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This wonderful youth, the hero with whom we all begin an acquaintance with books, passes unhurt through a thousand perils. Cannibals, Apache Indians, war, battles, shipwrecks, leave him quite unscathed. At the most Ned gets a flesh wound which is healed, in exactly one paragraph, by that wonderful drug called a "simple."

Her hands were tied behind her back, but there were no bonds on her tongue. "This is one who can speak thunders, and shoot lightnings from her mouth," Buck commented in Apache. "Put her well away from the wood, lest she set it aflame." Tsoay held his hands over his ears. "She can deafen a man when she cannot set her mark on him otherwise. Let us speedily get rid of her."

Lieutenant Ray was sent with a detachment of troops and the Indians at Apache Springs were removed and the main body of the settlers, then temporarily located on the Showlow, moved over the ridge into the new valley. In March, 1878, the settlers included Merritt Staley, Oscar Mann, Ebenezer Thayne, David E. Adams, Jos. H. Frisby, Alfred Cluff, Isaac Follett, Orson Cluff and several unmarried men.

The redskins were now down below and the whole thing was put in shape for operations to begin. All that remained was to find their man, and Fred could not tell what the prospects of success were in that direction; but he was almost ready to believe that they were all that the Indians could ask. The sixth Apache, who remained visible, took matters very comfortably.

With an upraised hand he beckoned Travis to the fire again, indicating a pot set on the coals. "Rest ... eat!" he bade abruptly. Night was gathering in. Travis tried to calculate how far Tsoay must have backtracked to the rancheria. He thought that he could have already made the pass and be within a day and a half from the Apache camp if he pushed on, as he would.

He was a very brave leader, and after having wreaked a terrible vengeance for the treachery of American troops to the Apaches, died in peace at the Indian Agency in the Chiricahua Mountains, 1874. The war thus inaugurated by this Apache chieftain lasted fourteen years, and has scarcely any parallel in the horrors of Indian warfare.

"Well," said Erskine, "I'll translate. This paper is dated last Monday, and on page two occurs the following announcement:" "American soldiers, sailors, and marines attend funeral of notorious apache. Jean the Rat, convicted murderer and suicide and denied the offices of the Catholic Church, is buried by stalwart Americans. Department of Foreign Affairs reluctant to file protest at present time.

Although we found it difficult to tell in what direction they had gone, yet it was quite evident that we might, at any time, expect a visit from our Apache friends, and our only course was to be ready when they appeared.

"It has, but you must remember that our own friendship was pretty sudden. It developed in a few minutes of flight from soldiers at the German border." "That is so, but it was soon sealed by great common dangers. Who is your new friend, John?" "A little Apache named Pierre Louis Bougainville, whom I have nicknamed Geronimo, after a famous Indian chief of my country.

There it was an open hostility with more power behind it than Deklay's motiveless disapproval had carried. Travis was troubled. The family, the clan they were important. If he took the wrong step now and was outlawed from that tight fortress, then as an Apache he would indeed be a lost man.