"The cold, gray dawn of that chill December morning was sending its first rays above the horizon and looking down upon one of the worst bands of Apaches in Arizona, caught like wolves in a trap. They rejected with scorn our summons to surrender, and defiantly shrieked that not one of our party should escape from the cañon. We heard their death-song chanted, and then out of the cave and over the great pile of rocks, which protected the entrance like a parapet, swarmed the warriors. But we outnumbered them three to one, and poured in lead by the bucketful. The bullets, striking the mouth and roof of the cave, glanced among the savages in rear of the parapet, and wounded some of the women and children, whose wails filled the air.
"During the heaviest part of the firing, a little boy not more than four years old, absolutely naked, ran out at the side of the parapet and stood dumfounded between the two fires. Nantaje, without a moment's pause, rushed forward, grasped the trembling infant by the arm, and escaped unhurt with him, inside our lines. A bullet, probably deflected from the rocks, had struck the boy on top of his head and plowed around to the back of his neck, leaving a welt an eighth of an inch thick, but not injuring him seriously. Our men suspended their firing to cheer Nantaje and welcome the new arrival; such is the inconsistency of human nature.
"Again the Apaches were summoned to surrender, or, if they would not do that, to let such of their women and children as so desired pass out between the lines; again they yelled their refusal. Their end had come. The detachment led by Major Brown at the top of the precipice, to protect our retreat in case of necessity, had worked its way over to a high shelf of rock overlooking the enemy beneath, and began to tumble down great bowlders, which speedily crushed the greater number of the Apaches. The Indians on the San Carlos reservation still mourn periodically for the seventy-six of their relatives who yielded up the ghost that morning. Every warrior died at his post. The women and children had hidden themselves in the inner recesses of the cave, which was of no great depth, and were captured and taken to Camp McDowell. A number of them had been struck by glancing bullets or fragments of falling rock. As soon as our pack trains could be brought up, we mounted the captives on our horses and mules and started for the nearest military station, the one just named, over fifty miles away."
This was one of the most decisive blows received by the hostiles. No more murderous band had ever desolated the ranches of Southern Arizona. It had been virtually wiped out by the troopers, who, complete as was their work, lost only a single man.
A GREAT TRANSFORMATION.
This achievement may illustrate the manner in which the American troopers did their work. A few days later a blow almost as destructive was delivered at Turret Butte, and within a month a hundred and ten Apaches in the Superstition Mountains surrendered to Major Brown and accompanied him to Camp Grant. The Indians understood the character of the man who was pressing them so remorselessly. They offered to surrender to General Crook, who told them that, if they would stop killing people and live peaceful lives, he would teach them to work, find a market for their products, and prove himself the truest friend they could have.
AN INDIAN WARRIOR.
They accepted the offer, for they knew Crook could be trusted. Strange as it may appear, he had all the Apaches within a month at work digging ditches, cutting hay and wood, planting vegetables, and as peaceful and contented as so many farmers in the interior of one of our own States. This transformation included all the Apaches in Arizona, excepting the Chiricahuas, who were not within the jurisdiction of Crook.