Uncle Jim shook his head.
"Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe." We agreed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle Jim with a fresh batch of soda biscuits.
The old man was one of the typical "long hairs." He had come to the Galiuro Mountains in '69, and since '69 he had remained in the Galiuro Mountains, spite of man or the devil.

At present he possessed some hundreds of cattle, which he was reputed to water, in a dry season, from an ordinary dishpan.

In times past he had prospected.
That evening, the severe Trailer having dropped to slumber, he held forth on big-game hunting and dogs, quartz claims and Apaches.
"Did you ever have any very close calls ?" I asked.
He ruminated a few moments, refilled his pipe with some awful tobacco, and told the following experience: In the time of Geronimo I was living just about where I do now; and that was just about in line with the raiding.

You see, Geronimo, and Ju [1], and old Loco used to pile out of the reservation at Camp Apache, raid south to the line, slip over into Mexico when the soldiers got too promiscuous, and raid there until they got ready to come back.
Then there was always a big medicine talk.

Says Geronimo: "I am tired of the warpath.