On the Border with Crook

by John Gregory Bourke

Our commanding general showed himself to be a man who took the deepest interest in everything we had to tell, whether it was of peccaries chased off on one side of the road, of quail flushed in great numbers, of the swift-walking, long-tailed road-runner—the “paisano” or “chapparal cock,” of which the Mexicans relate that it will imprison the deadly rattler by constructing around its sleeping coils a fence of cactus spines; of tarantulas and centipedes and snakes—possibly, some of the snake-stories of Arizona may have been a trifle exaggerated, but then we had no fish, and a man must have something upon which to let his imagination have full swing; of badgers run to their holes; of coyotes raced to death; of jackass-rabbits surrounded and captured; and all the lore of plant and animal life in which the Mexican border is so rich. Nothing was too insignificant to be noted, nothing too trivial to be treasured up in our memories; such was the lesson taught during our moments of conversation with General Crook. The guides and trailers soon found that although they who had been born and brought up in that vast region could tell Crook much, they could never tell him anything twice, while as for reading signs on the trail there was none of them his superior.

At times we would march for miles through a country in which grew only the white-plumed yucca with trembling, serrated leaves; again, mescal would fill the hillsides so thickly that one could almost imagine that it had been planted purposely; or we passed along between masses of the dust-laden, ghostly sage-brush, or close to the foul-smelling joints of the “hediondilla.” The floral wealth of Arizona astonished us the moment we had gained the higher elevations of the Mogollon and the other ranges. Arizona will hold a high place in any list that may be prepared in this connection; there are as many as twenty and thirty different varieties of very lovely flowers and blossoms to be plucked within a stone’s-throw of one’s saddle after reaching camp of an evening,—phloxes, marguerites, chrysanthemums, verbenas, golden-rod, sumach, columbines, delicate ferns, forget-me-nots, and many others for which my very limited knowledge of botany furnishes no name. The flowers of Arizona are delightful in color, but they yield no perfume, probably on account of the great dryness of the atmosphere.

As for grasses one has only to say what kind he wants, and lo! it is at his feet—from the coarse sacaton which is deadly to animals except when it is very green and tender; the dainty mesquite, the bunch, and the white and black grama, succulent and nutritious. But I am speaking of the situations where we would make camp, because, as already stated, there are miles and miles of land purely desert, and clothed only with thorny cacti and others of that ilk. I must say, too, that the wild grasses of Arizona always seemed to me to have but slight root in the soil, and my observation is that the presence of herds of cattle soon tears them up and leaves the land bare.

If the marching over the deserts had its unpleasant features, certainly the compensation offered by the camping places in the cañons, by limpid streams of rippling water, close to the grateful foliage of cottonwood, sycamore, ash, or walnut; or, in the mountains, the pine and juniper, and sheltered from the sun by walls of solid granite, porphyry or basalt, was a most delightful antithesis, and one well worthy of the sacrifices undergone to attain it. Strong pickets were invariably posted, as no risks could be run in that region; we were fortunate to have just enough evidence of the close proximity of the Apaches to stimulate all to keep both eyes open.

“F” troop of the Third Cavalry, to which I belonged, had the misfortune to give the alarm to a large band of Chiricahua Apaches coming down the Sulphur Springs Valley from Sonora, with a herd of ponies or cattle; we did not have the remotest idea that there were Indians in the country, not having seen the faintest sign, when all of a sudden at the close of a night march, very near where the new post of Camp Grant has since been erected on the flank of the noble Sierra Bonita or Mount Graham, we came upon their fires with the freshly slaughtered beeves undivided, and the blood still warm; but our advance had alarmed the enemy, and they had moved off, scattering as they departed.

Similarly, Robinson I think it was, came so close upon the heels of a party of raiders that they dropped a herd of fifteen or twenty “burros” with which they had just come up from the Mexican border. Our pack-trains ran in upon a band of seven bears in the Aravaypa cañon which scared the mules almost out of their senses, but the packers soon laid five of the ursines low and wounded the other two which, however, escaped over the rough, dangerous rocks.

There were sections of country passed over which fairly reeked with the baleful malaria, like the junction of the San Carlos and the Gila. There were others along which for miles and miles could be seen nothing but lava, either in solid waves, or worse yet, in “nigger-head” lumps of all sizes. There were mountain ranges with flanks hidden under a solid matting of the scrub-oak, and others upon whose summits grew dense forests of graceful pines, whose branches, redolent with balsamic odors, screened from the too fierce glow of the noonday sun. There were broad stretches of desert, where the slightest movement raised clouds of dust which would almost stifle both men and beasts; and gloomy ravines and startling cañons, in whose depths flowed waters as swift and clear and cool as any that have ever rippled along the pages of poetry.

Camp Apache was reached after a march and scout of all the intermediate country and a complete familiarization with the course of all the streams passed over en route. Nature had been more than liberal in her apportionment of attractions at this point, and there are truly few fairer scenes in the length and breadth of our territory. The post, still in the rawest possible state and not half-constructed, was situated upon a gently sloping mesa, surrounded by higher hills running back to the plateaux which formed the first line of the Mogollon range. Grass was to be had in plenty, while, as for timber, the flanks of every elevation, as well as the summits of the mountains themselves, were covered with lofty pine, cedar, and oak, with a sprinkling of the “madroño,” or mountain mahogany.

Two branches of the Sierra Blanca River unite almost in front of the camp, and supply all the water needed for any purpose, besides being stocked fairly well with trout, a fish which is rare in other sections of the Territory. Hunting was very good, and the sportsman could find, with very slight trouble, deer, bear, elk, and other varieties of four-footed animals, with wild turkey and quail in abundance. In the vicinity of this lovely site lived a large number of the Apaches, under chiefs who were peaceably disposed towards the whites—men like the old Miguel, Eskitistsla, Pedro, Pitone, Alchise, and others, who expressed themselves as friendly, and showed by their actions the sincerity of their avowals. They planted small farms with corn, gathered the wild seeds, hunted, and were happy as savages are when unmolested. Colonel John Green, of the First Cavalry, was in command, with two troops of his own regiment and two companies of the Twenty-third Infantry. Good feeling existed between the military and the Indians, and the latter seemed anxious to put themselves in “the white man’s road.”

General Crook had several interviews with Miguel and the others who came in to see him, and to them he explained his views. To my surprise he didn’t have any “policy,” in which respect he differed from every other man I have met, as all seem to have “policies” about the management of Indians, and the less they know the more “policy” they seem to keep in stock. Crook’s talk was very plain; a child could have understood every word he said. He told the circle of listening Indians that he had not come to make war, but to avoid it if possible. Peace was the best condition in which to live, and he hoped that those who were around him would see that peace was not only preferable, but essential, and not for themselves alone, but for the rest of their people as well. The white people were crowding in all over the Western country, and soon it would be impossible for any one to live upon game; it would be driven away or killed off. Far better for every one to make up his mind to plant and to raise horses, cows, and sheep, and make his living in that way; his animals would thrive and increase while he slept, and in less than no time the Apache would be wealthier than the Mexican. So long as the Apache behaved himself he should receive the fullest protection from the troops, and no white man should be allowed to do him harm; but so long as any fragment of the tribe kept out on the war-path, it would be impossible to afford all the protection to the well-disposed that they were entitled to receive, as bad men could say that it was not easy to discriminate between those who were good and those who were bad. Therefore, he wished to ascertain for himself just who were disposed to remain at peace permanently and who preferred to continue in hostility. He had no desire to punish any man or woman for any acts of the past. He would blot them all out and begin over again. It was no use to try to explain how the war with the whites had begun. All that he cared to say was, that it must end, and end at once. He would send out to all the bands still in the mountains, and tell them just the same thing. He did not intend to tell one story to one band and another to another; but to all the same words, and it would be well for all to listen with both ears. If every one came in without necessitating a resort to bloodshed he should be very glad; but, if any refused, then he should expect the good men to aid him in running down the bad ones. That was the way the white people did; if there were bad men in a certain neighborhood, all the law-abiding citizens turned out to assist the officers of the law in arresting and punishing those who would not behave themselves. He hoped that the Apaches would see that it was their duty to do the same. He hoped to be able to find work for them all. It was by work, and by work only, that they could hope to advance and become rich.