  Urged by three of Geronimo's warriors, fifty-three cattle climbed laboriously up a slope and shuffled into pine forest. Stolen from a Mexican rancheria, they had been driven most of the night at the fastest pace they could keep up. Now the cattle staggered with weariness. But they would rest soon. Geronimo and a warrior named Francisco, who had helped steal the cattle, were with the raiding party. Watching only until the cattle had reached the mountain top, they turned to look back down the slope. Beneath, the Sierra Madres leveled into low foothills. In the distance, the hills seemed to fold into each other, so that instead of many mountains there was just one. Finally the one was lost in a shimmering blue haze. The two Apaches tied their horses to nearby trees and continued to scan the hills below them. It was Geronimo who spoke. "They come." Far beneath, made small by distance, a line of Mexican soldiers moved slowly but steadily on the cattle's trail. The two Apaches looked at them as one might regard some interesting insects. Geronimo had never been a chief while Apaches still lived by their ancient customs. But he was one now because he had been chosen by the people who had escaped from San Carlos, to be their leader. Neither he nor Francisco, the warrior, were the least bit excited by the sight of the Mexican soldiers. Their rifles leaned against two trees. The Sierra Madres, with their low foothills that rose to ten-thousand-foot peaks, were known only to Apaches. Two hundred miles long by a hundred miles wide, the only human dwellings in the entire vast range were wickiups. It was here that the Apaches held their pony races, played their endless games, and hunted. When they felt in need of amusement or plunder, they left their camps in the Sierra Madres to raid Mexican towns or ranches. Returning to the mountains, they were always safe. No force of rurales had ever penetrated this wild retreat. After a bit, Geronimo sat down and cast only an occasional glance toward the oncoming soldiers. He yawned. "We needn't have been so hasty," he said. "Mexicans know two gaits, slow and slower." "Yes," Francisco was amusing himself by tracing designs in the earth with a stick. "Still, there are more than there were, and they come deeper into the Sierra Madres than they ever did," Geronimo said. "I am glad Loco has come with his people, and Benito, and Nana, and Mangas, and Chato, and Naiche." Geronimo was speaking of other Apache chiefs and braves who had come to Mexico. After seeing for themselves that the American soldiers were unable to bring Whoa and Geronimo back, they, too, had defied the Army and fled the reservation. Now they, too, were living a free life in the Sierra Madre Mountains. "We did not really need them to fight Mexicans," the sulky Francisco remarked. "I am not so certain," Geronimo said seriously. "Have you so soon forgotten the battle we fought in the stream bed south of Arispe? It was no more than three weeks after we finally returned to the Sierra Madres. Do you remember the Mexican general who shouted my name in such foul terms? "He said, 'That dog of a Geronimo is finally cornered!' He screamed to his soldiers that they must kill every Apache, and that he would post his wounded to shoot cowards and deserters. They were many more than we, and we might have been overwhelmed had I not shot the general." "But you did shoot the general," Francisco pointed out. "I did," Geronimo agreed, "and I am very glad. I have no love in my heart for Mexicans, especially Mexican generals. That is why I am happy to see so many Apaches in the Sierra Madres. Together we may fight all the Mexicans." Francisco reminded, "We are not together." "That is as it should be," said Geronimo. "Apaches need room, and they cannot crowd together as Mexicans and Americans do. But we may get together when we choose." "If I had known that Chato was going raiding into Arizona, I would have chosen to ride with him," Francisco said. Geronimo said wistfully, "I too, for I have longed to see Arizona once more and have a good fight with American soldiers." "Let us wish Chato all success," Francisco said. Geronimo said, "He will have it. Benito rides with him, and twenty-six picked warriors." "Were I there, there would be twenty-seven picked warriors," Francisco bragged. Geronimo grunted sourly and lay down to sleep. A half hour later he was awakened by Francisco's hand on his shoulder. "They come," said Francisco. Geronimo sat up and looked down the slope to see some thirty soldiers climbing it. All led their horses, and they stopped often to rest. Geronimo turned to Francisco. "These are not the rurales we once fought," he said. "Rurales never came so deeply into the Sierra Madres. If they did, they were never so foolish as to be caught in daylight on a slope such as this." Francisco asked disinterestedly, "Who are they?" Geronimo said, "It has come to my ears that they have been sent from a far-off place known as Mexico City. The Nan-Tan, the chief, of Mexico City has at last discovered and is greedy for the gold and silver to be found here. He has sent his soldiers to protect it. Ha!" "Ha indeed," Francisco grunted. "Are you ready?" "Ready," said Geronimo. Each lifted a football-sized boulder from its bed, tilted it on end, and let it go. The rolling boulders gathered stones, gravel, more boulders. A fair-sized landslide, indeed an avalanche, thundered down. A great cloud of dust arose. When the dust cleared, Geronimo and Francisco again saw the soldiers. They had escaped the avalanche by running frantically to one side or the other, taking their horses with them. But all were mounted now and galloping frantically back in the direction from which they had come. Geronimo said, "The soldier chief at San Carlos asked me how we fought Mexicans. I told him bullets are too hard to get to waste on them, and that we fought them with rocks. He thought I lied." Without another word he started up the slope, following the trail of the other three raiders and the cattle. A week later Chato, Benito, and twenty-five of the twenty-six warriors who had gone raiding in Arizona, rode into Geronimo's camp. Chato dismounted, loosed his horse, and went to sleep beneath a pine. Benito regarded him admiringly. "That one sleeps only in the saddle while he is on a raid!" he said. "When the rest of us slept, he stood guard!" "Was it a good raid?" Geronimo inquired. "A very good raid," Benito said. "For the six days we spent in Arizona, we were seldom out of the saddle. We struck where we would, and stole fresh horses where we needed them. In six days we rode four hundred and fifty miles." Geronimo said, "I do not see Tzoe among those who returned." "You will not see Tzoe," said Benito. "Though Chato warned him that it was a foolish thing to do, he left us and went to visit his friends who remain at San Carlos. He is now a prisoner of the white soldiers." Geronimo staggered, as though from a sudden blow on the head. He gasped. Though a young warrior, Tzoe had been among the loudest and fiercest in declaring that never again would he submit to the white man's rule. But he had surrendered to the same loneliness and yearning for his loved ones that was afflicting all the renegades. Who would be next? "Is Geronimo ill?" Benito asked. "I am not ill," Geronimo said. But he saw a dark cloud hovering over all Apaches. |
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