"Physically, he is perfect; he might be a trifle taller for artistic effect, but his apparent 'squattiness' is due more to great girth of chest than to diminutive stature. His muscles are hard as bone, and I have seen one light a match on the sole of his foot. When Crook first took the Apache in hand, he had few wants and cared for no luxuries. War was his business, his life, and victory his dream. To attack a Mexican camp or isolated village, and run off a herd of cattle, mules, or sheep, he would gladly travel hundreds of miles, incurring every risk and displaying a courage which would have been extolled in a historical novel as having happened in a raid by Highlanders upon Scotchmen; but when it was your stock, or your friend's stock, it became quite a different matter. He wore no clothing whatever save a narrow piece of calico or buckskin about his loins, a helmet also of buckskin, plentifully crested with the plumage of the wild turkey and eagle, and long-legged moccasins, held to the waist by a string, and turned up at the toes in a shield which protected him from stones and the 'cholla' cactus. If he felt thirsty, he drank from the nearest brook; if there was no brook near by he went without, and, putting a stone or a twig in his mouth to induce a flow of saliva, journeyed on. When he desired to communicate with friends at home, or to put himself in correspondence with persons whose co-operation had been promised, he rubbed two sticks together, and dense signal smoke rolled to the zenith, and was answered from peaks twenty and thirty miles away. By nightfall, his bivouac was pitched at a distance from water, generally on the flank of a rocky mountain, along which no trail would be left, and up which no force of cavalry could hope to ascend without making noise enough to wake the dead."
This graphic picture of the dusky scourge of the Southwest will explain the dread in which he was held by all who were compelled to live away from the towns. When practicable, the ranchmen combined against the Apaches, but, from the necessities of the case, they were powerless to extirpate the pests. Unsuccessful attempts were made by the military forces, but nothing definite was accomplished until General George Crook took the work in hand.
Crook was an old Indian campaigner who thoroughly understood the nature of the difficult task before him. His preparations being completed, he ordered his different columns to converge, December 9, 1872, on Tonto Basin, which was one of the principal strongholds of the Apaches in Arizona. The section is inclosed by the Mogollen, the Mazatzal, and the Sierra Ancha Mountains, and the timbered region is so elevated that during the winter months it is covered with snow. Crook himself took station at Camp Grant, one of the most unattractive posts in the country.
This officer having started on his campaign pushed it with untiring energy. He had selected the best Indian fighters to be found anywhere, and they pursued and rounded up the bucks with amazing skill and persistency. As soon as they corralled a party of hostiles, they impressed the best trailers and used them in running down the others. The Indians were allowed no time to rest. When they had fled many miles, and supposed their pursuers were left far out of sight, as had hitherto been the case, they discovered them at their heels. Plunging into their fastnesses in the mountains did not avail, for the white and the red trailers could follow and did follow them wherever they took refuge.
The pursuing detachments frequently crossed one another's trails, often met and kept within supporting distance. The danger which threatened the Apaches was as present in the darkness as when the sun was shining. One of the seemingly inaccessible strongholds was reached by the troopers pushing the pursuit all through the night. As a proof of the skill of the Apache trailers, it may be said they were often guided in the gloom by the feeling of their feet, which told them when they were on the trail of the enemy. Captain Bourke, whom we have quoted, was in command of a detachment of the best Indian trailers and sharpshooters. He thus describes the scene and incidents, when, after hours of stealthy pursuit through the rough region, they came upon the hostiles, who believed themselves beyond reach of the most persistent enemies of any race:
GENERAL CROOK'S
APACHE GUIDE.
"Lieutenant William J. Ross, of the Twenty-first Infantry, was assigned to lead the first detachment, which contained the best shots from among the soldiers, packers, and scouts. The second detachment came under my own orders. Our pioneer party slipped down the face of the precipice without accident, following a trail from which an incautious step would have caused them to be dashed to pieces; after a couple of hundred yards this brought them face to face with the cave, and not two hundred feet from it. In front of the cave was the party of raiders, just returned from their successful trip of killing and robbing in the settlement near Florence on the Gila River. They were dancing to keep themselves warm and to express their joy over their safe return. Half a dozen or more of the squaws had arisen from their slumbers and were bending over a fire and hurriedly preparing refreshments for their victorious kinsmen. The fitful gleam of the glowing flame gave a Macbethian tinge to the weird scene, and brought into bold relief the grim outlines of the cliffs, between whose steep walls, hundreds of feet below, growled the rushing current of the swift Salado.
"The Indians, men and women, were in high good humor, and why should they not be? Sheltered in the bosom of these grim precipices, only the eagle, the hawk, the turkey buzzard, or the mountain sheep could venture to intrude upon them. But hark! What is that noise? Can it be the breeze of morning which sounds 'click, click?' You will know in one second more, poor, deluded, red-skinned wretches, when the 'bang! boom!' of rifles and carbines, reverberating like the roar of a cannon, from peak to peak, shall lay six of your number dead in the dust.