He looked ahead again. “I assume they're just making sure we're not coming with what I think you call a posse.”
“Yeah,” said Holliday. “When we get a little closer to the lodge, they'll ride out and accompany us. They'll probably take our weapons, too. I'd advise you not to make a fuss about it.”
“Can the greatest of the medicine men be hurt by a bullet?” asked Roosevelt curiously.
“Probably not,” said Holliday. “But any member of his tribe can.”
“Ah!” said Roosevelt, nodding his head. “I hadn't even considered that.”
“That's because you've never been to his camp before.”
“How did Bat kill a warrior if he was unarmed?”
“Man pulled a knife on him,” replied Holliday. “I think he was just trying to scare him. Bat took the knife away from him and stabbed him.” He looked off to his right. “Six more, and they're not making any effort to hide themselves.”
A moment later they were surrounded by Apache warriors, who offered no word of greeting or sign of recognition to Holliday as they rode along. After another mile the party came to a stop.
One of the warriors rode up to Holliday and held out his hand, and Holliday carefully withdrew his pistol and handed it to him. The warrior gave it to another, and held out his hand again.
“Damn!” muttered Holliday, pulling out a Derringer he kept tucked in a pocket in his vest.
Roosevelt followed suit, handing over his rifle and his pistol. The warrior held out his hand for more.
“That's all I've got,” said Roosevelt.
The warrior gestured again.
“Here,” said Roosevelt, removing his coat and handing it to the warrior. “See for yourself.”
The warrior examined the coat, handed it back, hopped down from his horse, and ran his hands over Roosevelt's pants, then nodded his head. He climbed back onto his horse, and the little party began moving forward again.
“How's that for irony?” said Roosevelt. “I just started carrying a six-gun today, and I've already lost it.”
“They'll return it later,” Holliday assured him.
Five minutes later Geronimo's lodge came into view.
“It's smaller than I imagined,” remarked Roosevelt. “This can't be the headquarters of the whole Apache nation.”
“It's just where he stays when he's in this area,” explained Holliday. “No one knows where the bulk of his people live, which is probably why they're still a large and powerful tribe.”
When they reached the first of the structures, they stopped, and Roosevelt and Holliday dismounted. One of the warriors took their reins and led their horses off.
Roosevelt frowned. “I hope they don't intend on keeping them,” he said. “I don't relish a walk all the way back to Tombstone.”
“I thought you'd relish a run to it,” said Holliday with a smile. “Don't worry. They're just making sure we don't leave before the negotiations are over.”
“Where is he?” asked Roosevelt, looking around.
“Who knows?” replied Holliday. “He could be one of the birds in that tree, or a snake, or even one of the horses. He'll be Geronimo when he's convinced himself you're the man he sent for.”
A mangy dog sauntered up, wagging its tail and panting heavily.
“Geronimo?” Roosevelt asked Holliday.
Holliday shrugged. “Who knows?”
Roosevelt squatted down and petted the dog. As he did so, he saw a burly shadow fall across the dog. He looked up and found himself facing an imposing figure of a man, stern and dignified.
“You're Goyathlay,” he said with absolute certainty.
“And you are Roosevelt,” said Geronimo.
“I have come a long way to meet you,” Roosevelt said in Apache.
“I speak your language,” said Geronimo. “And we have important things to discuss.”
“If this is a private conversation,” said Holliday hopefully, “I can just go sit in the shade of that hut, and maybe relax with a drink from”—he padded his flask through his coat—“my special water supply.”
“No,” said Geronimo.
“No?” repeated Holliday, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. “I brought him. What more do you want?”
“It is important that you listen too,” said Geronimo, “because when we are done, it will start a war such as you have never dreamed about.”
Holliday stared at him for a moment, then pulled out his flask. “I think I'll have that drink right now,” he said.
��IT IS TIME,” said Geronimo when he and Roosevelt were sitting cross-legged on the ground in the shade of Geronimo's hut, facing each other. Holliday, who had some trepidation about lowering himself to the ground gracefully and an absolute certainty that if he managed it he could never get up on his own power, remained on his feet a few feet away. “That is why