Part 9 (1/2)

They forgot all about the trooper who, after the Apaches left, made his way to his companions at the stagehouse and lived to tell the tale.

CHAPTER NINE

_A Wounded Chief_

The sorrowful warriors gathered around their wounded chief. Grieving because he was hurt, they were also worried. While Mangus Coloradus led them, even though they might suffer temporary defeats, in the end they always triumphed. What now?

Nadeze said, ”We need a medicine man.”

”I am a medicine man,” Geronimo said.

Geronimo told the truth. Following the ma.s.sacre of Kas-Kai-Ya, he had taken the training which he needed in order to become an Apache medicine man. This he had done in the hope that he might discover some powerful medicine which would make sure the defeat of the _rurales_ responsible for the ma.s.sacre. But even though he had learned all the rituals that an Apache medicine man must know, he was far too intelligent to have much faith in them. But others believed in them.

He said again, ”I am a medicine man.”

”True,” Nadeze agreed. ”I had forgotten.”

Opening his pouch of _hoddentin_, or sacred pollen, Geronimo rubbed a bit on Mangus Coloradus' forehead. Then he made a cross of _hoddentin_ on the chief's breast. He sprinkled a thin line of the sacred pollen all around the Mimbreno leader and put a touch on the forehead of every warrior who stood near. Finally, he applied a pinch to his own forehead and took a bit in his mouth.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

And even as he finished, he knew that _hoddentin_ was not enough.

Geronimo was not so blinded by the ways of the Apaches that he was unable to see for himself that other people had better ways. Often he had seen _rurales_ so badly wounded that he thought they could never fight again. Yet, in a later skirmish, he had fought the same _rurales_, and apparently they were as whole as before.

With the rest of the nearby Mimbreno braves too stricken to do anything, and no sub-chief near, Geronimo took charge.

He said, ”Make a litter.”

”Where do we go with my father?” asked Mangas, son of Mangus Coloradus.

”To the Mexican medicine man at Janos,” Geronimo said.

Mangas said, ”The Mexicans are enemies.”

”That I know,” Geronimo grunted.

He paid no more attention to Mangas. Though a brave warrior, the son of Mangus Coloradus lacked the qualities that made his father great. When he was forced to make an important decision, Mangas was never able to decide on the wise course and always trembled between the two.

Geronimo was not a chief, but the other warriors obeyed him now because he acted like one. Some went to fas.h.i.+on a litter of deer skins or deer-skin jackets stretched between cottonwood poles. Some went to rally the rest of the Mimbreno warriors. As word reached the followers of Mangus Coloradus they gathered around their stricken chief.

Mangas said, ”If all of us depart, the Chiricahuas alone must battle the white soldiers.”

”Let them,” Geronimo grunted sourly.

He could not know that the Chiricahuas were to fight again, and to be defeated again, the next day. Had the Mimbrenos stayed to help, the soldiers might have been defeated. Then, at least until the Civil War ended and more soldiers came, the combined Apache forces probably would have retaken all their homeland.

But almost none of the Mimbreno warriors had any thought for anything save the badly wounded Mangus Coloradus. Under his leaders.h.i.+p, they had become a very powerful tribe. If they were robbed of his wisdom, who knew what might happen?