It was Geronimo, the little Apache, in whom the spark of patriotism had lit the fire of genius.

His call had come and it had drawn him from a half savage life into one of glorious deeds for his country.
"He'll be a general if he isn't killed first," murmured John, with absolute conviction.
Geronimo, at that moment, looked his way and recognized him.

His hand flew to his head in a military salute, which John returned in kind, and his eyes plainly showed pleasure at sight of this new friend whom he had made in a few minutes on the Butte Montmartre.
"We meet again," he said, "and before the week is out it will be victory or death." "I think so, too," said John.
"I know it," said Geronimo, and, saluting once more, he marched on with his regiment.

John saw them pass across the valley and join the great mass of troops that filled the whole northern horizon.

About an hour later a cheerful voice called to him, and he beheld Lannes standing in the door of the tent, his head well bandaged, but his eyes clear and strong and the natural color in his face.
"What has happened, John ?" he asked.
"You've slept six or seven hours." "And while I slept, the army, as I can see, has begun its march according to the order we brought.