"I speak not of body weariness," Geronimo said. "My spirit is tired."
"I understand," said Naiche. "We have fought for a very long while. We
have been driven from our camps and our cooking fires. Seven times in
fifteen months we lost all our horses and had to steal more. We know not
when we will have to fight many soldiers. The spirits of all of us are
tired, but we dare not surrender."
"We dare not," Geronimo agreed. "Chief Gray Wolf is gone. Captain
Crawford is dead. Lieutenant Gatewood is gone. There is not one white
man among all who pursue us whom we may trust. Almost I wish that I had
gone in with Chief Gray Wolf."
"I too," Naiche murmured.
They halted at daylight in a rockbound little canyon. Horses that had
become both weary and thirsty stood with heads raised and nostrils
flared. They smelled water, for there was a water hole ahead. But the
warriors tied their mounts and waited.
Carrying his Winchester repeating rifle, Geronimo slipped off alone.
With no more fuss than a slinking coyote, he made his way among the
boulders and the scrawny little trees that grew between them.
After a bit Geronimo stopped and cut a number of leafy twigs. He thrust
them into his headband so that, if he held very still, whoever saw him
would think they saw a bush instead. Then he dropped to wriggle forward
on his stomach. Presently he looked down into another canyon.
The water hole was there, and the water was fresh and cold. Green grass
surrounded it. Great cottonwood trees bordered it. But a herd of horses
browsed on the grass, and pack mules stamped at a picket line. There
were packs and tents, and there were more than twenty soldiers whose
only reason for being here was to keep Geronimo away from the water.
Geronimo slipped away as quietly as he had come.
"Soldiers await," he told Naiche when he had returned to his warriors.
"Many soldiers?" Naiche asked.
"Too many for us to fight," Geronimo said.