"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 fashion 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 leadership, they had
become a very powerful tribe. If they were robbed of his wisdom, who
knew what might happen?
Stockily built Victorio, a cold-eyed, ferocious Mimbreno sub-chief, had
hurried to Mangus Coloradus as soon as he heard of his wound. Now he
said:
"I will help carry our leader. Guide us, Geronimo."
He picked up one end of the litter. Mangas took the other. Geronimo led
the way through the darkness. He dropped pinches of _hoddentin_ as he
walked, for this was supposed to make the wounded Mangus Coloradus' path
much easier. But the seventy-year-old chief was unable to speak above a
whisper during the long and difficult journey.
Stopping only to hunt food and for snatches of sleep, the Mimbrenos
carried him over mountains and across deserts. At last they were in
Mexico, before the gates of the walled town of Janos.
The _rurales_ of the town came out to meet them. Though they were armed
and in considerable force, the _rurales_ were afraid. The Mimbreno
braves were in full strength. They also were fully armed, and with no
women and children to hamper them.
Murmuring prayers, the _rurales_ made ready to defend themselves and the
townspeople. But Geronimo stepped up to their captain.
"We come in peace," he said. "Our chief is wounded, and we bring him to
your medicine man."
A sweat of fear bathed the captain's face, but a gasp of relief escaped
his lips. There was hope. This was no war party.
The captain dismounted, gave his horse's reins to a private, and
walked beside Geronimo and the two men carrying Mangus Coloradus'
litter. Men, women, and children shrank against houses or scurried away
as the procession made its way to the doctor's house.
[Illustration: _The Mimbrenos carried him over mountains and across
deserts_]
"They come in peace. Their chief is wounded and they wish only to bring
him to our doctor," the captain explained to whoever remained near
enough to hear.
Those who heard passed the word to others. Then all the people of Janos
hurried to the church. Often they had wished that Mangus Coloradus might
die. Now they prayed for his life, for they feared that, if he died, the
angered Apaches would kill everybody in Janos.
When they reached the doctor's house, Mangas and Victorio carried Mangus
Coloradus in. Most of the warriors took up positions outside the house
so that no one might come near. The captain of the _rurales_ and
Geronimo entered with the litter bearers.
Geronimo addressed the doctor.
"Make him well."
The doctor was a slender man, not young enough so that his hair was all
dark but not old enough so that it was all white. The hard life he had
led in Janos had taught him to fear nothing. Stepping close to the
litter, he looked at the wounded chief.
"Put him on the table," he said.
Mangas and Victorio lifted Mangus Coloradus to a rude wooden table and
stepped back against the wall. Geronimo watched Mangus Coloradus
steadily.
There had been times during the long march when the Mimbreno chief's
wound had caused him to sleep, and times when his mind had wandered. But
he was awake now and he knew what was taking place. He was ready to meet
this as he had always met everything else. Whatever came, his eyes would
be toward it, and his heart would be strong.
Though outwardly the Apaches showed nothing of what they thought or
felt, inwardly they were taut as stretched buckskin. The captain of the
_rurales_, hoping Mangus Coloradus would live and fearing the
consequences if he died, was staring, gasping, and sweating. The doctor
and the Mimbreno chief were the only calm people in the room.
The doctor examined the wound, shook his head doubtfully, and the
captain of the _rurales_ cried aloud. The doctor looked sternly at him
and said:
"Captain Ruiz, if you cannot control yourself, be good enough to leave."
"I'll stay, and I'll be quiet," Captain Ruiz promised.
With a delicate, but firm and sure touch, the doctor slipped a probe
into the bullet wound. Mangus Coloradus did not cry out, but pain
brought a bath of sweat to his forehead.
Mangas stepped angrily forward. Geronimo reached out a hand to stop him.
The doctor again shook his head doubtfully, and Captain Ruiz clapped a
hand over his mouth to stifle another cry.
Again the probe went in, gently but surely.
Two hours after the chief had been laid on the table, the doctor took
the bullet from Mangus Coloradus. He applied a compress of soothing
herbs and held them in place with a bandage. Then he turned to Geronimo,
Victorio, Mangas, and Captain Ruiz.
"He'll live," he said.
Thus the Mimbreno Apaches came to Janos and left without harming a
single person.