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.