Low Twelve

LOW TWELVE VI

Lieutenant Smith had become much disturbed over my absence, and it was a vast relief to him when I walked into camp with my companion, whom I introduced with a statement of the business upon which he had come.

It was the first intimation that our commander had of the presence of a white man with Geronimo's band. His astonishment was great, but he was too much of a gentleman to express his feelings in the presence of the visitor. Being dressed like an Apache, it was easy to take Jennings for one, so long as he kept at a distance.

Most of the troopers and several of the scouts gathered round us three and listened with intense interest to our words. The racking headache which had tormented me was almost entirely gone, and naturally I was in high spirits over the situation.

"It is the first time that we have exchanged prisoners with Geronimo," said the lieutenant, "but I shall be glad to keep up the custom, including other usages of honorable warfare."

"Thank you; nothing would please me more. You must make some allowance for uncivilized men who are pressed desperately hard. We have been a long time on our way here, and I shall be glad to accompany your prisoner back to our camp."

"And he will be equally glad, no doubt, to go with you; yonder he lies, apparently asleep, on that blanket, which I placed at his disposal."

It will be remembered that no fire was in the camp, a part of which was in shadow, though by this time the moon was high in the sky, and when not hidden by clouds, a flood of light bathed the earth. A few paces beyond where we stood a dark, silent form was lying, as if the man felt no interest in what was going on around him.

Jennings walked over to him, stooped and touched his shoulder, saying something in Apache. There was no reply, and he bent lower. A moment followed and then he straightened up.

"Chief Martaña is dead!" he said with more excitement in his voice than I had ever heard.

"It can't be!" exclaimed Smith, as he and I hurried to his side.

None the less, it was true. The poor fellow, stretched on the blanket, had quietly breathed out his life unnoticed by those around him. His body was still warm, and he had been dead but a short time.

"I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Mr. Jennings," said the lieutenant, who sincerely regretted the unfortunate occurrence.

"So am I," responded Jennings, "and yet no one is blamable for it. The most that can be said is that fate has given you the advantage."

The peculiar delicacy of the situation must have struck all three of us at the same moment. I had been sent into camp in exchange for Martaña, who was no longer among the living. Geronimo had performed his part of the bargain, originally proposed by him. It was out of our power to fulfill our part. What did honor require of me?

At first blush it would seem that I should go back to the Apache camp with my conductor, thus restoring the situation to what it was at first.

But did equity demand the sacrifice? Were we dealing with a civilized enemy, there could be only one answer; but if I voluntarily placed myself in the power of the merciless Apaches, it would be suicide on my part. Not an instant's mercy would be shown me.

Lieutenant Smith was the first to speak.

"I repeat, Mr. Jennings, that I am extremely sorry for this. You will report my words to Geronimo, and assure him that if at any time in the future one of his chiefs or warriors falls into our hands, he shall be immediately returned to him. That is the most I can say, for in no circumstances will. I permit Lieutenant Chichester to go back to your camp."

"And I may add that if you gave such permission, I should refuse to take him with me to certain death."

"And if you will allow a word from me, no permission of the lieutenant nor wish of Mr. Jennings would induce me to walk into the lion's den again. So that phase of the question is closed. That which now concerns me, Mr. Jennings, is how this is going to affect you."

"What do you mean?" asked my friend.

"Will Geronimo accept your explanation? Will he not believe that we are retaining Martaña alive, or, if he is dead, that he was slain by us after capture?"

"I will attend to that," replied Jennings with a shrug of his massive shoulders. "Gentlemen, I bid you good-evening."

And without another word he walked from the camp, while we gazed silently after him, hardly able for the moment to take in the whole situation. He must incur some risk from our scouts, some of whom were still out, and could not know of what had occurred, but he felt equal to the task, and I may as well say that he rejoined Geronimo without harm from our side.

As soon as I could get the opportunity I told Lieutenant Smith what I had learned from Jennings concerning Vikka and Pedro. He was amazed "To think that neither of us suspected Pedro, but distrusted the faithful Vikka. Our only consolation is that he need never know of the shameful injustice we did him. Well, Pedro has met a deserved fate at the hands of our most loyal scout."

"I did not see Vikka among those in camp."

"He is out somewhere on duty. Lieutenant, while you have been fortunate in thus coming back, the Apaches have gained another important advantage over us."

"I do not understand."

"The singular situation that developed has checked our pursuit for a considerable interval. The hostiles have improved the chance and are making off in all haste."

"But they expected the wounded Martaña to join them."

"Two or three warriors have stayed behind to receive him, intending when he came up to place him on a horse and hurry after the main band. It is near morning, and we must lose no more time."

Even while he spoke a faint lighting up of the eastern sky showed. Soon the sun would touch the horizon and another hard day's work was before us.

"I should be glad to give Martaña a soldier's burial," said the officer, "but the best we can do is to treat him as we treat those scouts of ours who fall at the post of duty."

So the blanket was carefully gathered around the bronzed form as it lay flat on the earth, and thus it was left.

"Some of their scouts will probably visit our camp after we leave; if they have any doubt of the truth, they will be convinced by an examination of the body, unless," grimly added the officer, "they don't want to be convinced."

Before we started Vikka and Jim came in, bringing the message that we anticipated. The main body of hostiles were well through the mountain spur and in the rough region beyond, pushing with all haste southward. It would take the hardest kind of riding to overtake them before nightfall. But we were determined to do it. Horses and men were refreshed from their rest and food, and we ought to cover a good many miles before the intolerable splendor of the summer day burst upon us.

At the moment of starting Smith said:

"Lieutenant, I don't feel easy about that friend of yours. He is going to have a hard time to square matters with Geronimo. Do you think you can make your way back to the place where you left the Apaches?"

"I think so, but it will be better if I take one of our scouts with me."

"Choose your man."

"He is Vikka. I will tell him everything, excepting that either you or I ever distrusted him."

We left our ponies with - the main body, who were to be guided over a trail well known to our scouts, while the veteran and myself made our way by foot to the ravine down which I had been conducted some time before as a captive, to whom all prospect of escape was closed. Before we reached the most dangerous part of our venture I compelled my companion to answer several questions. He had told me we were likely to come upon the Apaches who were waiting to receive Martaña, though they would not stay long after learning the truth.

I began by telling Vikka that I witnessed the meeting between him and Geronimo, being less than a dozen yards away from them during the interview. The fellow was astonished and could hardly believe it. I described the movement of each and told how he dropped his blanket from his face after the departure of the chief and when the scout had turned his back upon him. "That so - that so," he replied with a grin. We had stopped for the exchange of a few words, for the situation gave us the opportunity. With a smile that disclosed his gleaming white teeth, he asked:

"Why me put blanket over face?"

"You did that to prevent Geronimo seeing who you were."

"Me fool him - me what you say, 'shet up his eye.'"

"No, you didn't; he may not have known you by name, but he soon found out that you were not the fellow he was expecting."

"He call me 'Pedro' - he think me Pedro."

"He did so at first, but it took him only a minute to learn the truth."

"How you know dat?"

"That man who brought me into camp told me. Geronimo let you think you had fooled him, but you didn't. You told him our men were miles away."

"Yes, me tole him dat."

"But didn't you see from what' followed that he didn't believe you? He knew you were not telling the truth and he broke camp in a hurry."

"Dat so," said my friend, as if communing with himself; "me think Pedro tole him, but dat could not be."

"Why not?"

"He did not get chance," was the significant response.

With no doubt as to how Pedro had been removed hence, I did not press the question that naturally rose in my mind.

When I had no thought of anything of the kind, the stiletto thrust came. Vikka gave an odd chuckle, and with a queer turn of his head said:

"You think me act like Pedro; Leften Smith, he think so - think so some time."

I was frightfully embarrassed, but got out of it better that I deserved.

"Can't you imagine how I felt when I saw you talking to Geronimo, where you didn't believe any one else could know it? I did feel bad, Vikka."

"Leften' Smith - he not see me."

"But I told him about it."

"He think so afore - you think so afore, eh?"

"Well, we shall never doubt you again; even if I see you with your arm about the neck of Geronimo and your lips against his check, I shall know it is not you, but somebody else."

This brilliant witticism was satisfactory. Vikka might well claim he had the laugh on us, and I did not grudge him his triumph. We resumed our advance up the ravine, and, at his suggestion, I dropped behind until he could go forward and reconnoiter. It might be that some of our enemies were near, and it was impossible to be too careful.

The scout had not been absent from my sight ten minutes when I heard his guarded signal. It was a call for me to join him, and I did so. As I turned the bend in the gorge he was standing upright on the spot where I had left the dozen hostiles when Brother Jennings started for our camp with me in charge.

Even before I reached him I saw the form at his feet. It was a night of tragedy, and in the dim morning light we had come upon another victim of atrocity. I identified the body as that of Jared J. Jennings.

He was lying on his side, as if in a calm slumber, but it was the slumber which shall know no waking until the sounding of the last trump.

Vikka had read the whole sad story. So had I, and needed no enlightenment from him. The man had returned to Geronimo without the sub-chief whom he was to bring back in exchange for me, and without me also. When an explanation was demanded, he told the truth. Martaña was dead, a fact which was not discovered until I was among my own people. Martaña had died on their hands without any blame on their part. I had refused to return with him, and the visitor could not compel me to do so. Lieutenant Smith had sent the pledge that if at any time one of Geronimo's warriors fell into the hands of the white men, he should be returned safely to the band. Thus the exchange would be effected sooner or later, and the bargain carried out in spirit and letter.

Within the same minute that Jennings, or El-tin-wa, delivered this message, he died, stricken down by the hand of Geronimo himself. In his flaming rage, the remorseless chieftain believed that the white man had betrayed him for the purpose of befriending a stranger of his own race.

How did I learn these particulars? The main fact was self-evident when I looked down on what was left of the poor fellow who had really given his life for me. Nearly twenty years later, when Geronimo was an old man and a prisoner, I questioned him. He surlily refused to tell me anything, but I secured the help of Vikka, who was able to draw out the venerable scamp, and piecemeal he told the truth of one of the many atrocious crimes of which he had been guilty, though you will find no mention of it (nor of many others) in his biography lately published.

There was nothing that I could do for Brother Jennings. He lay as he had fallen, and, though his blood had dyed the ground, one arm was bent under the side of his head, as if he had lain down to peaceful slumber. Neither Vikka nor I had our blanket with us, or we should have wrapped him up in it; but we drew him to one side of the canon, carefully composed his stiffening limbs, and left him there.

As I looked down in that pale countenance, which I had first seen in such different circumstances, I murmured:

"It is little that I know of you except that you gave your life for me, and greater than that no man can give. Would that it had been mine to thank you. Whatever fault you may have had, or whatever ill you may have done - and who of us has not gone astray? - surely it has been atoned for by this. Requiescat in pace."

Regarding this remarkable man, who gave his name as Jared J. Jennings, and who was known among the Indians as El-tin-wa, I have consulted with many and set what investigations I could on foot. The theory which is the most reasonable, in my judgment, is that he went among the Chippewa Indians, as he claimed to have done, when quite young, that he married one of the tribe, and two children were born to the couple. The deaths of these and their mother were due to white men. It was impossible to know the circumstances, but the awful blow shadowed Jennings's life. Who could have had a more appalling grievance? In the hope of overcoming his intolerable resentment, he came East, mingled with his own race, and visited Masonic lodges, as he was entitled to do. Finally his restlessness mastered him. He started suddenly for the Indian country, resolved to do all in his power to punish those who had wrecked his life.

It may have been that he had settled long before with the directly guilty, but if so, it did not suffice him. He forswore his race.

The Chippewas at that time, and indeed for a long time before, were on the best of terms with the whites, and he could not work out his terrible program among them. So he made his way to the Southwest, where the Apaches were continually on the warpath, and cast in his lot with them.
Moreover, the spring of 1885 was not the first time he went thither. He could not have become so familiar with their language and ways in that brief interval. Chato told me he had seen him with his people two years before his death, though Geronimo, when questioned, would never give any satisfactory reply.

I must not forget one peculiar fact which involved the career of Jennings in still deeper mystery. It will be recalled that he said he was born in the city where I first sat in a lodge with him, that a sister had only recently died, and that his father had lived there for a good many years. An investigation, covering many months, failed to discover any traces of his relatives. That in one respect he told the truth I am convinced, but he deemed it best to hide his identity under an impenetrable veil by using a fictitious name for himself. At any rate, he is entitled to my grateful remembrance, and such he shall always have.

I need not pursue the subsequent history of that last campaign against Geronimo. No man who has not passed through a similar experience can comprehend the sufferings of those terrifying four months. The trail of the Apaches crossed and re-crossed again and again, and led through mountains so wild that until then they had been deemed inaccessible to white men at least. With our forces strengthened, we kept at it. Scout Eduardy in one week rode a single horse five hundred miles, and the distance which we traversed was equal to that between New York and San Francisco. The raiding and massacring covered a region four times as large as the State of Massachusetts, and during the campaign three thousand soldiers were engaged on our side of the line and almost as many Mexicans south of the Rio Grande, who were as resolute as we to run the human wolves to earth.

Through a temperature like that of the infernal regions, General Miles pressed his task. The heliograph flashed orders from one mountain peak to another, and General Lawton gave the hostiles no rest. Finally, worn out and exhausted, they halted near the town of Fronteras, in the Sierra Madre. There, while Geronimo was trying to make a treaty with the Mexicans which would allow him to raid American territory, he was visited by Lieutenant Charles B. Gatewood, of the Sixth Cavalry, who spoke Apache and knew the desperate leaded. In making this visit, that officer took his life in his hands, but by his tact he convinced Geronimo that only one course was open to him. He took that course and surrendered.

So long as he was anywhere in the Southwest, however, none of the ranchmen felt safe. Consequently he was removed eastward, far beyond the scene of his fearful crimes, and has been held there ever since. The last time I saw Geronimo was at the inauguration of President Roosevelt, on March 4, 1905. The old man, past four-score, with the tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks, begged the President to allow him to return to his former home, for he must soon die. The President told him he had been so bad that he must wait a while longer, hinting at the same time that he was afraid that if Geronimo showed himself in some portions of the Southwest he would be killed by the incensed settlers, who could never forget his wicked deeds, and who would distrust him, even though he had passed far beyond the allotted age of man.