pache_ (cut in big chunks),
while he talked freely and cheerfully. When we left he gave us a
pressing invitation to visit him again.

In a few days the old chief came to see me and asked about "my father."
I said "you mean the old gentleman from Kansas City--he has returned to
his home." "He is you father?" said Geronimo. "No," I said, "my father
died twenty-five years ago, Dr. Greenwood is only my friend." After a
moment's silence the old Indian spoke again, this time in a tone of
voice intended to carry conviction, or at least to allow no further
discussion. "Your natural father is dead, this man has been your friend
and adviser from youth. By adoption _he is your father_. Tell him he is
welcome to come to my home at any time." It was of no use to explain any
more, for the old man had determined not to understand my relation to
Dr. Greenwood except in accordance with Indian customs, and I let the
matter drop.

In the latter part of that summer I asked the old chief to allow me to
publish some of the things he had told me, but he objected, saying,
however, that if I would pay him, and if the officers in charge did not
object, he would tell me the whole story of his life. I immediately
called at the fort (Fort Sill) and asked the officer in charge,
Lieutenant Purington, for permission to write the life of Geronimo. I
was promptly informed that the privilege would not be granted.
Lieutenant Purington explained to me the many depredations committed by
Geronimo and his warriors, and the enormous cost of subduing the
Apaches, adding that the old Apache deserved to be hanged rather than
spoiled by so much attention from civilians. A suggestion from me that
our government had paid many soldiers and officers to go to Arizona and
kill Geronimo and the Apaches, and that they did not seem to know how to
do it, did not prove very gratifying to the pride of the regular army
officer, and I decided to seek elsewhere for permission. Accordingly I
wrote to President Roosevelt that here was an old Indian who had been
held a prisoner of war for twenty years and had never been given a
chance to tell his side of the story, and asked that Geronimo be granted
permission to tell for publication, in his own way, the story of his
life, and that he be guaranteed that the publication of his story would
not affect unfavorably the Apache prisoners of war. By return mail I
received word that the authority had been granted. In a few days I
received