To complicate matters further, the Chiricahuas, and all the other Apaches as well, were filled with the notion that the Mexicans were a horde of cowards and treacherous liars, afraid to meet them in war but valiant enough to destroy their women and children, for whose blood, by the savage’s law of retaliation, blood must in turn be shed. Affairs went on in this unsatisfactory course from October, 1882, until March, 1883, everybody in Arizona expecting a return of the dreaded Chiricahuas, but no one knowing where the first attack should be made. The meagre military force allotted to the department was distributed so as to cover as many exposed points as possible, one body of 150 Apache scouts, under Captain Emmet Crawford, Third Cavalry, being assigned to the arduous duty of patrolling the Mexican boundary for a distance of two hundred miles, through a rugged country pierced with ravines and cañons. No one was surprised to learn that toward the end of March this skeleton line had been stealthily penetrated by a bold band of twenty-six Chiricahuas, under a very crafty and daring young chief named Chato (Spanish for Flat Nose).
By stealing fresh horses from every ranch they were successful in traversing from seventy-five to one hundred miles a day, killing and destroying all in their path, the culminating point in their bloody career being the butchery of Judge McComas and wife, prominent and refined people of Silver City, N. M., and the abduction of their bright boy, Charlie, whom the Indians carried back with them on their retreat through New Mexico and Chihuahua.
It may serve to give some idea of the courage, boldness, and subtlety of these raiders to state that in their dash through Sonora, Arizona, New Mexico, and Chihuahua, a distance of not less than eight hundred miles, they passed at times through localities fairly well settled and close to an aggregate of at least 5,000 troops—4,500 Mexican and 500 American. They killed twenty-five persons, Mexican and American, and lost but two—one killed near the Total Wreck mine, Arizona, and one who fell into the hands of the American troops, of which last much has to be narrated.
To attempt to catch such a band of Apaches by direct pursuit would be about as hopeless a piece of business as that of catching so many fleas. All that could be done was done; the country was alarmed by telegraph; people at exposed points put upon their guard, while detachments of troops scoured in every direction, hoping, by good luck, to intercept, retard, mayhap destroy, the daring marauders. The trail they had made coming up from Mexico could, however, be followed, back to the stronghold; and this, in a military sense, would be the most direct, as it would be the most practical pursuit.
Crook’s plans soon began to outline themselves. He first concentrated at the most eligible position on the Southern Pacific Railroad—Willcox—all the skeletons of companies which were available, for the protection of Arizona.
Forage, ammunition, and subsistence were brought in on every train; the whole organization was carefully inspected, to secure the rejection of every unserviceable soldier, animal, or weapon; telegrams and letters were sent to the officers commanding the troops of Mexico, but no replies were received, the addresses of the respective generals not being accurately known. As their co-operation was desirable, General Crook, as a last resort, went by railroad to Guaymas, Hermosillo, and Chihuahua, there to see personally and confer with the Mexican civil and military authorities. The cordial reception extended him by all classes was the best evidence of the high regard in which he was held by the inhabitants of the two afflicted States of Sonora and Chihuahua, and of their readiness to welcome any force he would lead to effect the destruction or removal of the common enemy. Generals Topete and Carbó—soldiers of distinction—the governors of the two States, and Mayor Zubiran, of Chihuahua, were most earnest in their desire for a removal of savages whose presence was a cloud upon the prosperity of their fellow-citizens. General Crook made no delay in these conferences, but hurried back to Willcox and marched his command thence to the San Bernardino springs, in the south-east corner of the Territory (Arizona).
But serious delays and serious complications were threatened by the intemperate behavior of an organization calling itself the “Tombstone Rangers,” which marched in the direction of the San Carlos Agency with the avowed purpose of “cleaning out” all the Indians there congregated. The chiefs and head men of the Apaches had just caused word to be telegraphed to General Crook that they intended sending him another hundred of their picked warriors as an assurance and pledge that they were not in sympathy with the Chiricahuas on the war-path. Upon learning of the approach of the “Rangers” the chiefs prudently deferred the departure of the new levy of scouts until the horizon should clear, and enable them to see what was to be expected from their white neighbors.
The whiskey taken along by the “Rangers” was exhausted in less than ten days, when the organization expired of thirst, to the gratification of the respectable inhabitants of the frontier, who repudiated an interference with the plans of the military commander, respected and esteemed by them for former distinguished services.
At this point it may be well to insert an outline of the story told by the Chiricahua captive who had been brought down from the San Carlos Agency to Willcox. He said that his name was Pa-nayo-tishn ( the Coyote saw him); that he was not a Chiricahua, but a White Mountain Apache of the Dest-chin (or Red Clay) clan, married to two Chiricahua women, by whom he had had children, and with whose people he had lived for years. He had left the Chiricahua stronghold in the mountain called Pa-gotzin-kay some five days’ journey below Casas Grandes in Chihuahua. From that stronghold the Chiricahuas had been raiding with impunity upon the Mexicans. When pursued they would draw the Mexicans into the depths of the mountains, ambuscade them, and kill them by rolling down rocks from the heights.
The Chiricahuas had plenty of horses and cattle, but little food of a vegetable character. They were finely provided with sixteen-shooting breech-loading rifles, but were getting short of ammunition, and had made their recent raid into Arizona, hoping to replenish their supply of cartridges. Dissensions had broken out among the chiefs, some of whom, he thought, would be glad to return to the reservation. In making raids they counted upon riding from sixty to seventy-five miles a day as they stole fresh horses all the time and killed those abandoned. It would be useless to pursue them, but he would lead General Crook back along the trail they had made coming up from Mexico, and he had no doubt the Chiricahuas could be taken by surprise.