On the Border with Crook

by John Gregory Bourke

I will curtail my remarks upon the manners and customs of the Apaches at this point, as there will necessarily be many other allusions to them before this narrative shall be completed. One thing more is all I care to say. The endurance of their warriors while on raids was something which extorted expressions of wonder from all white men who ever had anything to do with their subjugation. Seventy-five miles a day was nothing at all unusual for them to march when pursued, their tactics being to make three or four such marches, in the certainty of being able to wear out or throw off the track the most energetic and the most intelligent opponents.

Their vision is so keen that they can discern movements of troops or the approach of wagon-trains for a distance of thirty miles, and so inured are they to the torrid heats of the burning sands of Arizona south of the Gila and Northern Mexico, that they seem to care nothing for temperatures under which the American soldier droops and dies. The Apache, as a matter of fact, would strip himself of everything and travel naked, which the civilized man would not do; but the amount of clothing retained by the soldiers was too small to be considered a very important factor.

If necessary, the Apache will go without water for as long a time almost as a camel. A small stone or a twig inserted in the mouth will cause a more abundant flow of saliva and assuage his thirst. He travels with fewer “impedimenta” than any other tribe of men in the world, not even excepting the Australians, but sometimes he allows himself the luxury or comfort of a pack of cards, imitated from those of the Mexicans, and made out of horse-hide, or a set of the small painted sticks with which to play the game of “Tze-chis,” or, on occasions when an unusually large number of Apaches happen to be travelling together, some one of the party will be loaded with the hoops and poles of the “mushka;” for, be it known, that the Apache, like savages everywhere, and not a few civilized men, too, for that matter, is so addicted to gambling that he will play away the little he owns of clothing and all else he possesses in the world.

Perhaps no instance could afford a better idea of the degree of ruggedness the Apaches attain than the one coming under my personal observation in the post hospital of Fort Bowie, in 1886, where one of our Apache scouts was under treatment for a gunshot wound in the thigh. The moment Mr. Charles Lummis and myself approached the bedside of the young man, he asked for a “tobacco-shmoke,” which he received in the form of a bunch of cigarettes. One of these he placed in his mouth, and, drawing a match, coolly proceeded to strike a light on his foot, which, in its horny, callous appearance, closely resembled the back of a mud tortoise.

CHAPTER VIII.

CROOK’S FIRST MOVEMENTS AGAINST THE APACHES—THE SCOUTS—MIRAGES—THE FLORAL WEALTH OF ARIZONA—RUNNING IN UPON THE HOSTILE APACHES—AN ADVENTURE WITH BEARS—CROOK’S TALK WITH THE APACHES—THE GREAT MOGOLLON PLATEAU—THE TONTO BASIN—MONTEZUMA’S WELL—CLIFF DWELLINGS—THE PACK TRAINS.

How it all came about I never knew; no one ever knew. There were no railroads and no telegraphs in those days, and there were no messages flashed across the country telling just what was going to be done and when and how. But be all that as it may, before any officer or man knew what had happened, and while the good people in Tucson were still asking each other whether the new commander had a “policy” or not—he had not, but that’s neither here nor there—we were out on the road, five full companies of cavalry, and a command of scouts and trailers gathered together from the best available sources, and the campaign had begun.

Rumors had reached Tucson—from what source no one could tell—that the Government would not permit Crook to carry on offensive operations against the Apaches, and there were officers in the Department, some even in our own command, who were inclined to lend an ear to them. They were enthusiasts, however, who based their views upon the fact that “Loco” and “Victorio,” prominent chiefs of the Warm Springs band over in New Mexico, had been ever since September of the year 1869, a period of not quite two years, encamped within sight of old Fort Craig, New Mexico, on the Rio Grande, waiting to hear from the Great Father in regard to having a Reservation established for them where they and their children could live at peace.

The more conservative sadly shook their heads. They knew that there had not been time for the various documents and reports in the case to make the round of the various bureaus in Washington, and lead to the formulation of any scheme in the premises. It used to take from four to six months for such a simple thing as a requisition for rations or clothing to produce any effect, and, of course, it would seem that the caring for a large body would consume still longer time for deliberation. But, no matter what Washington officialism might do or not do, General Crook was not the man to delay at his end of the line. We were on our way to Fort Bowie, in the eastern section of Arizona, leaving Tucson at six o’clock in the morning of July 11, 1871, and filing out on the mail road where the heat before ten o’clock attained 110° Fahrenheit in the shade, as we learned from the party left behind in Tucson to bring up the mail.

As it happened, Crook’s first movement was stopped; but not until it had almost ended and been, what it was intended to be, a “practice march” of the best kind, in which officers and men could get acquainted with each other and with the country in which at a later moment they should have to work in earnest. Our line of travel lay due east one hundred and ten miles to old Fort Bowie, thence north through the mountains to Camp Apache, thence across an unmapped region over and at the base of the great Mogollon range to Camp Verde and Prescott on the west. In all, some six hundred and seventy-five miles were travelled, and most of it being in the presence of a tireless enemy, made it the best kind of a school of instruction. The first man up in the morning, the first to be saddled, the first ready for the road, was our indefatigable commander, who, in a suit of canvas, and seated upon a good strong mule, with his rifle carried across the pommel of his saddle, led the way.