We kept in camp at Tesorababi until the night of May 7, and then marched straight for the Sierra Madre. The foot-hills were thickly covered with rich grama and darkened by groves of scrub-oak. Soon the oak gave way to cedar in great abundance, and the hills and ridges became steeper as we struck the trail lately made by the Chiricahuas driving off cattle from Sahuaripa and Oposura. We were fairly within the range, and had made good progress, when the scouts halted and began to explain to General Crook that nothing but bad luck could be expected if he didn’t set free an owl which one of our party had caught, and tied to the pommel of his saddle.
They said the owl (Bû) was a bird of ill-omen, and that we could not hope to whip the Chiricahuas so long as we retained it. These solicitations bore good fruit. The moon-eyed bird of night was set free and the advance resumed. Shortly before midnight camp was made in a very deep cañon, thickly wooded, and having a small stream a thousand feet below our position. No fires were allowed, and some confusion prevailed among the pack-mules, which could not find their places.
Very early the next morning (May 8, 1883) the command moved in easterly direction up the cañon. This was extremely rocky and steep. Water stood in pools everywhere, and animals and men slaked their fierce thirst. Indications of Chiricahua depredations multiplied. The trail was fresh and well-beaten, as if by scores—yes, hundreds—of stolen ponies and cattle.
The carcasses of five freshly slaughtered beeves lay in one spot; close to them a couple more, and so on.
The path wound up the face of the mountain, and became so precipitous that were a horse to slip his footing he would roll and fall hundreds of feet to the bottom. At one of the abrupt turns could be seen, deep down in the cañon, the mangled fragments of a steer which had fallen from the trail, and been dashed to pieces on the rocks below. It will save much repetition to say, at this point, that from now on we were never out of sight of ponies and cattle, butchered, in every stage of mutilation, or alive, and roaming by twos and threes in the ravines and on the mountain flanks.
Climb! Climb! Climb! Gaining the summit of one ridge only to learn that above it towered another, the face of nature fearfully corrugated into a perplexing alternation of ridges and chasms. Not far out from the last bivouac was passed the spot where a large body of Mexican troops had camped, the farthest point of their penetration into the range, although their scouts had been pushed in some distance farther, only to be badly whipped by the Chiricahuas, who sent them flying back, utterly demoralized.
These particulars may now be remarked of that country: It seemed to consist of a series of parallel and very high, knife-edged hills,—extremely rocky and bold; the cañons all contained water, either flowing rapidly, or else in tanks of great depth. Dense pine forests covered the ridges near the crests, the lower skirts being matted with scrub-oak. Grass was generally plentiful, but not invariably to be depended upon. Trails ran in every direction, and upon them were picked up all sorts of odds and ends plundered from the Mexicans,—dresses, made and unmade, saddles, bridles, letters, flour, onions, and other stuff. In every sheltered spot could be discerned the ruins,—buildings, walls, and dams, erected by an extinct race, once possessing this region.
The pack-trains had much difficulty in getting along. Six mules slipped from the trail, and rolled over and over until they struck the bottom of the cañon. Fortunately they had selected a comparatively easy grade, and none was badly hurt.
The scouts became more and more vigilant and the “medicine-men” more and more devotional. When camp was made the high peaks were immediately picketed, and all the approaches carefully examined. Fires were allowed only in rare cases, and in positions affording absolute concealment. Before going to bed the scouts were careful to fortify themselves in such a manner that surprise was simply impossible.
Late at night (May 8th) the “medicine-men” gathered together for the never-to-be-neglected duty of singing and “seeing” the Chiricahuas. After some palaver I succeeded in obtaining the privilege of sitting in the circle with them. All but one chanted in a low, melancholy tone, half song and half grunt. The solitary exception lay as if in a trance for a few moments, and then, half opening his lips, began to thump himself violently in the breast, and to point to the east and north, while he muttered: “Me can’t see the Chilicahuas yet. Bimeby me see ’um. Me catch ’um, me kill ’um. Me no catch ’um, me no kill ’um. Mebbe so six day me catch ’um; mebbe so two day. Tomollow me send twenty-pibe (25) men to hunt ’um tlail. Mebbe so tomollow catch ’um squaw. Chilicahua see me, me no get ’um. No see me, me catch him. Me see him little bit now. Mebbe so me see ’um more tomollow. Me catch ’um, me kill ’um. Me catch ’um hoss, me catch ’um mool (mule), me catch ’um cow. Me catch Chilicahua pooty soon, bimeby. Me kill ’um heap, and catch ’um squaw.” These prophecies, translated for me by an old friend in the circle who spoke some English, were listened to with rapt attention and reverence by the awe-struck scouts on the exterior.