About noon of the 15th we had descended into a small box cañon, where we were met by two white men (packers) and nine Apache scouts.
They had come back from Crawford with news for which all were prepared. The enemy was close in our front, and fighting might begin at any moment. The scouts in advance had picked up numbers of ponies, mules, burros, and cattle. This conversation was broken by the sudden arrival of an Apache runner, who had come six miles over the mountains in less than an hour. He reached us at 1.05, and handed General Crook a note, dated 12.15, stating that the advance-guard had run across the Chiricahuas this morning in a cañon, and had become much excited. Two Chiricahuas were fired at, two bucks and a squaw, by scouts, which action had alarmed the hostiles, and their camp was on the move. Crawford would pursue with all possible rapidity. At the same moment reports of distant musketry-firing were borne across the hills. Crawford was fighting the Chiricahuas! There could be no doubt about that; but exactly how many he had found, and what luck he was having, no one could tell. General Crook ordered Chaffee to mount his men, and everybody to be in readiness to move forward to Crawford’s support, if necessary. The firing continued for a time, and then grew feeble and died away.
All were anxious for a fight which should bring this Chiricahua trouble to an end; we had an abundance of ammunition and a sufficiency of rations for a pursuit of several days and nights, the moon being at its full.
Shortly after dark Crawford and his command came into camp. They had “jumped” “Bonito’s” and “Chato’s” rancherías, killing nine and capturing five—two boys, two girls, and one young woman, the daughter of “Bonito,” without loss to our side. From the dead Chiricahuas had been taken four nickel-plated, breech-loading Winchester repeating rifles, and one Colt’s revolver, new model. The Chiricahuas had been pursued across a fearfully broken country, gashed with countless ravines, and shrouded with a heavy growth of pine and scrub-oak. How many had been killed and wounded could never be definitely known, the meagre official report, submitted by Captain Crawford, being of necessity confined to figures known to be exact. Although the impetuosity of the younger scouts had precipitated the engagement and somewhat impaired its effect, yet this little skirmish demonstrated two things to the hostile Chiricahuas; their old friends and relatives from the San Carlos had invaded their strongholds as the allies of the white men, and could be depended upon to fight, whether backed up by white soldiers or not. The scouts next destroyed the village, consisting of thirty wickyups, disposed in two clusters, and carried off all the animals, loading down forty-seven of them with plunder. This included the traditional riffraff of an Indian village: saddles, bridles, meat, mescal, blankets, and clothing, with occasional prizes of much greater value, originally stolen by the Chiricahuas in raids upon Mexicans or Americans. There were several gold and silver watches, a couple of albums, and a considerable sum of money—Mexican and American coin and paper. The captives behaved with great coolness and self-possession, considering their tender years. The eldest said that her people had been astounded and dismayed when they saw the long line of Apache scouts rushing in upon them; they would be still more disconcerted when they learned that our guide was “Peaches,” as familiar as themselves with every nook in strongholds so long regarded as inaccessible. Nearly all the Chiricahua warriors were absent raiding in Sonora and Chihuahua. This young squaw was positive that the Chiricahuas would give up without further fighting, since the Americans had secured all the advantages of position. “Loco” and “Chihuahua,” she knew, would be glad to live peaceably upon the reservation, if justly treated; “Hieronymo” and “Chato” she wasn’t sure about. “Ju” was defiant, but none of his bands were left alive. Most important information of all, she said that in the ranchería just destroyed was a little white boy about six years old, called “Charlie,” captured by “Chato” in his recent raid in Arizona. This boy had run away with the old squaws when the advance of the Apache scouts had been first detected. She said that if allowed to go out she would in less than two days bring in the whole band, and Charlie (McComas) with them. All that night the lofty peak, the scene of the action, blazed with fire from the burning ranchería. Rain-clouds gathered in the sky, and, after hours of threatening, broke into a severe but brief shower about sunrise next morning (May 15).
APACHE GIRL WITH TYPICAL DRESS.
The young woman was given a little hard bread and meat, enough to last two days, and allowed to go off, taking with her the elder of the boy captives. The others stayed with us and were kindly treated. They were given all the baked mescal they could eat and a sufficiency of bread and meat. The eldest busied herself with basting a skirt, but, like another Penelope, as fast as her work was done she ripped it up and began anew—apparently afraid that idleness would entail punishment. The younger girl sobbed convulsively, but her little brother, a handsome brat, gazed stolidly at the world through eyes as big as oysters and as black as jet.
Later in the morning, after the fitful showers had turned into a blinding, soaking rain, the Apache scouts made for these young captives a little shelter of branches and a bed of boughs and dry grass. Pickets were thrown out to watch the country on all sides and seize upon any stray Chiricahua coming unsuspectingly within their reach. The rain continued with exasperating persistency all day. The night cleared off bitter cold and water froze in pails and kettles. The command moved out from this place, going to another and better location a few miles south-east. The first lofty ridge had been scaled, when we descried on the summit of a prominent knoll directly in our front a thin curl of smoke wreathing upwards. This was immediately answered by the scouts, who heaped up pine-cones and cedar branches, which, in a second after ignition, shot a bold, black, resinous signal above the tops of the loftiest pines.
Five miles up and down mountains of no great height but of great asperity led to a fine camping-place, at the junction of two well-watered cañons, near which grew pine, oak, and cedar in plenty, and an abundance of rich, juicy grasses. The Apache scouts sent up a second smoke signal, promptly responded to from a neighboring butte. A couple of minutes after two squaws were seen threading their way down through the timber and rocks and yelling with full voice. They were the sisters of Tô-klani (Plenty Water), one of the scouts. They said that they had lost heavily in the fight, and that while endeavoring to escape over the rocks and ravines and through the timber the fire of the scouts had played havoc among them. They fully confirmed all that the captives had said about Charlie McComas. Two hours had scarcely passed when six other women had come in, approaching the pickets two and two, and waving white rags. One of these, the sister of “Chihuahua”—a prominent man among the Chiricahuas—said that her brother wanted to come in, and was trying to gather up his band, which had scattered like sheep after the fight; he might be looked for in our camp at any moment.