n the Apache an' the paleface to the no'th'ard of that line.
Then the Grey Fox an' Cochise shakes hands an' says "How!" an' Cochise,
with a bolt or two of red calico wherewith to embellish his squaws,
goes squanderin' back to his people, permeated to the toes with
friendly intentions.

"'Sech is Cochise's reverence for his word, coupled with his fear of
the Grey Fox, that years float by an' every deefile an' canyon of the
Southwest is as safe as the aisles of a church to the moccasins of the
paleface. Thus it continyoos ontil thar comes a evenin' when a jimcrow
marshal, with more six-shooters than hoss sense, allows he'll apprehend
Cochise's brother a whole lot for some offense that ain't most likely
deuce high in the category of troo crime. This ediot offishul reaches
for the relative of Cochise; an' as the latter--bein' a savage an'
tharfore plumb afraid of captivity--leaps back'ard like he's met up
with a rattlesnake, the marshal puts his gun on him an' plugs him so
good that he cashes in right thar. The marshal says later in
explanation of his game that Cochise's brother turns hostile an' drops
his hand on his knife. Most likely he does; a gent's hands--even a
Apache's--has done got to be some'ers.

"'But the killin' overturns the peaceful programmes built up between
the Grey Fox an' Cochise. When the old chief hears of his brother
bein' downed, he paints himse'f black an' red an' sends a bundle of
arrows tied with a rattlesnake skin to the Grey Fox with a message to
count his people an' look out for himse'f. The Grey Fox, who realises
that the day of peace has ended an' the sun gone down to rise on a
mornin' of trouble, fills the rattlesnake skin with cartridges an'
sends 'em back with a word to Cochise to turn himse'f loose. From that
moment the war-jig which is to last for years is on. After Cochise
comes Geronimo, an' after Geronimo comes Nana; an' one an' all, they
adds a heap of spice to life in Arizona. It's no exaggeration to put
the number of palefaces who lose their ha'r as the direct result of
that fool marshal layin' for Cochise's brother an' that Injun's
consequent cuttin' off, at a round ten thousand. Shore! thar's scores
an' scores who's been stood up an' killed in the hills whereof we never
gets a whisper. I, myse'f, in goin' through the teepees of a Apache
outfit, after we done wipes 'em off the footstool, sees the long ha'r
of seven white women who couldn't have been no time dead.

"'