Although there was no moon, the stars gave out sufficient light to show that the soldiers were in a country filled with huge rocks, behind which a well-armed foe could fight for hours. In front was a deep valley: dark, precipitous, vague. "You are at the place," said Nantje. "A dozen picked men must be sent forward with me to climb down the precipice in order to attack."
"All right," whispered the Major. "Fifty more will come behind you. A strong detachment will hold the edge of the precipice to prevent any of the hostiles from getting above and killing our people with their rifles. As soon as these first detachments secure the field, the rest of our force will come down."
The Indians in the cave below were absolutely unaware of the approach of the soldiers. They were in high good humor, and were dancing to keep themselves warm. Several of the raiders who had just returned from a trip of killing and robbing in the settlements near Florence, on the Gila River, were bending over a fire, and stirring some deer meat in a bubbling pot, while a few sleepy squaws were cutting faggots. Sheltered in the bosom of these grim precipices, they fancied themselves secure from any intrusion save that of the eagle, the hawk, the turkey buzzard, or the mountain sheep. The fire danced upwards, sending the fitful gleam of the flame over the rugged precipices of inky blackness; while far below the glowing current of the rushing Salado sounded like solemn music of an invisible orchestra. But, hark, as the first glint of dawn reddened the horizon, a call sounded forth, and its echoes woke the stillness of the grim solitude: "We have you surrounded. You cannot escape. Surrender!"
Taken aback at this unlooked-for demand, the Apaches scattered, like slinking wolves, into the cave. They then hurled back their savage defiance in their own tongue. "We will die first. Not one of your own party will escape from the cañon!" The death wail came from the fortress, and then, out of the cave and over the great pile of rock, which protected the entrance, swarmed the warriors. Although outnumbered three to one, they fought like tigers. The bullets rained down upon the rocks like hailstones, and, striking the roof and mouth of the cave, glanced along and wounded a number of the women and children. Sharp wails of pain and rage rent the air as the battle continued.
Again the Apaches were summoned to surrender, or, if they would not do so, to allow such of their women and children as they desired pass out between the lines. But to this demand came yells of defiance. A little boy, not more than four years old, now ran out of the cave and stood dumbfounded at the affray. Without a moment's pause, Nantje rushed forward, grasped the trembling infant by the arm, and escaped to the lines of the troopers with the boy unhurt. A bullet struck the little Apache, but did not injure him, and, as the new recruit reached a place of safety, the troopers gave a yell of encouragement and appreciation of the brave rescue.
The end of the fight had nearly come. A detachment left by Major Brown at the top of the precipice to protect the retreat, in case of necessity, had worked its way over to a high shelf of rock, overlooking the cave of the Apaches, and began to tumble down great boulders, which speedily crushed the greater number of these rude warriors of the mountains. The rifle fire grew hot and savage; so savage that, in twenty minutes, every Indian was dead at his post, and the troops swarmed into the little fort. In the inner recesses of the cave were the women and children, a number of whom had been struck by glancing bullets and fragments of rock. They were seized, carried to the pack train, mounted on horses and mules, and started for the nearest railway station. The great fight in the mountains was over.
This was a crushing blow to the savages. Driven to bay in their chosen fortress, where they thought that no one could reach them, all of the warriors had been exterminated, while only one white soldier had been killed. As Major Randall, two days later, delivered another crushing blow to the hostiles, at Turret Butte, the remaining Apaches, including Geronimo, soon capitulated to the governmental forces. But this snakelike warrior was not to remain long in peace and quiet, for he resented the control of the whites. In May he escaped from Fort Apache, taking with him thirty-four warriors, eight boys, and ninety-one women, who travelled one hundred and twenty miles before camping. Thus and thus only they eluded the cavalry sent in pursuit, and, although chased hundreds of miles, the band safely reached the wild wastes of the Sierra Madre Mountains.
General Crook pushed hot upon the trail of the terrible Apache. The thermometer registered one hundred and twenty degrees, and often more. The air was like a fiery furnace, and the soil was like a hot stove, under the feet of the troopers. Often the metal work upon their guns became so hot that it could not be touched with the bare hand, and sometimes, aflame with thirst, they would reach a tiny spring—the only one for miles—to find it befouled by the retreating Apaches, so that neither man nor beast could drink from it. Still Crook persisted and finally captured the crafty Geronimo. He held him for only one night, and then the slippery Apache escaped to the arid wasteland, leaving his wife behind him in the hands of the soldiers. Several nights later he stole into camp with four of his warriors, found his wife's tent in the blackness, and, before the dozing sentries discovered him, was off again into the wilderness, with his better half strapped before him on his scraggly pony.
Geronimo retreated into Mexico and lost himself in the treeless mountains which seemed to be incapable of sustaining human life. But he was pursued by the American troops as if he were a wild animal. Fortunately, a treaty with Mexico made it possible for United States forces to venture far beyond the Rio Grande, and thus several detachments were soon upon the trail of the outlawed Apache. Captain H. W. Lawton and Assistant Surgeon Leonard Wood did their utmost to capture him. He was hunted from mountain range to mountain range; through snowfields, cactus plants, and sun-baked ridges. Every device known to the red men was practiced to throw the pursuing enemies off the trail, but the half-breed trailers were good, and it was soon evident that not a spot could be reached by Geronimo's band which would offer them security. Twenty-five different commands, or detachments, representing four regiments, kept up this persistent trailing through narrow paths, along dangerous divides, down side cuts into the middle of precipices hundreds of feet high, up precipitous banks and beetling crags; sometimes leading the jaded horses for hours, at times looking vertically into cañons whose bottom was a mile below. One of the scouts, while looking for signs of the fugitives, rode one horse nearly five hundred miles in less than seven days and nights; while a young lieutenant once climbed a mountainous ascent for twenty-six hours, with the heat at 110°, and without water for eighteen hours of this time. Such perseverance was bound to tell.
At length Lawton's troopers, clinging to the trail like bloodhounds, and suffering much from heat and thirst, cornered Geronimo's men in a valley three hundred miles south of the Mexican boundary line, in the Sonora range of mountains. There had been several skirmishes with them along the way, and the United States troopers had shown great gallantry under fire, especially in rescuing their own wounded troops when under close range of the rifles of Geronimo's Apaches. The food supply of these fugitives was now exhausted, and, realizing that to stand out longer would be the height of absurdity, the Indians made signs of peace. At the risk of his life, a young lieutenant, named Gatewood, of the Sixth Cavalry, went unattended into Geronimo's camp, and meeting the Apache chieftain face to face, gave him the terms of speedy surrender. The old chief was helpless, and he knew it. So he surrendered and was brought back to New Mexico with the remnants of his once powerful army of mountain fighters.