Playing Cowboys & Indians *never* prepared you for this.
The year, 1886: the Apache Wars have raged for twenty-five years, leaving a swath of destruction -- like a raw and bloody scalp -- all across the American Southwest. Of all the warchiefs, from all the tribes from the Atlantic to the Pacific, only Geronimo remains. Free, defiant, indomitable.
Now, trapped between the hammer of the US Cavalry and the anvil of the Mexican Army, the legendary mystic-warrior faces his final battle. It's a fight not merely for survival, but for the very spirit of his people.
Geronimo: Last Apache Warrior
72pgs, squarebound, b/w
Written by best-selling novelist, Eric Griffin and illustrated by award-winning artist, Chaz Truog.
Heya E,
I have no idea what your schedule is like, but we're looking for a writer
for a new series.
We like your style.
What series, you say?
I have no idea.
We have had some luck with some western titles recently.
We currently have "Cisco Kid", who is basically a drunk outlaw.
We have "Wyatt Earp", mister anal retentive law man.
What we are looking for is the "in between".
We are looking for an American Indian title.
Yup, seriously.
Our original idea was "Geronimo", but you can choose whatever Indain from
history that has a recognizable name, and run with it.
I want it to be edgy, and told from the Indian perspective.
You certainly can include historical figures in your tale(s), of you like.
Give me something different.(it can be rated "R")
Any interest?
The comic would be 26pgs of actual story, in what we call "toned" b/w
(grayscaled on computer), and hopefully on a slick white paper.
We need a 26pg story that has a beginning, middle, and an end.
BUT it also needs the openess of having more stories be told, if the book
hits at all, we'd like it to continue.
It pays. OK, it pays shit, but it does pay.
We would be looking at [snip of payment info] for every 26pg comic script.
Big deal, I know, but who knows?
If you ARE interested, and if you know any artist who would want a piece of this, please let me know!
Thanks,
Book One: A Word before Dying
Setting:
We find Geronimo and his warband encamped just over the Mexican border, high in the Sierra de Antunez Mountains. He is being hounded by 5000 US troops from Ft. Sill, who did not reign in at the border and turn back as expected. Their orders: to find the Red Devil, Geronimo, whatever the cost.
In response to this unprovoked military incursion, 2000 Mexican soldiers have mobilized, who will gladly exterminate the marauding Apaches as soon as look at them.
Geronimo left New Mexico with 250 Apaches. Many have died along this last trail. He has sent away the women, the children, the old or infirm. Now only 15 warriors remain, several of them sorely wounded.
Character:
Geronimo is a three-fold character of mythic proportions. We open with a triptych showing the three aspects of Geronimo that we will use throughout the series. Each aspect can have a very different artistic style to differentiate these roles.
Panel One: Goyahkla, "the One Who Yawns." This is Geronimo's Apache name and the aspect we use to depict how he appears to other Indians: his band, his tribe, etc. We spend most of our narrative time in this aspect, so the art style should be comfortable and realistic. His trappings are "modern" and have few concessions to what we think of as Indian get-up: no warbonnet, buckskins, bear-tooth necklaces etc. He wears a flat, round, wide-brimmed hat, a sharp cavalry-style jacket with silver buttons, rifle, bandolier, and bowie knife.
Panel Two: the Red Devil. This is how the Americans see Geronimo. The art style here should be that of the pantomime stock theatrical devil. The Red Devil has a barbed tail, cloven hooves, a warbonnet made of twisted horns sprouting from his head, a breastplate of human bones and he carries a flaming spear in lieu of a pitchfork.
Panel Three: the Last Apache Warchief. Geronimo assumes this aspect when he is on the warpath. This is Geronimo at his most spiritual and the art should be more abstract. His face could be only a sun and moon for eyes on a black field. He could have a warbonnet of lightning or knives instead of feathers. Anything fun the artist wants to run with.
Story:
Geronimo is acutely aware that this night may be his last. But he is stoic; he has faced this same dilemma every night in an unbroken trail of nights winding all the way back to Apache Pass, New Mexico.
His warriors are less resigned. They gather around him seeking some sign of encouragement or comfort. Geronimo hears the words behind their words -- what they are really asking of him: the dying blessing of the last Apache warchief, his last words on the eve of the final battle.
Geronimo tells them that he has heard tales of the dying words of famous men, but that he puts no stock in such stories. He has been a warrior since he was seventeen years of age. He has killed more men than he remembers. He has leaned in close and heard the words a man makes before dying. It is not a fine speech. It is neither a last blessing nor a lasting curse.
He then tells them the story of the first man he killed and how he came to learn the Word before Dying.
He was seventeen years old; it was his first time taking the warpath. Mangas-Colorado led the band of twenty Apache warriors. They went on foot, carrying only three days' rations. They turned south at Tombstone and crossed into Mexico near Sonora. Sending their scouts ahead to reconnoiter, they entered the mountains. These mountains. The scouts soon returned to report a pack train camped five miles west. The next morning at daybreak, just as the drivers were loading their mules, the Apaches attacked.
The mule drivers, without any word of command or shout of panic, staked their pack beasts in a ring around the company. From behind this screaming and kicking breastwork, they put up a fierce fight. Geronimo saw that the Apaches would never dislodge the defenders before all the ammunition was spent, so he led a whooping charge. The drovers, though sorely pressed, fell to tenacious hand-to-hand fighting.
Isolated in the struggle, out of ammunition, Geronimo cast aside his gun and raised his glass-black knife, legacy of his father, and brought it down upon a drover just as he leveled his gun.
Geronimo lay atop the man, panting for breath. He saw that the drover still lived, pinned to life only by the knife through his breast. Geronimo took a firm grip to wrench it out and free him. But he paused, seeing in the man's eyes that he wanted to say something. His hand still on the hilt, Geronimo leaned in close.
What he heard was the word the man made before dying. The sound of his life leaving his body. It was one word, a quiet word. No scream of defiance, no entreaty, prayer or string of profanity. The word didn't even issue from his mouth, but from the ragged wound in his chest, as Geronimo slid the knife free. It sounded something like, "Hush."
The next thing Geronimo heard was the Apache war-whoop and Mungas-Colorado was clapping him on the back. They had done it. The drovers were dead or scattered down the mountainside. The captured mules turned out to be loaded with provisions, most of which the Apaches took home, save for two mules that were loaded with bacon. This they threw away. The tribe would eat well this winter and there would be feasting in honor of the returning heroes.
Geronimo tells his warriors that since that day, he has learned to listen. He has heard many men die and all say the same thing. He has heard the word an eagle makes before dying; it is a sound like the sky breaking. He has heard the word a bear makes before dying; it can turn a man's hair white.
But the sound a man makes is quieter and it is always the same. White man, Mexican, Apache, he has heard them all die and all with the same word on their lips.
Hush.
Maybe it is because it is the first word we hear upon entering the world, screaming, kicking, awash in blood. The word that quieted us, told us to be brave, to accept, to live. To get used to it.
But still Geronimo wonders, even now, after all these years. When he finds his knife deep in a man's chest, when craning forward, listening intently for the word he knows must come. Then, staring deep into the man's eyes, he wonders what strange new world this man is, even now, being born into. Screaming, kicking, and awash in blood.
Page 1: Splash Goyahkla
Page 2: Splash Red Devil
Page 3: Splash Geronimo Warpath
Page 4: US Troops; Mexican troops
Page 5: Losses, send away infirm, remaining warriors
Page 6: Around Campfire, Dying words
Page 7: Flashback Warpaint
Page 8: [spare]
Page 9: The Expedition. Tombstone
Page 10: Entering the mountains, sending out scouts
Page 11: The scouts return
Page 12: The ambush
Page 13: The defense, kicking screaming breastworks
Page 14: The Standoff
Page 15: The Charge
Page 16: HtH fighting
Page 17: Geronimo alone, out of ammo, threatened
Page 18: Geronimo kills drover with knife
Page 19: Atop his victim; man wants to say something
Page 20: The Last Word
Page 21: War Whoop. Victory
Page 22: Denouement. The Booty
Page 23: Back in Present. Learning to listen
Page 24: Words Animals Make
Page 25: Baby being born. Hold up by heel
Page 26: Splash. Final Punch. Scalping
Geronimo: the Last Apache Warrior
Book 1: A Word Before Dying
by Eric Griffin
Page One
Panel 1: Splash. Geronimo, age 57, sits facing us across a fire. His trappings are “modern” (1886) and have few concessions to what we think of as Indian get-up: no war bonnet, buckskins, bear-tooth necklaces etc. He wears a flat, round, wide-brimmed hat, a sharp cavalry-style jacket with silver buttons, a rifle across his knees, a bandolier, a bowie knife. His posture and bearing, however, are suggestive of a mystic – still, silent, stoic. His background, by contrast, writhes with action. Haunted glimpses of firelit figures emerge from darkness: a howling war painted face, a brave clutching the stump of a newly severed arm, a baby dangled by its heel, a terrified horse dragging its rider, a flaming teepee, etc.
Geronimo caption
Call me Goyahkla.
Geronimo caption (2)
It is a good name, a mother’s gift. You will speak no ill of it.
Geronimo caption (3)
In the tongue of the People, it means “One Who Yawns,” for even the crones of the Blood Lodge could not recall a baby born without some cry on its lips.
Geronimo caption (4)
Of fear, protest, or merely indignation.
Page Two
Panel 1: Splash. Geronimo as the Red Devil. This is how the Americans see Geronimo. The art style can be less realistic, more the stock theatrical devil. The Red Devil has a barbed tail, cloven hooves, a war bonnet made of twisted horns sprouting from his head, a breastplate of human bones and he carries a flaming spear in lieu of a pitchfork. He lays waste to a white settlement.
Geronimo caption (1)
The Red Devil. That’s what the white man calls me. Like all his gifts, the name has more shadow than substance.
Geronimo caption (2)
I did not take the warpath against the white man until he sent soldiers to bring me to his reservation.
Geronimo caption (3)
Now, years later, 5000 US Army troops dog my every step.
Geronimo caption (4)
Even the Mexican border did not daunt them. They did not rein in. They did not turn back.
Page Three
Panel 1: Splash. Geronimo on the warpath, mounted, horse rearing. This is Geronimo at his most spiritual and the art should be more abstract. His face could be only a sun and moon for eyes on a black field. He could have a war bonnet of lightning or knives instead of feathers. Anything fun the artist wants to run with.
Geronimo caption (1)
It was the Mexicanos who gave me the name Geronimo. Perhaps they were only crying out to their St. Jerome for protection.
Geronimo caption (2)
But it is a good name and I won it fairly. I will keep it until it is taken from me.
Geronimo caption (3)
Once I asked a Jesuit missionary and he told me Jerome was a holy man who wrestled mountain lions.
Geronimo caption (4)
He would not tell me what became of him.
Page Four
Panel 1: Top half of page. The US Cavalry, crossing a river (from right to left). The vanguard is already across, flying a prominent US flag of 38 stars (5 rows of 8,7,8,7,8). The press of horsemen fills the right side of the panel and stretches out of frame.
Geronimo caption
In response to the US Cavalry crossing the border…
Panel 2: Center of page, square, pasted over other two panels. Tight shot of a panicked, shouting Mexican officer. He is frantically waving for others to join him.
Sound effect: Church bell
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Geronimo caption
…some 2500 Mexicano troops scrambled to intercept them.
Panel 3: Bottom half of page. Mexican troops spill out of the stucco-walled houses of a tiny village. The Mexican tricolor flag (green, white, red, with a centered black eagle) stretches above. A steeple bell tolls the alarm. The men are pulling on boots and jackets as they come, grabbing rifles.
Geronimo caption
The Mexicanos have no love for the Apache. I do not complain; as I said, I had given them cause.
Page Five
Panel 1: The Apaches strike camp under cover of night. The camp has a gutted feel. The campfire is out, now a mere circle of blackened stones. A frame for drying hides stand empty, ropes dangling from its corners. Of the few teepees still standing, one is in the act of being taken down. A somber line of Apaches, leading heavily laden ponies, winds away.
Geronimo caption
When we left Apache Pass, we were 250 strong: men, women, children.
Panel 2: The badlands. Scorching sun. The same line of men and ponies, below, is only suggested by rippling lines of heat.
Geronimo caption
Many did not survive the forced march…
Panel 3: The badlands. The line of Apaches has moved on, the lines of heat ripples replaced by scattered dark patches of bodies left in their wake.
Geronimo caption
The skirmishes with the US troops…
Panel 4: A miserable young Apache girl looks back over her shoulder. She leads a pony up a mountainside. An unmoving body is draped across the pony’s back. A patter of blood droplets marks their path.
Geronimo caption
When we reached the mountains, I sent away the women, the children; those too wounded or sick to fight.
Panel 5: Shot from below: Geronimo, standing alone on a mountaintop.
Geronimo caption
Now I am caught between two armies. Only sixteen warriors remain to me. We are the last and I have no comfort to give you.
Page Six
Panel 1: CU: Geronimo’s face, heavily lined, resigned.
Geronimo caption
I hear the words behind your words. I know what you would have of me.
Panel 2: Juxtaposition, split face. On the left, the older Geronimo exactly as Panel 1, but fading out. On the right, sharper focus, the younger Geronimo, age 17. His hair is knife-cropped short and bound in a headband sporting a single eagle feather. His cheek is adorned with war paint: a triangle pattern of stylized lion fangs. Only two of the three fangs are drawn.
Geronimo caption
A blessing, a benediction. The dying words of the last Apache war chief. On this, the eve of our final battle.
Panel 3: CU: Young Geronimo, exactly as in Panel 2. A bony crone finger applies the third war painted fang to his cheek.
Geronimo caption
But even now, my thoughts stray. To other times, to other battles.
Page Seven
Panel 1: Young Geronimo dances around a bonfire with three other warriors. He is the youngest and the only one with just a single feather. He is dressed in traditional style for an Apache young man: moccasins with attached leggings stretching to just below the knee, buckskin vest over bare chest, breechcloth. His rawhide belt has a unique black stone knife stuck through it. He wears bow and arrows across his back. A small round hide shield, painted in a brightly colored geometric pattern, is bound to one arm. The war band is led by Mangas, a seasoned war chief in full dust-dragging headdress and regalia. The other warriors are Juh, a brave only one year Geronimo’s senior, but easily twice his bulk; Juh dwarfs even the formidable Mangas. And Porico, another young warrior, short, wiry, the coyote-faced trickster of the bunch.
Geronimo Caption
I have heard tales of the dying words of famous men, but they are all smoke and the stamping of feet.
Panel 2: Med shot: His clenched fist hand is raised high as if to scalp someone with a tomahawk. But he is gawky, a youth taking the warpath for the first time. His face is a mask of fierce concentration, but his tongue is peeking out of the corner of his mouth at the effort.
Geronimo Caption
I have killed more men than I remember. I have leaned in close and heard the secret word a man makes before dying.
Panel 3: He streaks away from the bonfire towards his waiting pony, amidst the war-whoops of the Apaches gathered around the fire. The war pony is white with black markings. It would be fun to see some other striking images from these pages mirrored in the pattern of markings.
Geronimo Caption
It is no fine speech. It is no last blessing, nor lasting curse.
Panel 4: He vaults into the saddle.
Geronimo Caption
How can I arm you against tomorrow? I am an old man. I can only fortify you with yesterdays.
Panel 5: He rears up in a pose mirroring that on Page 3. Here, however, he is not the abstract mystic warrior, but rather an awkward youth riding out on his first raid.
Geronimo Caption
I will tell you the story of the first man I killed and how I came to learn the Words before Dying.
Page Eight
Panel 1: Long shot, bird’s eye: a line of four mounted Apache braves, led by Geronimo, winds through the badlands.
Geronimo Caption
I was 17 years old, swelled with pride -- my first time taking the warpath.
Panels 2-4: Long shot, bird’s eye: same as Panel 1, but rotating the view by 90 degrees each time, giving the effect of the camera wheeling buzzard-like above them. In Panel 2, focus on Mangas. Porico rides backwards on his pony.
Geronimo Caption
Mangas-Colorado, seasoned war chief of the Membreno Apaches led us. Although I rode at the point.
In Panel 3, focus on Juh. Porico hangs upside-down beneath his pony.
Geronimo Caption
Juh said that was so I wouldn’t fall behind or get lost. I did not reply; it is bad luck to turn and look back once you have taken the warpath.
In Panel 4: focus on Porico doing a handstand in the saddle.
Geronimo Caption
Juh was of the Nednai Apache; they sent him away every year when supplies ran short. Porico, unfortunately, was of my own band, the Bedonkohe.
Page Nine
Panel 1: Dune top, overlooking Tombstone, AZ: a one-street saloon town. A swinging wooden sign, reads “Welcome to Tombstone.” The approach to town is through a “boot hill”-style unfenced yard of shallow graves and crudely-lashed wooden crosses.
Geronimo Caption
We carried only three days’ supplies. Juh and the badlands had taken their toll on them.
Panel 2: CU: on sign. The letters have been burned into the wood. It is pocked with bullet holes. The knee of a kneeling man is visible in the gap below the sign.
Geronimo Caption
I was anxious for battle and urged Mangas to raid the white settlement.
Panel 3: Closer shot of the graveyard. The crude crosses are low to the ground, their arms are hung with mementos and remembrances: a yellowed photo, a locket, a bandana, a bandolier, a rattlesnake skin, a bolo tie, shards of crystal, etc.
Panel 4: The sign again. Two men, crouched behind it for cover, open fire. One shoots from around each side of the sign; one with a rifle, one a shotgun.
Geronimo Caption
My words could not sway him.
Page Ten
Panel 1: Half page: Riding through mountains at sunset. Geronimo reins in, pointing to a wavering column of smoke from a canyon below.
Geronimo Caption
We turned south at Tombstone and crossed into Mexico near Sonora. We climbed high into the Sierra de Antunez Mountains.
Panel 2: On his belly, he crawls towards the lip of a precipice. Another brave creeps beside him. The smoke now fills the top of the panel. Geronimo is not looking at it, but it forms the images of his fears: two giants crouched over a fire, roasting an Apache on a spit.
Geronimo Caption
These very mountains.
Panel 3: On the brink, he shades his eyes against the dying sun and peers downwards. Unnoticed above, the smoke now forms the image of a crone dangling a baby by one heel over a fire.
Geronimo Caption
It was not long before we found what we were after.
Page Eleven
Panel 1: Splash. Long shot from above: the Mule Driver’s camp, bustling with activity. A cluster of three Mexicanos around a fire readying a meal. The one over the cook pot clouts another on the back of the head. A pair of men unloads packs from a mule, which is resisting their efforts. A pair of men struggles to pitch a tent, which is collapsing upon them. One man hauls sloshing buckets from a creek. One digs through the pile of unloaded packs, extracting a bottle of tequila. One urinates behind a tree.
The mules are loose and grazing in a sheltered pocket surrounded on three sides by tumbledown scree from the canyon wall and bordered on the fourth side by the little creek; across the creek is the camp. One mule picks its way over the rocks towards freedom. On the still-loaded mules, rifles are visible strapped to the packs.
Geronimo Caption
The Mexicano mule drivers outnumbered us, but I knew that would not balk a great war chief like Mangas.
Page Twelve
Panel 1: CU: Geronimo looking down as above, but smiling fiercely.
Geronimo Caption
I wondered what they could be carrying in those packs. There must have been a dozen fully laden mules in that train.
Panel 2: Kneeling, he strings his bow.
Geronimo caption
Silver bars. Bundles of supple deer hide. Coffers of turquoise and gemstones. Casks of mescal. Rifles and boxes of ammunition…
Panel 3: CU: A restraining hand grips his shoulder. Geronimo looks up, his face startled and angry.
Panel 4: Pull back: Mangas stands over Geronimo, gripping his shoulder. He shakes his head and gestures for patience.
Panel 5: Geronimo on his belly at the brink, as above, except now he is in deep shadow as the sun sets. He is angry, his bow, unstrung at his side, his head propped on one fist.
Panel 6: Same as Panel 5. Geronimo has not moved, but now he is in moonlight. He is quiet now and worry has had a chance to set it.
Geronimo caption
Maybe not rifles…
Copyright © 1997-2006 Eric Griffin