"So?" Mangus Coloradus said calmly. "What think you, Cochise? What think
you, Whoa? These enemies slew Geronimo's mother. They slew his wife.
They slew his children. Should Geronimo lead the first attack?"
"It is well," Cochise murmured.
"It is just," Whoa agreed.
Geronimo turned to Naiche. "Take fifty warriors and go unseen into that
strip of woods we see from here. Wait until the enemies are past and we
have attacked. Then charge them from the rear."
"I go, brother," Naiche said grimly. "Good hunting."
When the _rurales_ were four hundred yards away they stopped to fire.
Those in front kneeled so that those behind could shoot over their
heads. Keeping his men hidden, Geronimo noticed that every weapon was
discharged.
The _rurales_ fired a second volley from two hundred yards and, as
before, every weapon was emptied. Now, before they could reload, was the
time to take them.
Shotgun in one hand, lance in the other, Geronimo sounded the Apache war
whoop and raced out of the woods toward the enemy. The Mexicans worked
desperately with their guns, but fewer than half reloaded in time. The
remainder drew sabers and awaited the attack.
When only fifty feet separated Geronimo from the Mexicans, he leveled
his shotgun, cocked it, and fired. The weapon spewed its glass beads
forth, and half a dozen Mexicans fell. Flinging the now-useless shotgun
from him, Geronimo leveled his lance and raced on.
He saw Naiche and his warriors swarm out of the woods to attack from the
rear. At the same time he saw the Mexican cavalry charge to the aid of
their hard-pressed comrades.
An officer, saber raised, rode straight at Geronimo, determined to ride
him down. Geronimo sidestepped, thrust with his lance, brought the
officer out of his saddle, and lost his lance in doing so.
[Illustration]
Armed with only a knife, he awaited the next horseman. He dodged beneath
the soldier's saber, caught the arm that wielded it, and pulled the
_rurale_ from his saddle. They rolled in a desperate struggle for the
saber until a stray bullet, ricocheting across the battle-field, buried
itself in the _rurale's_ brain and he went limp.
Geronimo leaped to his feet, grabbed the saber, and went on fighting
with it until he took another lance from a dead Apache.
Before sunset, the battered remnants of the _rurales_ were trembling
behind Arispe's walls. There would be wailing soon in some of the lodges
of the Mimbreno, the Nedni, the Chiricahuas. But for every Mimbreno who
had been slaughtered in the massacre of Kas-Kai-Ya, and for every
warrior who had died before Arispe, two _rurales_ lay dead on the field
of battle.