The Story of Geronimo
Copyright© 2025 by Jim Kjelgaard
Chapter 8: The Battle of Apache Pass
High on the steep and boulder-strewn side of narrow Apache Pass, Geronimo lay behind a pile of rocks. He had made the little breastwork appear natural by uprooting a cactus and standing it on top of the rocks. His best rifle and all the powder and bullets he had been able to gather lay within easy reach. Now he had only to await the soldiers, who intended to march through Apache Pass, and to give thanks to Usan, who had created an ambush so perfect.
Apache Pass was a narrow slit between the Chiricahua Mountains on the west and the Dos Cabezas on the east. It was one of the very few passes in the Southwest through which travelers could take wagons. Far more important, in a land of little water it sheltered sweet and cool springs that never failed.
Turning his head, Geronimo saw the stone house built by men of the Overland Stage Company and abandoned since Cochise took the warpath. Some six hundred yards beyond the house, tall trees and green grass marked the flowing springs.
Geronimo smacked his lips in satisfaction.
Behind each rock in the pass, each shrub, each cluster of cactus, crouched an armed Apache. There were almost seven hundred Mimbrenos and Chiricahuas. They were so well hidden that even Geronimo, who knew they were there, could see few of them. He smacked his lips again.
The scouts had reported that there were about as many white soldiers as there were Apaches in ambush, some on foot and some mounted. The soldiers had stopped with their supply train at Dragoon Springs, forty miles west of Apache Pass. There they could drink to their heart’s content, water their stock, and load up with enough water to see them through to Apache Pass. But their water would be gone by the time they entered the pass, and they could not get more until they reached the springs beyond the stone stagehouse.
Geronimo glanced with pleasure at the stone breastworks which Mangus Coloradus and Cochise had had built on the heights overlooking these springs. The fortifications were manned by warriors who could shoot without being shot, since the breastworks protected them.
Unable to renew their water supplies, the soldiers who were not killed by bullets would die from thirst. The greatest Apache victory of all time was almost certain.
Soon two Apache scouts who had gone out to watch for the soldiers’ arrival came into the pass. One went to Cochise’s ambush. The second turned to where Mangus Coloradus lay.
Geronimo burned to know what the scouts had seen and what they were saying, for then he would know how soon he might expect battle. But he did not leave his position.
Presently, Naiche slipped down beside Geronimo. He was grinning.
“Most of the heavy wagons, without which white soldiers go nowhere, remain at Dragoon Springs,” he said. “A few horse and many foot soldiers are coming to Apache Pass, but they are no more than one to our six. They wear their foolish uniforms of blue cloth and they reel with the heat. They cannot live without water.”
“Nor can they get water,” Geronimo’s grin reflected Naiche’s. “Before they reach it we shall slay them all.”
“We shall slay them all,” Naiche agreed.
Naiche slipped back to his ambush. A half hour later Geronimo saw the thin cloud of dust that hovered above the marching soldiers.
The soldiers entered Apache Pass, and most of the cavalrymen led their mounts, for the horses were so desperate for water that they could not be ridden. There were pack animals too, and they carried strange wheels and tubes that were typical of the silly things white soldiers took into battle. But in spite of heat, thirst, and the heavy uniforms, the white men kept a smart military formation as they walked unsuspectingly into the trap.
They were two thirds of the way into the pass when a shot from the rifle of Cochise rang out. At once firearms blazed from behind the Indians’ breastworks. But the hoped-for massacre did not come about.
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