Injunbro wrote: ".... Uh, no they were ultra independent & were scattered through the rocks & across the grasslands,"
Freedom. Particularly individual freedom. You here about it the first day of school. You pledge to it. You are taught this country was founded on it. And yet... The idea becomes an abstract ideal. Something you long for but...
I read a biography of Geronimo, written for kids I think, in the third grade and gave a report on it. I've never stopped. Over the years I ask myself why? I conclude that it was the absolute freedom that permeates the collective psyche of the Indeh Nation. It was not an abstract ideal, it was a living breathing fundamental of life. I admire that and think about it when I am on my way to work.
I would, a hundred tomes over, rather go raid for horses down in old Mexico. Any takers?
I was invited to stay with friends at the San Carlos reservation, but did not go. Just doesn't seem like the path for me. I have heard many stories about life on the reservation as it is nowadays. My good friend Mr. H talked a lot about it. He told me that when he comes to the Dragoons or Chiricahuas for ceremony, it causes problems for him. Others think he is trying to gain more medicine than they have. So they try to cause bad things for him and his group. But he has protection, no problem. Everything has a cost. Medicine Man Wars I call it.
The point of this to me is the sacred right of individual freedom has it's own sort of downside. Everything has a cost.
I call him Mr. H because of the name thing. I had known him about a year when I asked him, "Mr. H was your great-grandfather a scout?" "Yes, He used to go around chasing Geronimo. Why do you ask?" "I have met him. He is in a book." I give him the book. A chapter is written about his relative. He tells me his G-Grand was a medicine man. "He had horse power." He tells me that his mother, when very young, saw one of his healings. A woman needed help. He took her to the Holy ground and placed four horses at each compass point some distance from her. Each horse was a different color. One by one he called each horse and they came up to the woman and returned to their place. That is all I was told about that.
My son died. Mr. H heard of this. He calls me, "CF in three days we are to meet at the stornghold, good bye." So I go to the stronghold. He and his group are there when I arrive. I had not seen them for some time. They had four stout logs they had gathered. No hellos, no greetings. He looks at me and: "CF take this log to the Holy ground." And he walks away. I manage to get the big log on my shoulders. Another man, seeing that Mr. H had left asks if I want help. Thanks but I guess I should do this alone. For one brief moment I thought of Christ carrying that huge cross through the streets of abusive crowds.
Later, by the fire, where all important matters are brought up, he says "We want to do a ceremony for you." I tell him I have not asked for it so tomorrow I will climb that mountain there, where "Sees Faces" told me I would find some thing. I go up there until I find a feather and sit down. I clear my mind and when I felt ready I ask for healing on this day with the help of my friends. Their hearts are good. I ask for this to be allowed.
I bring him the feather and he and his two sisters and another man start the ceremony with words and songs in their language, sometimes the words are in my language.
I open my heart as they have opened theirs and am blinded by tears.
The healing from others will not fail if you do not fail with a closed heart and scattered thoughts.
A few weeks later I call them. Come to the stronghold. I wish to conduct a memorial to help the passing of my son's spirit. We will do that he says.
On the morning of my son's memorial, I climbed up on some boulders with a friend of mine. I look up in the sky and four eagles flew across in a line from NW to SE. I have rarely seen eagles here in Cochise County and never more than two at a time, and never flying in a straight line.
We all meet, friends family and the people from San Carlos. The Indians in one group and the rest in another group. This embarrassed me. Injuns! Such scary people. Oh well. Such is life. We gather at the Holy Ground and most sit in chairs. I don't, I know I must sit on the ground for this. I choose a spot, a spot where I must sit, the only spot I must choose, a spot chosen for me. I look at the ground. Red ants everywhere. Great. I start to get up, but no. this is my place and if they bite, I will endure it with silence. Everything has a cost. When the ceremony begins I close my eyes. I can feel things better than I can see them. It went on for quite some time. I call on my son to be here. At the end of it I open my eyes and look at the ground. Where there were many red ants, there was not one to be found. Holy Ground. Sometimes life makes sense.
From the moment of his passing, as I was there for that, and for many months after, I asked for the passing and healing of his spirit. Since then, four times, I have been given some sweet signs that my prayers have been heard and it has come to pass.
My thanks to those that worked so hard on my son's behalf. It is more than my non Indian friends could, or knew, to do.
When mules & birds start looking "cute" you'd better go visit civilization for a while! 
This story isn't generally told but when S.M. Barrett was writing Geronimo's life story he asked about coyote power & said he thought it was a myth. He glanced up & Geronimo was gone & a coyote was sitting there, blinked & he was back. I can't remember if it was Asa Daklugie or George Wratton who was translating that day & told that story years later. Barrett was never sure if it was a delusion or if something really strange actually happened. Geronimo told him he shouldn't ask about things he couldn't understand. This picture was posed obviously but note Geronimo had bandoliers full of .45-70 ammo. Also take a look@ his headgear, that ain't no Stetson.
