  Lieutenant Gatewood dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to one of the couriers, and shook hands with Geronimo. Geronimo searched the officer's face for some sign of fear. But there was not even a slight nervousness. Lieutenant Gatewood was indeed worthy of his reputation for both courage and gallantry. Geronimo said, "Your face is pale and drawn, as though it has not seen the sun in too many days. Or perhaps you have been ill?" "It is nothing," said Lieutenant Gatewood. "I have merely ridden far and fast so that I may talk with Geronimo." "You did not say, 'My friend, Geronimo,'" Geronimo pointed out. "You are not my friend," Lieutenant Gatewood said calmly. "You are the friend of no white man or Mexican as long as you continue to live like a wild beast, and raid and kill at your pleasure. Except for those who are with you now, even the Apaches have turned against you, for you have given a bad name to Apaches who would live at peace." "It is true that many thirst for my blood," Geronimo said thoughtfully. "It is equally true that you still speak with a straight tongue. Some have called me 'friend,' and when they thought I was no longer suspicious, have tried to betray me. But you say at once that you are not my friend, and that is honest talk. What would you have from me?" Lieutenant Gatewood said, "For myself I want nothing, and as a soldier I may ask nothing. But for General Miles, the great chief in command of the soldiers who are pursuing you, I ask your surrender and the surrender of all your band." Geronimo asked, "And what does General Miles offer in return?" "Imprisonment in Florida for you and your families," Lieutenant Gatewood said. "Is he mad?" Geronimo flared angrily. "His soldiers have pursued me for many months, and we have fought them many times. Many soldiers have died in these fights, but not a single Apache has been killed by white soldiers. Does your General Miles not know that we are capable of carrying on the fight?" "He knows," Lieutenant Gatewood said. "But if you fail to surrender, General Miles has another offer. He will hunt you down and kill every one of you if it takes another fifty years." "Take a message to your General Miles," Geronimo said. "Tell him that we will return to Arizona if we may go back to our homes in the White Mountains, and if we may live there as we did before fleeing into Mexico." "That is childish talk, Geronimo," Lieutenant Gatewood said. "You have had many opportunities to prove that you would live in peace on the reservation. There will not be another chance. General Miles' orders stand. Accept imprisonment in Florida or be killed by soldiers." "We may also kill soldiers," Geronimo reminded him. "That you have proven many times," Lieutenant Gatewood admitted. "But you remember the times of long ago, when for every white man in Arizona there were a hundred Apaches. Now, for every Apache, there are two hundred white men and more to come. You cannot kill all the soldiers." "Nor can they kill us," Geronimo said. "My terms stand. We return to the White Mountains and live as we once lived, or we continue the war." Lieutenant Gatewood turned suddenly to Naiche and smiled. "I saw your mother and daughter, Naiche, just after they came in with Chihuahua's band. They have been sent to Florida with the rest, but both inquired about you." "Are they well?" Naiche asked eagerly. "Very well," Lieutenant Gatewood said. "They wish you to surrender so that you may join them, and I am to remind you that an enemy more merciless than any soldiers lies in wait. It is winter that is just ahead. Geronimo, do I have your final answer?" Geronimo said, "May we talk again tomorrow?" "We may," said Lieutenant Gatewood. They parted. Lieutenant Gatewood and his party returned to their camp while the Apaches went to theirs. The Indians were sober and thoughtful. "It is true," Geronimo said, "that few animals have been hunted harder than we. We have fought and fought well, but we are very few, and our enemies are very many. We cannot continue to fight them forever." Said Naiche, "It is also true that we would like to see our friends and families again. There is small chance of doing that as long we are in Mexico and they are in Florida." Others of the band murmured agreement. All were desperately tired and lonely. They had endured far more than flesh and blood should be expected to bear. But they were willing to continue the fight if Geronimo and Naiche decided that that was best. "Yet," Naiche continued, "I fear to surrender even more than I fear to continue the battle. Mexicans south of the border and Americans north of it would kill us as readily as we would kill a pack of rabid wolves. If we hand our arms over to Lieutenant Gatewood, who will protect us until we are safe in Florida?" Suddenly Geronimo, who had been silent, saw in full the vision he had seen only in part as he sat beside Naiche. There was old Mangus Coloradus advising his people to make peace with the white men, since they could never hope to conquer them. There was Cochise, who had needed ten years of bloody war to teach him what Mangus Coloradus had been taught by his own wisdom. Now, almost twenty-five years after the death of Mangus Coloradus, Geronimo finally understood what one of these chiefs had known and the other had learned. Apaches could not fight the white men. But neither could they surrender to them unless it was possible to work out a plan guaranteeing their own safety. When they resumed their talks the next day, Geronimo said bluntly to Lieutenant Gatewood, "Forget you are a white man and pretend you are one of us. What would you do?" "Trust General Miles and surrender to him," Lieutenant Gatewood said promptly. "So you have spoken and so shall we do," said Geronimo. "But it is a long way to the border where General Miles awaits, and this is enemy country. We will not surrender our arms until we are met by General Miles." "That is agreeable," said Lieutenant Gatewood. "In addition, Captain Lawton and a company of soldiers are camped not far away. I will ask them to march with you and help beat off any Mexicans who may attack." "You march with us," Geronimo said. "Captain Lawton and his soldiers may come, but they are to stay ahead or behind. We do not care to mingle with white soldiers." "That, too, is agreeable," said Lieutenant Gatewood. It was thus that the Apaches marched to the border of Mexico. Lieutenant Gatewood marched with them. Captain Lawton provided an escort of American soldiers. And a mob of two hundred Mexicans, who finally saw the hated Apaches in captivity, trailed them all the way. But the Mexicans did not dare start a fight. When they reached the camp where General Miles was waiting, Geronimo stalked haughtily to the general, who stared coldly at the great Apache leader. Geronimo and his warriors laid down the arms that they had carried so many miles and into so many battles. The disarmed Apaches were surrounded by soldiers who took them, first to prison cells at Arizona's Fort Bowie, then to the train that carried them to exile in Florida. So ended the fighting days of Geronimo, the last and fiercest Apache war chief. And so, also, ended the Indian Wars in the Southwest. Never again would men and women on lonely ranches or in isolated villages awaken, trembling, in the middle of the night to hear the pound of ponies' hoofs and the wild Apache war cry. Never again would travelers in Arizona, New Mexico, and northern Mexico find it necessary to travel in groups and well-armed for fear of Apache attacks. Geronimo and his followers, as well as many other Chiricahua and Warm Springs Apaches, were imprisoned at old Fort Pickens, or at Fort Marion, in Florida. Eventually they were moved to a reservation in what was then Indian Territory and what is now the State of Oklahoma. There Geronimo died at Fort Sill, on February 17, 1909. Whether he was a great villain or a great patriot depends on whether one looks at him with the eyes of the white men whom he plundered, or the Apaches whom he championed. But nobody can deny that he fought for a free life for himself and his people and that he was one of the greatest warriors of all time. About the AuthorJim Kjelgaard was born in New York City but spent his childhood and youth in the Pennsylvania mountains. There he learned to hunt, fish, and handle dogs. He still likes to hunt and has done so in most parts of the United States and Canada, although he has exchanged his rifles and shotguns for cameras. After graduating from high school, he spent two years at Syracuse University Extension. Since then he has held a variety of jobs ranging all the way from trapper to factory superintendent, and has been writing professionally for over twenty years. Of some thirty successful books, all but one are for young people. About the ArtistCharles Banks Wilson, well known to young people for his illustrations of many historical books about the West, has achieved equal success as a painter. Over 150 exhibitions of his work have been held in museums throughout America. In both book illustration and painting, Mr. Wilson is associated with the contemporary life of the American Indian. Many Indian ceremonials which have never been photographed are recorded in his work, which has taken him throughout the Southwest as well as the Far West. He lives in his native Oklahoma with his wife, a Quapaw Indian princess, and their two children. Since 1947 he has been head of the Art Department of the Northeastern Oklahoma A. & M. College. |
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