The sorrowful warriors gathered around their wounded chief. Grieving because he was hurt, they were also worried. While Mangus Coloradus led them, even though they might suffer temporary defeats, in the end they always triumphed. What now?

Nadeze said, "We need a medicine man."

"I am a medicine man," Geronimo said.

Geronimo told the truth. Following the massacre of Kas-Kai-Ya, he had taken the training which he needed in order to become an Apache medicine man. This he had done in the hope that he might discover some powerful medicine which would make sure the defeat of the rurales responsible for the massacre. But even though he had learned all the rituals that an Apache medicine man must know, he was far too intelligent to have much faith in them. But others believed in them.

He said again, "I am a medicine man."

"True," Nadeze agreed. "I had forgotten."

Opening his pouch of hoddentin, or sacred pollen, Geronimo rubbed a bit on Mangus Coloradus' forehead. Then he made a cross of hoddentin on the chief's breast. He sprinkled a thin line of the sacred pollen all around the Mimbreno leader and put a touch on the forehead of every warrior who stood near. Finally, he applied a pinch to his own forehead and took a bit in his mouth.

And even as he finished, he knew that hoddentin was not enough.

Geronimo was not so blinded by the ways of the Apaches that he was unable to see for himself that other people had better ways. Often he had seen rurales so badly wounded that he thought they could never fight again. Yet, in a later skirmish, he had fought the same rurales, and apparently they were as whole as before.

With the rest of the nearby Mimbreno braves too stricken to do anything, and no sub-chief near, Geronimo took charge.

He said, "Make a litter."

"Where do we go with my father?" asked Mangas, son of Mangus Coloradus.

"To the Mexican medicine man at Janos," Geronimo said.

Mangas said, "The Mexicans are enemies."

"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.

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.