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The lieutenant received the charge by
dismounting and standing, with a nonchalance which was far from
natural, at the foot of a large cottonwood tree, the orderly, mounted,
holding the horses a few yards in rear. It was soon apparent that
several of the chiefs had remained sober, and were doing their utmost
to prevent trouble, and by their exertions the rabble was halted about
twenty yards from the tree, and seated with some attempt at the usual
half-circle formation. The counting officer then approached, with book
and pencil in hand, and though appreciating the danger of
assassination, he resolutely passed along the front of each circle and
checked off the numbers on the tags.
Many of the rascals, with impudent drunken
leers, shook the tags in his face, and one fellow refused to show his.
Passing the mutineer for the time being, the lieutenant concluded the
checking process. He was now confronted by a formidable problem:
either he must capture the drunken young savage or submit to the
indignity of seeing the orders entrusted to him for execution treated
with contempt, of which the
Indians were sure to take advantage, taking it for a confession of
weakness. In this perplexity he called up the orderly with the horses,
and then turned to one of the most reliable of the chiefs standing
near, and made signs to him to bring up the young man and force him to
show his tag.
The young fellow lounged up when bidden by
the chief, but stood immovable, staring at the representative of the
government with drunken insolence. Giving the orderly, who was still
mounted, a few words of direction, the lieutenant mounted his own
horse as if to ride off, and at a signal the orderly, a fine old
soldier, suddenly drew his revolver and covered the young savage, at
the same time making an imperious sign to him to jump up behind the
officer. The old chief took in the situation instantly, and seizing
the fellow under the arms, almost threw him up on the croup of the
horse behind the lieutenant, and so, covered by the steady pistol of
the orderly, they rode off. The
Indians were quick to appreciate the defeat of the braggart, and
the little procession of prisoner and captors was followed by yells,
screams and jeering laughter. The prisoner was safely landed in the
post guard-house, a substantial witness of the nerve and courage of a
resolute officer over the savage fury of the
Apache.
Such captures were not always made so successfully. A few months later
two
soldiers approached to arrest a young fellow who was seated on the
ground wrapped in a blanket. Quick as thought the
Indian threw off the blanket, and by a right and left stroke with
a knife killed one soldier and severely wounded the other.
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No further trouble
occurred at the daily verification of the
Indians.
The young men who preferred war to steady rations quietly slipped away and
were seen no more, and a correct estimate of the number of the hostiles
was the result of the counting process. There was one exception to the
quiet manner of departure. Two desperadoes, Chontz and Cochenay by
name, aspiring to be war chiefs, committed a cold-blooded murder within
the limits of the military post, and then fled to the mountains, followed
by their immediate relatives. This party was pursued immediately by an
officer and ten cavalrymen summoned from the drill ground. The
soldiers,
reinforced by three
Apache scouts
from the band of Casadore (who had always remained friendly), took up the
trail from the scene of the murder, where lay the body of an inoffensive
young Mexican, brained from behind by the cowardly assassin. Following the
trail, the scouting party soon found a place where a mark drawn in the
dust across the path and a red flag stuck up on a stick plainly indicated
war.
The trail then led over a
country the roughest imaginable. Down deep into the bowels of the earth it
seemed to go before the stream at the bottom of the first box canon was
reached, and then up, up, along the slanting slippery path worn in the
face of the opposite rocks. Forward all day on foot, leading their
stumbling horses over the broken rocks, the little party pushed on,
halting only after dark, when the trail could not be followed, to spend
the chilly winter night on the bare rocks without food, and with their
saddle blankets alone for cover. For days the party kept up this pursuit,
but, unfortunately, without success. This, however, was a prelude to a
tragedy in which Chontz and Cochenay, who were natural leaders and
desperadoes, were principal characters.
A little later on, the
agency having been moved to the San Carlos, these desperadoes, taking
advantage of a stormy night and a sudden rise in the Gila River, which
separated the camp of the cavalry from the
Indians,
boldly entered the
Apache
village.
It so happened that many of the young men that
night, feeling secure from the interference of the
soldiers
on account of the swollen stream between them, were drinking tiswin, and
fast ripening into a fit mood for any mischief. This habit of the
Apaches of
intoxicating themselves deliberately by using a liquor made by the
Indian
women
from fermented corn was a very difficult thing to deal with. Parties of
soldiers
under determined young officers were frequently sent into their camp to
break up the drunken sprees, a most dangerous duty, always successful for
the time, but with all care it was impossible to prevent them from
stealing or buying corn and again making tiswin.
Just what happened in the
Indian
camp after Chontz and Cochenay with their followers arrived it is
difficult to say. Casadore subsequently reported that they harangued the
bands, and said that all young men not cowards would follow their lead.
Taunts, reproaches, and appeals at such a time produced an explosion. A
rush was made for a wagon train loaded with supplies for the troops, which
was camped on the
Indian
side of the river directly opposite the cavalry camp. The teamsters were
instantly killed and the wagons plundered, and then with wild yells the
whole tribe started for the mountains.
Here was work indeed. Hurrying from Fort Apache, the
nearest post, two cavalry troops made the seventy miles in one march,
bringing with them a company of the gallant and faithful White Mountain
Apaches,
enlisted as scouts.
Taking up the trail,
these troops followed the wake of the devastating
Apaches.
Straight for the settlements on the San Pedro River it led, and was found
returning up the valley of that stream and making for the mountains north
of the Gila.
No need to follow the trail to the ruined
homes of the white settlers down the San Pedro. At the point where it was
encountered returning from the raid, torn dresses, children’s clothing,
and broken household utensils, scattered along the path, showed that the
red devils had swept through the peaceful colony like a whirlwind, leaving
nothing but the wreck behind. And so it proved, as those who later visited
the scene reported. Dead mothers, appealing to the sky with staring eyes,
the lifeless bodies of helpless little children, and last the scalped and
mangled forms of the natural protectors of the frontier home, composed the
too familiar picture presented of the visit of an
Indian war
party.
The advance troops, after much suffering in the mountains and three days
of absolute fasting, finally reported that they had located the whole band
of
Indians on the top of the Pinal Mountains, in a position unassailable
by direct attack. The commanding officer of the San Carlos, a man of
nerve, and one familiar with the ins and outs of
Apache
character, had by this time secured the services of a renegade from the
hostiles, who promised to lead the troops into the natural fortress under
cover of the darkness.
The expedition started at
once. It included the
soldiers
from Fort Apache
and the cavalry troops summoned from the nearest posts. Marching only at
night, and halting during the hours of daylight, for concealment, it
reached at dawn on the third morning a point fifteen miles in an air line
from the Pinal Mountains.
As the sun rose the
outlines of the
Indian
stronghold became plainly visible. Towering up against the sky, it looked
formidable indeed, and a disheartening evidence of the difficulties of
approach was afforded by the very unusual sight of the smoke of camp
fires, which the hostiles made no attempt to conceal.
The extent of their
impregnable position along the rocky ridge was plainly indicated by the
curling pillars of smoke, and it was apparent that the
Apaches felt
defiant and secure.
Although only fifteen
miles in an air line, the renegade insisted that it would be necessary to
make a detour to the north in order to avoid the fearful chasms that
intervened, and twenty-five miles of the roughest country in
Arizona
must be crossed to reach the crest of the mountain.
Early in the afternoon
the storming party set out. Only the very best of the men were taken. All
marched on foot. The sick and exhausted were left in charge of the horses
and pack-mules, with orders to keep everything well concealed from any
outlying scouts of the enemy. Single file, in one long column, the troops
for the advance pushed out, led by their White Mountain allies. Stripped
to their breech cloths, lithe, graceful fellows, the
Indian
scouts, like a pack of greyhounds, surrounded and guarded the sullen
renegade guide. Officers and men alike carried their two days rations on
their backs, but had divested themselves of all superfluous weight, and
saving their breath by silence, they strove manfully to keep up with their
fleet-footed guides.
A terrible task was before them. The country
was one mass of broken rocks, and canons with almost precipitous sides
crossed the trail at frequent intervals. All night long they stumbled,
struggled, scrambled forward. How they succeeded in crossing the gloomy
pitch black canons no one in the party could ever tell. Keeping within
touch of each other, and guided by faith, they groped their way to the
bottoms of the dark chasms, and in the same order toiled, panting for
breath, up the opposite sides. Treachery on the part of the
Apache scouts
would have turned any one of the dark holes into a slaughter pit.
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