The camp was in chaos. People were frantically trying to gather their things before the oncoming Confederates could arrive. Geronimo was trying to tell people to forget their possessions as best as he could with his old voice. Luckily, The warrior knew better, and only grabbed the supplies that he really needed.

Chappo arrived at the camp on his horse, and surveyed the frantic nature. Somehow, he spotted the warrior, and beckoned for him to approach him.

"What is it? the warrior asked.

"Are you willing to die for this tribe?" Chappo asked without hesitation.

"Yes." the warrior answered in reply.

Putting his horse in motion, Chappo said, "Come with me then, and fast."

The warrior left his horse and pursued Chappo as fast as he could. The warrior stopped with Chappo in front of Geronimo's teepee. Out came Geronimo with the tired look in his eyes, and with a look of fear on his face.

Looking the warrior in the eyes, he asked the same question Chappo asked earlier, "Are you willing to die for this tribe?"

The warrior replied with the same answer he gave Chappo, "Yes."

"Good," replied Geronimo. He studied the warrior's face with a look a father would give a son that he would see for one last time. After what seemed like a long pause, he spoke again, "I need you to carry out a task that could mean life or death for this tribe. I need to know if you are willing to do it."

"I am," the warrior answered assuredly.

"I need you to stay behind, and assassinate General Stuart; you are aware that this could mean death for you?" Geronimo looked the warrior in the eyes again, "Will you carry out this task?"

"I will," the warrior replied.

"Good," Geronimo answered. "You will know what to do. I will have my son look after your horse, for when you come back."

If I come back, the warrior thought.

Everything was quiet. Almost too quiet, the warrior thought. The only sounds accompanying the stillness was the occasional buzz of an insect.

Hiding behind cleverly-placed debris, the warrior looked down his rifle at the area of camp that the Confederates would most likely approach. Where General Stuart would hopefully be.

The warrior checked his Tredegar to make sure there was a round in it. The little piece of metal at the side, slanted at an angle, told him it was. Satisfied, he continued to wait. Not much longer after he checked his rifle, he heard the familiar clip-clop of horses' hooves.

In came the Confederates. The warrior was told that Stuart would be the first Confederate to come in. The first Confederate to come in wore a nice butternut uniform, with what looked like wreathed stars on his collar. Could this be him? the warrior thought. No sooner had that thought crossed his mind when the figure turned and faced the warriors direction. The figure displayed a thick, long, dark beard on his face; the trademark of General Stuart.

There stood General Stuart. Mounted on a horse and looking proud as ever. His boyish features still on his face despite his age of forty-eight.

Not long after Stuart's arrival, came more Confederates. Their uniforms not looking as nice as Stuart's but each one showing care. The warrior knew that none of them could see him, so he continued to lie in wait.

Stuart began to converse with a man that rode next to him, a major possibly. The warrior could not make out what they were saying, but it did not matter to him.

Waiting for the right moment to have a clear shot seemed like an eternity, but Stuart turned to face the soldier he was conversing with. His side was perfectly exposed. Taking no chances, the warrior raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired.

Crack! the rifle went as the bullet exited the chamber. No sooner had the bullet left the rifle, when it made the satisfying Smack! Stuart writhed and groaned and fell off his horse to the ground.

The warrior watched the man that once used to their ally, die like the enemy he became.