After a bit Geronimo stopped and cut a number of leafy twigs. He thrust them into his headband so that, if he held very still, whoever saw him would think they saw a bush instead. Then he dropped to wriggle forward on his stomach. Presently he looked down into another canyon.
The water hole was there, and the water was fresh and cold. Green grass surrounded it. Great cottonwood trees bordered it. But a herd of horses browsed on the grass, and pack mules stamped at a picket line. There were packs and tents, and there were more than twenty soldiers whose only reason for being here was to keep Geronimo away from the water.
Geronimo slipped away as quietly as he had come.
"Soldiers await," he told Naiche when he had returned to his warriors.
"Many soldiers?" Naiche asked.
"Too many for us to fight," Geronimo said.
Naiche said, "Then we must go."
"No. We must loose our horses," said Geronimo.
Naiche said, "They will run to water."
"They will run to water," Geronimo agreed.