_Alope_
It was spring in the year 1846, five years after Geronimo's first raid.
Ten miles south of the Arizona-Mexico border, Geronimo sat silently on
the summit of a low hill. His knife was on his belt. His muzzle-loading
rifle, powder horn, and bullet pouch were in easy reach. A red blanket
was draped over his body, which was naked except for breech cloth,
moccasins, and the warrior's headband that bound his black hair.
Two young warriors, Zayigo and Pedro Gonzalez, sat beside him. Both were
older than Geronimo. Yet both had chosen to let the seventeen-year-old
warrior lead this raid into Mexico because of his cunning and courage.
Now they were a little uneasy because of their leader's silence. Usually
Geronimo loved to talk, and he was already a leading orator among the
Mimbreno Apaches. When he was least talkative, he was most dangerous.
Finally Zayigo said impatiently:
"We sit beside the youngest Mimbreno Apache ever to become a member of
the Council of Warriors. Yet he sulks like a scolded child. It ill
befits him."
[Illustration]
"Aye," Pedro Gonzalez agreed. "Since leaving the Mimbreno village,
Geronimo, you have smoldered like a fire that is not quite able to
burst into flame. Is it because some warriors spoke against you when
they met to determine whether you might be admitted to the Council?"
"I care not who speaks against me," Geronimo said sourly. "Any who
consider me unworthy of being a Mimbreno warrior I'll fight gladly."
"Those who did not want to admit you to the Council of Warriors never
questioned your bravery or your skill in battle," Zayigo said quickly.
"They said only that you are reckless and headstrong, and that trouble
goes where you do because you never reckon the odds."
"There are some Mimbreno warriors who have the cowardly souls of
Mexicans," Geronimo grunted. "And I do not mean that you are a coward,
Pedro."