Forty Years Among the Indians / A true yet thrilling narrative of the author's experiences among the natives

by Daniel W. Jones

The next place of importance, to which we looked forward with some anxiety, was Fort Bowie. On arriving there, we presented our letters to Jeffries, who was in charge of the reservation at Bowie. But the Indians seemed to be in charge of both Jeffries and several companies of soldiers stationed there, for the Indians did about as they pleased.

It was considered somewhat risky to pass through the Apache Pass. According to an agreement made at Beaver with D. H. Wells to be careful, we camped a day's travel this side of the Indians, and with one of the brethren went in to see how things looked. I felt a little uneasy. The Indians were under no control whatever, save that of self-interest. The government gave them everything they wanted, and more. They had provisions of every kind so abundantly, that a great deal was wasted. They had all the guns and ammunition they wanted, and were allowed to raid at will into Sonora and Chihuahua. It was generally believed that they were encouraged by some of the whites in their raiding. When I talked with the agent he said we were safe enough if we did not happen to run across any drunken Indians on the road; but as the weather was cold and disagreeable, he did not think any of them would be out. Advised us to stop at the mail station near the fort and not turn out any animals.

We went back to camp and reported All felt like we would be safe. We all had faith in being protected for we were on a mission, not of our own choosing. We got in next day all right. Our animals needed shoeing so we concluded to lay over a day. I had a great desire to talk to these Indians, believing that they would listen a little. I made some inquiry of the trader who had been with them for some years, about their traditions. He said they had none, only to murder and steal. This I found afterwards to be a great mistake.

I asked Mr. Jeffries, permission to talk to the Indians. He rather jeeringly replied, "I don't think you can get them to listen to you, I am the only man they will talk to."

I answered, "All I ask is your permission and if they won't listen to me, all right."

He said, "Go ahead, I guess you can't make them much worse than they are anyway."

I inquired if any of the Indians talked Spanish. Their interpreter, a drunken little Mexican, offered to interpret, if I would pay him, saying that that was his business, and that no one had a right to talk to the Indians except through him. I told him that the agent had given me the privilege of talking to them; that I was not working for money, and that I did not intend to pay for any interpreting. He then pointed out an Indian that spoke tolerable fair Spanish.

I approached the Indian and spoke to him. He answered quite short and asked what I wanted. I told him that what I wanted to say to him was for his people's good; that if he would listen to me a few minutes, he could then judge.

He looked me in the eye for a moment and then said, "All right, say what you please."

I asked him if the Apaches had any knowledge of their fathers, counting back many counts. He answered that they had lost that, and did not know anything about them.