Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains / An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far West

by William F. Drannan

CHAPTER XLIII.

POOR JONES MAKES HIS LAST FIGHT.—HE DIED AMONG A LOT OF THE DEVILS HE HAD SLAIN.—END OF THIRTY-ONE YEARS OF HUNTING, TRAPPING AND SCOUTING.

About the first day in March, 1877, we started out on our summer's campaign. I was now able to mount a horse by being assisted, but had to be very careful and only ride a short distance, and very slow at that. The third day on our trip from the fort George reported having seen the trail of quite a large band of Indians traveling westward almost parallel with the road, but said they had passed about two days before. I asked the Lieutenant to give me his camping places that night and the next one, which he did. I then told George to select four men from the scout force, take two days' rations and see if he could run down the Indians and to telegraph me when they changed their course or when he had them located.

George was on their trail before noon and before sunset he had them located, only a short distance from the place where I had been wounded the year before. I got a dispatch from him just as I was ready to turn in for the night, and by one o'clock I received another dispatch stating that there were about eighty in the band, and well armed, and among them about twenty squaws and their children. This was something we had never seen among the Apaches before. Lieut. Jackson asked my opinion of their having their families with them. I told him I thought they must be on their way to Sonora to trade, as at that time the Apaches had never traded but very little with the whites.

They might be out for a hunt, but it was not customary when on such a trip to have their families with them. Upon the receipt of the second dispatch from George, Lieut. Jackson started out with three companies of cavalry, and arrived at the spot near daybreak. I was told afterwards that George had been crawling around all night getting the location of the Indians, the general lay of the ground and to ascertain the best plan of attack, knowing it would be so late by the time the Lieutenant would arrive that he himself would have no time to spare, and he had a diagram drawn on a piece of envelope of the camp and surroundings, also had their horses located. When the Lieutenant was ready to make the attack George took four of the scouts and started to cut the horses off and prevent the Indians from getting to them, but it seemed as though when the cavalry started to make the charge the Indians' dogs had given the alarm and a part of the Indians had made for their horses. At any rate when daylight came George was found some two hundred yards from the Indian encampment, with both legs broken and a bullet through his neck, which had broken it and four Indians lying near him dead, which he no doubt had killed, and his horse lay dead about a rod from where he lay. No one had seen him fall nor had heard a word from him after he gave the order to charge for the horses. About the middle of that afternoon they returned to camp with George's body and seven others that were killed, and nineteen wounded soldiers. They had killed thirty- seven Indians and had taken all the squaws and children prisoners. After I had looked at the body of that once noble and brave form, but now a lifeless corpse, I told the Lieutenant that I was ready to leave the field, for there was not a man in the entire army that could fill his place, and without at least one reliable man in the field it would be impossible to accomplish anything.

The dead were buried about two hundred yards north of the spring where we had camped, and I saw that George Jones was put away in the best and most respectable manner possible considering the circumstances by which we were governed at that time. We buried him entirely alone, near a yellow pine tree, and at his head we placed a rude pine board, dressed in as good a shape as could be done with such tools as were accessible to our use. On this board his name was engraved, also his age and the manner in which he came to his death, and the same is also to be seen on the yellow pine tree that stands near the grave of this once noble friend and hero of the plains.

My brave and noble comrade,
You have served your country true,
Your trials and troubles are ended
And you have bade this world adieu.

You have been a noble companion,
Once so trusty, true and brave;
But now your cold and lifeless form
Lies silent in the grave.

While your form remains here with us
In this wicked dismal land,
Your soul has crossed the river
And joined the angel band.

The prisoners that were taken here Lieut. Jackson sent to Fort Yuma and placed under guard, as Gen. Crook had made up his mind to capture all the Apaches he could and try in that way to civilize them, but he made a total failure in regard to this particular tribe of Indians.

I informed George's father and mother of his death as soon as I could get a letter to them, telling them as soon as I returned to the fort I would draw his pay and send it to them, which I did. When I talked to Lieut. Jackson of quitting he said he could not spare me until the summer's campaign was over, so I remained with him.

We moved on and established our quarters at the same place as the year before, and a more lonesome summer I never put in anywhere than there. I was not able to do anything more than stay in camp and give orders until late in the season. Lieut. Jackson had two more engagements that season, but I was not able to be in either of them.

The first one the soldiers killed nine Indians, and the other time the Indians made an attack on him while he, with twenty of his men, were escorting an emigrant train across the mountains. In this engagement the Lieutenant did not lose a man, and only three horses, and killed twenty-three Indians and gave them a chase of about ten miles.

It was now getting late in the fall and Lieut. Jackson pulled out for the fort, and by that time I was just able to climb on my horse without assistance. We arrived at Fort Yuma about the first of November, and there I remained till the first of June, 1878.

Before I left I made Mrs. Davis and her family a farewell visit. Two of her daughters were then married and lived near their mother, and all seemed to be in a prosperous condition. After a pleasant visit with the Davis folks I returned to the fort and commenced making preparations to leave, but was delayed in starting at least a month on account of some soldiers who had served their time out and were going to return with me. I told my old friend Lieut. Jackson the day before starting that I did not think that there was another white man in the United States that had seen less of civilization or more of Indian warfare than I had, it now being just thirty-one years since I started out with Uncle Kit Carson onto the plains and into the mountains.

When I left the fort this time it was with the determination that I would not go into the scouting field again, and I have kept my word so far, and think I shall thus continue. I started out from the fort with twenty-three head of horses, and I packed the baggage of the four discharged soldiers in order to get them to help me with my loose horses.