Camp Grant, and set out for Joe Felmer’s little ranch, above, to surprise Joe, he met him coming in, mule back. As a result, Joe opened his whiskered mouth widely, and almost fell off his mule: for here was Jimmie Dunn, who had been captured by the Apaches in mid-summer of 1870, and now it was the close of August, 1871. “Hello, black-beard white man,” greeted Jimmie, in his best Apache. VI THE PEACE COMMISSION TRIES “Wall, ’xpec’ you want to hear all the news yourself,” proposed “Uncle” Joe, that evening, at the ranch, after Jimmie had told his own story in every detail. “Yes, if you please,” answered Jimmie. “Wall,” mused Joe Felmer, stroking his shaggy full beard, “lemme see. ‘Six-toed’ Hutton’s been kicked in the jaw by a mule, an’ he’s like to go under. The kick busted his heart, same time it busted his jaw, ’cause he ought to’ve known better than to get in the way.” “Six-toed” Hutton’s real name was Oscar Hutton. He had six toes on either foot, and was one of the bravest scouts at Camp Grant. To be killed by a mule kick did indeed seem an untimely end for a scout. “’Paches have been awful bad all ’long the line,” continued Joe. “Chiricahuas an’ Tontos an’ Pinals been raidin’ the stage road out o’ Tucson, both ways. Forty-seven whites an’ Mexicans have been killed down thar’bouts, an’ ten thousand dollars’ wuth o’ property burned or stolen. Up ’round Prescott the Hualpais an’ Apache-Mohaves have corraled the mail rider an’ run ranchers an’ miners off. An’ a passel o’ blamed rascals lit out with an old mule from my very pasture――three of ’em at once on her back, in broad day!” The recollection of this evidently made “Uncle” Joe very angry again. He paused to mumble.