This question carried its own answer. Several of the scouts, including the lieutenant himself, were so well mounted that by pushing hard they might have come up with some of the fugitives; but the majority of the troopers could not do so. Their horses were no fleeter than those ridden by the Apaches. Besides, they were hungry and in need of rest. The task was impossible.
Another peculiar recourse was at the command of the fugitives. If they should find the pursuit growing hot, they would separate into two or three parties, these again breaking up, until perhaps every warrior would be looking out for himself. All would be scattered and fleeing for the mountains, and they would remain scattered so long as the chase continued, after which they would come together at some rendezvous perhaps twenty or fifty miles away.
Far off to the southward a mountain range was outlined against the sky. Looking keenly toward the faint bluish line, the eyes that had the help of field-glasses traced a thin, wavy column of smoke ascending straight upward. About the same time it was noticed that Geronimo and his hostiles had headed in that direction.
“It is a signal and they are obeying it,” remarked Lieutenant Decker, who was not the only member of the party that was sorely disappointed.
Mendez checked his pony so that he fell back beside the officer, who directed his attention to the vapor, as he handed him his fieldglass. The Apache held the instrument for several minutes to his eye.
“That is made by a party of Apaches?” said the lieutenant inquiringly.
“Yes—’Paches do dat for Geronimo.”
“What does it mean?”
“Dunno.”
“It looks as if it is a call for the old fellow to go thither.”