After a hasty breakfast of ham and eggs—I generally ordered ham and eggs in Arizona because other meats were far from tender in those days—we took our places on the wagon. Levy occupied the front seat with McGill, while Bates and I sat on top of a huge trunk, slippery and uncertain.
Although the animals seemed good and hardy, they were small, and I do not think we realized the great weight of the combined load. At the wheels we had a pair of small and nimble mules, and as leaders a pair of small bay horses, whose looks did not recommend them.
The first day out all went well, and we reached the little town of Bonita, a most desolate-looking place. We had travelled less than thirty miles.
We drove up to the door of a little adobe building with a thatched roof. On the front a crude sign informed the public that it was a “General Store.” Another placard indicated that it was also a public-house, or “saloon,” as they are called in America.
On entering we found ourselves in a small room with a rough counter running down one side, behind which was the smiling face of the proprietor, who lived with his wife and two beautiful daughters in the one adjoining room—these two rooms constituting the entire building.
We spent the night on the floor of the store, in front of the counter, and next morning resumed our journey, hoping to reach the little group of buildings known as Standard before night. In my own mind—and I think the others believed the same—I did not really expect to reach Standard that night, for it was nearly fifty miles distant and our animals were far from fresh.
I think it was about ten o’clock in the morning that we saw a cloud of dust several miles ahead. In time it proved to be a company of negro soldiers, marching to a neighbouring military post.
As they came alongside we could see a number of rifles sticking out of the canvas of the great covered wagons which accompanied them. They halted, and an officer, whom McGill said was a colonel, came over. He saluted us pleasantly and asked laughingly:—
“Are you not afraid to travel in this direction?”
McGill inquired why, whereupon the officer explained that “Apache Kid” was out with a small band of warriors, that Geronimo had disappeared from the Indian Reservation, and that serious trouble was brewing. The troops, he added, were being moved for the purpose of heading off “Apache Kid” and his crowd.