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."