Front matter (continued 4)

One of the saddest and most heart-rending tragedies resulted from this move. Victorio was camped at the large tanks on the north side and almost on top of the Candelaria Mountains, where he had fine range for his stock and plenty of game and wood. From those almost inaccessible peaks he could see for twenty or thirty miles in every direction and watch every move of travelers or hostile forces. The old chief now sent a small band of Indians, some six or seven in number, on a raid against the little settlement of San Jose. Here the Indians stole a bunch of Mexican ponies and hurried back to their camp on top of the Candelaria Mountains. The citizens of San Jose discovered the loss of their ponies, and on examining the trail, found there was only a small band of Indians in the raiding party. A company of the principal Mexicans of San Jose, under the command of Don Jose Rodriguez, and augmented by volunteers from the little town of Carrajal, left to locate the Indians and recover the stolen horses. The little band of fifteen brave men went to the northern side of the mountains and struck the trail of Victorio's band on an old beaten route used by the Indians, which passed from the Santa Maria River to the Candelaria Mountains. This road wound between two rocky peaks and then down the side of the hills to the plain between them and the Candelaria, ending at last at the big tank.

From his position on the tall peaks Victorio had seen the little body of Mexicans long before they struck his trail and, knowing they would never come upon the Candelaria after seeing the size of his trail, sent forty or fifty of his warriors to form an ambuscade where the trail crosses the crest between the two peaks. He must have been with the braves himself, for the thing was skillfully planned and executed. On the north side of the trail there were only a few boulders, but on the south the hills were very broken, rising in rough tiers of stones. The Apaches hid in these rocks and awaited their victims. On November 7, 1879, the Mexicans entered the narrow defile and as soon as they were between the two parties of Indians concealed on each side of the pass the Apaches on the north side of the trail fired a volley upon them. The Mexicans thereupon made for the rocks on the south, as was natural. As they sought refuge there the redskins in the cliffs above the gallant little band opened fire on them. Caught in a real death trap the entire punitive force was massacred. When I walked over the ground some time afterward I saw where one Mexican had gotten into a crevice from which he could shoot anyone coming at him from the east or west. He was hidden also from the Indians in the cliffs above him, but his legs were exposed to the warriors on the north side and they had literally shot them off up to his knees. I also found seven dead Mexicans in a small gulley, and on a little peak above them I discovered the lair of one old Indian who had fired twenty-seven shots at the tiny group until he had killed them all, for I found that number of 45-70 cartridge shells in one pile. Practically all the horses of the Mexicans were killed. Some of the animals had been tied to Spanish dagger plants and when shot ran the length of their rope before falling. Some of the bodies rolled down the deep canyon until they reached the bottom of what we called the Canado del Muerte (Canyon of Death), and the Indians removed none of the saddles or ropes from the dead horses.

When the company of Mexicans did not return there was great sorrow and alarm in the little town of Carrajal. As it was supposed that only a small band of Apaches bent on horse stealing was in the Candelarios, another small band of fourteen men volunteered to go and see what had become of their friends and kindred. Don Jose Mario Rodriguez was appointed commander, and the little party took the trail of their comrades with sad forebodings. Old Victorio, from his watch towers in the Candelarios, saw this rescue party and prepared for its destruction. The signs indicated that the second party had walked into the same death trap as the first, but the second band had scattered more in fighting and a good many of the Mexicans were killed on the southern slope of the hills. Two had attempted to escape on horseback but were followed and killed. I found one of these unfortunates in an open plain some six hundred yards from the hills. He had been surrounded, and, seeing escape was impossible, had dismounted, tied his horse to a Spanish dagger plant and put up a good fight. I found thirty or forty cartridge shells near where he had fallen. His pony had been killed and the dagger plant shot to pieces. The Apaches had cut off his right hand and had carried away his gun, six-shooter, saddle and bridle.

When neither party returned then, indeed, was there sorrow in the town of Carrajal, for twenty-nine of her principal citizens had left never to return. Wives, mothers, and sweethearts mourned the loss of their dear ones. A runner was sent to El Paso del Norte and the citizens began to organize a punitive expedition at once, calling on Saragosa, Tres Jacalas, Guadalupe, and San Ignacio for their quotas. These towns responded quickly and soon a hundred Mexicans were ready to take the field. A note was sent to Lieutenant Baylor at Ysleta requesting the rangers to go with the command. Baylor readily agreed to accompany the Mexicans, for he knew it was only a question of time before old Victorio would again be murdering and robbing on our side of the Rio Grande. A detachment of Company "C" had been in one Apache fight in Mexico and the Mexicans had a very kindly feeling for us. Lieutenant Baylor's detachment of ten rangers crossed the Rio Grande at Saragosa, a little town opposite Ysleta, and joined the Mexicans under Senor Ramos. We marched to the ranch of Don Ynocente Ochoa until the volunteers from the other towns came to Samalaejuca Springs. When they had done so the rangers moved down and our combined command amounted to one hundred and ten men.

After organizing their force the Mexicans sent Senor Ramos to inform Lieutenant Baylor that, on account of his experience as a soldier and as a compliment to the rangers, they had selected him to command the entire party. The lieutenant thanked the messenger, but declared, as the campaign was on Mexican soil to rescue or bury Mexicans, it would be more proper to appoint one of their own men commander, and that he himself would cheerfully serve under any leader so chosen. Senor Ramos returned shortly and notified Lieutenant Baylor that the Mexicans had selected Don Francisco Escapeda of Guadalupe as commander-in-chief and Lieutenant Baylor second in command.

This solution of the leadership problem pleased us, as there was an element among the Mexican party that might have caused friction. Old Chico Barelo, the pueblo cacique and principal commander of the mob that had killed Judge Howard, Ellis, Adkinson, and McBride at San Elizario, was with the expedition, and we had at our Ysleta headquarters warrants for the arrest of himself and many others, so we gave the old fellow to understand we were now fighting a common enemy and should act in harmony together. We did this more willingly, because we had learned that after killing Judge Howard and the others the mob wanted to murder all the rangers barricaded in an old adobe house, but had been dissuaded from this purpose by old Chico, who declared the rangers could only be killed after he had first been slain.

Leaving one wagon at the Ochoa ranch and taking three days' rations cooked and more in case of a siege, we went out in the night to avoid Victorio's spies. Don Francisco Escapeda with Lieutenant Baylor were at the head of the column. Sergeant James B. Gillett and eight rangers followed in Indian file, each ranger with a Mexican by his side, showing they looked on us as volunteers in the Mexican service. We rode out along the hard sand road beyond Samalaejuca and sent spies ahead to locate the Apaches if possible. Before we reached the Candelarios we halted behind some mountains to await their report, but they could learn nothing certain. It was a bitterly cold night and a few of us made fires in the deep arroyos. We moved on toward the mountains north of the Candelarios and reached them early next morning to find a large fresh trail about two days old going in the direction of Lake Santa Maria, but, for fear of some stratagem, we divided our men. One party took the crest south of the trail where the massacre took place while the other went to the right.

It was soon evident that the entire Apache band had left and that nothing remained for us but the sad duty of collecting the bodies of the dead Mexicans for burial. The second, or rescue party, had found the bodies of their kinsmen killed in the first ambuscade and had collected them and put them in a big crevice in the rocks. When they began to cover the corpses with loose stones the Indians, who had been watching them all the while just as a cat plays with a mouse before killing it, opened fire on the burial party and killed the last one of the unfortunate men. The saddest scene I ever witnessed was that presented as we gathered the bodies of the murdered men. At each fresh discovery of a loved friend, brother or father and the last hope fled that any had escaped, a wail of sorrow went up, and I doubt if there was a dry eye either of Mexican or Texan in the whole command.

While the immediate relatives were hunting for those who had scattered in trying to escape, we moved south to the main tank in the Candelarios. The ascent was up a winding path on the steep mountainside to the bench where the tank, one of the largest in the west, was situated. The water coming down from a height, and big boulders falling into the tank, had cut a deep hole in the solid rock in which the water was retained. Although Victorio's band of three hundred animals and two hundred or more Indians and our command had been using the water it could scarcely be missed.

We sent scouts to the left and right to make sure no game was being put upon us, for the cunning old chief, after sending his women and children off, could have hidden his warriors in the rough cliff that towered high above and commanded the tank of water and slaughtered all those below. We remained all day and night at this place. It was the most picturesque spot I had ever seen. We rangers rambled all over this Indian camp and found many of the Mexican saddles hidden in the cliffs and several hats, each with bullet holes in it. We also discovered two Winchester rifles that had been hit in the fight and abandoned as useless. I saw a hundred or more old rawhide shoes that had been used to cover the ponies' feet and dozens of worn-out moccasins. This party of Apaches had killed and eaten more than seventy-five head of horses and mules in this camp.

I followed a plain, well-beaten foot path to the topmost peak of the Candelario or candle mountain, so called from the candle-like projection of rocks that shot skyward from its top. The Candelario is in an open plain fifty miles south of El Paso, Texas, and from its top affords one of the grandest views in northern Mexico. To the south one could see San Jose and Carrajal, to the north the mountains at El Paso del Norte, to the west the mountains near Santa Maria River and Lake Guzman were in plain view, while to the east the Sierra Bentanos loomed up, apparently only a few miles away. On this peak old Victorio kept spies constantly on the lookout, and it would have been impossible for a party of men to have approached without having been seen by these keen-eyed watchers.

All the bodies having been recovered they were buried in a crevice of the mountain where they had been killed. All were in good preservation owing to the pure cold air of the mountains. It is a strange fact, but one beyond question, that no wild animal or bird of prey will touch the body of a Mexican. These corpses had lain on the ground nearly two weeks and were untouched. If they had been the bodies of Indians, negroes or Americans the coyotes, buzzards and crows would have attacked them the first day and night.

Nothing of interest occurred on our return trip. The rangers, as usual, always ate up their three days' rations the first camp they made and got out of bread, but our Mexican allies divided with us. Don Ynocente Ochoa's major-domo or ranch boss gave us all the fresh beef we could eat and a supply of carne seco (dried beef) to take with us on campaign. Quite a company had come out to see us from Carrizal and we returned sadly to the widows of the brave men who fell in this, probably the most wholesale slaughter ever made by Victorio's band. The citizens of Galena were nearly as unfortunate, but it was old Hu and Geronimo who massacred them. All the Saragosa men made for their church to offer up thanks for a safe return. Men, women and children uttered their "Gracias, senors," as the Texas Rangers rode through their town. We arrived safely in our adobe quarters at Ysleta and appreciated them after sleeping out of doors.

Though Victorio had escaped us on this scout, and though he was to murder and pillage for a time, yet his days were numbered. Our company of rangers were again to cross into Mexico in pursuit of him, but, though, one year later, he and eighty-nine of his braves were killed by the Mexicans under Colonel Joaquin Terrazas, the rangers were not to take part in defeating him. However, our rangers were destined to annihilate a small band that escaped deserved destruction at that time when it resumed its depredations in Texas.

CHAPTER XIV

TREACHEROUS BRAVES, A FAITHFUL DOG, AND A MURDER

During the latter part of January, 1880, two mining engineers named Andrews and Wiswall from Denver, Colorado, appeared at the ranger camp in Ysleta. They had a new ambulance pulled by two elegant horses and led a fine saddle pony. They were well fitted out for camping and had the finest big black shepherd dog I had ever seen. Mr. Andrews used a Springfield while Mr. Wiswall carried a Sharps sporting rifle, besides they had shotguns and sixshooters. These miners wanted to buy one hundred pack burros and, not finding what they wanted in the Rio Grande Valley, decided to go over in the upper Pecos Valley near Eddy or Roswell, New Mexico, for pack animals. They consulted Lieutenant Baylor about the best route they should follow. He advised them to travel down the overland stage route to Fort Davis, thence by Toyah Creek and on up the Pecos, but the engineers thought this too much out of their way and concluded to travel by the old abandoned Batterfield stage route, which leads by Hueco Tanks, Alamo Springs, Cornudos Mountain, Crow Flat, Guadalupe Mountain and thence to the Pecos River. Lieutenant Baylor warned the men that this was a very dangerous route, without a living white man from Ysleta to the Pecos River, more than one hundred and fifty miles distant, and through an Indian country all the way.

Nevertheless, Andrews and Wiswall selected this latter route, and the third day out from our camp reached the old abandoned stage station at Crow Flat about noon. This was in an open country and from it one could see for miles in every direction. A cold north wind was blowing, so, for protection, the two men drove inside the old station walls, unhitched and hobbled their horses and pony and were soon busily baking bread, frying bacon and boiling coffee, not dreaming there was an Indian in the country, though they had been warned to look out for them. Like all men traveling in that country the two miners had the appetite of coyotes and became deeply absorbed in stowing away rations. Unnoticed, the horses had grazed off some three or four hundred yards from the station and the two men were suddenly startled by a yelling and the trampling of horses' feet. Looking up, Andrews and Wiswall saw ten or twelve Indians driving off their horses.

Seizing their guns, the two white men started after the thieves at top speed. Both being Western men and good shots, they hoped, by opening on the redskins with their long range guns, to get close enough to prevent them from taking the hobbles off the horses. But the animals made about as good time as if they had been foot loose. This fact was well known to the Texas Rangers, who hobbled and side lined also and, even then, their horses when stampeded would run as fast as the guards could keep up with them on foot. The Apaches can't be taught anything about horse stealing—they are already past masters at the art. And while some of the Indians halted and fought Andrews and Wiswall the others ran the horses off and got away with them. The two miners returned to camp feeling very blue indeed.

A council of war was held and they were undetermined the best course to pursue. To walk back one hundred miles to El Paso and pack grub, blankets and water was no picnic. On the other hand, it was probably seventy-five miles to the Pecos, but they finally decided to take the shortest way to assistance, which proved the traditional longest way. They determined to stay within the friendly adobe of the old stage stand until night. To keep up appearances they rigged up two dummy sentinels and put them on guard. They had no fear of an attack at night, especially as they had a dog to keep watch. They left the station at dark. Shep, the dog, wanted to go with them, but the men put a sack of corn and a side of bacon under the ambulance and made him understand he was to guard it. They then set out and followed the old stage route along a horrible road of deep sand. At daybreak they were near the point of the Guadalupe Peak, and after having traveled on foot about twenty-five miles they were pretty well worn out.

The old stage road here turns to the right and gradually winds around the mountain to get on the mesa land. It makes quite a circuit before getting to the next water, Pine Springs, but there was an old Indian trail that leads up the canyon and straight through. As Andrews and Wiswall were afoot and taking all the short cuts, they took this trail. It was late in the day when, in a sudden bend of the trail, they came in full view of an entire village of Indians coming towards them. The redskins were only two or three hundred yards off and discovered the white men at once.

Under such circumstances the two pedestrians had to think quickly and act at once. They could not hope to escape by running, for most of the Indians were mounted. Fortunately, to the south of the trail there was a sharp sugar loaf peak, and for this Andrews and Wiswall made with all speed. Reaching the summit they hastily threw up breastworks of loose rocks and as soon as the Indians came into sight they opened fire on them. The redskins returned the fire, but soon discovered they were wasting ammunition and ceased firing. The besieged, suspicious of some stratagem, kept a sharp lookout, and soon discovered the Indians were crawling upward to the barricade and pushing boulders before them to shelter their bodies. The boys decided to keep perfectly still, one on each side, and watch for a chance to kill a savage.

The watcher on the west side, where the fading light still enabled him to see, saw a mop of black hair rise cautiously over an advancing rock. He fired at once. The head disappeared and the boulder went thundering down the hill with the two white men running over the warrior, who was kicking around like a chicken with its head cut off. As good luck would have it most of the attackers were on the east side, taking it for granted the men would try to escape in that direction. Before the astonished Apaches could understand just what was occurring, the men, running like old black-tailed bucks, were out of hearing, while night spread her dark mantle over them in kindness. Being good woodsmen, the fugitives had no trouble in shaping their course to Crow Flat again.

Worn out and weary after traveling more than fifty miles on foot and with not a wink of sleep for thirty-six hours, they made the old stage stand and found their dummy sentinels still on guard with the faithful shepherd dog at his post. He was overjoyed at the return of his masters. At the old adobe station Andrews and Wiswall were in a measure safe, for they had water and grub and the walls of the stand, five feet or more high, would shelter them. Since the Apaches had made no attempt to kill the dog or rob the ambulance, the miners were satisfied that the Indians, after stealing their horses, had kept on their way to the Mescalero Agency, near Tularosa. This stage station was on the highway of these murderous, thieving rascals, who were constantly raiding Texas and Chihuahua, and in their raids they had made a deep trail leading north from Crow Flat or Crow Springs, as some call it, toward the Sacramento Mountains.

After the fugitives had rested they decided they would pull out after dark and hoof it for Ysleta. The fifty miles' walk over a rough country had pretty well worn out their shoes, so they used gunny sacks to tie up their sore and bleeding feet. Again giving Shep his orders, with heavy hearts Andrews and Wiswall turned their faces to the Cornudos Mountains, with the next stage station twenty-five miles distant without one drop of water on the way. They were so tired and foot-sore they did not reach Cornudos until late the next day. Here they hid in the rocks, among the shady nooks of which they found cold water and sweet rest. After several days the two men dragged their weary bodies, more dead than alive, into Ysleta and to the ranger camp.

Lieutenant Baylor ordered me to take eight rangers, and with two mules, proceed to Crow Flat to bring in the ambulance Andrews and Wiswall had abandoned there. The first day we made the Hueco Tanks. Hueco is Spanish for tanks, and in the early days travelers spelled it Waco. Many wild adventures have occurred at these tanks—fights between the Mexicans and the Comanches. During the gold excitement this was the main immigrant route to California. Here, too, the overland stage route had a stand. The names of Marcy, General Lee, and thousands of others could be seen written on the rocks. The Indians themselves had drawn many rude pictures, one of which was quite artistic and depicted a huge rattlesnake on the rock under the cave near the stage stand on the eastern side of Hueco.

Many times when scouting in the Sacramento and Guadalupe Mountains I have camped for the night in the Huecos. Sometimes the water in the tanks had been all used up by the travelers but there was always plenty of good cool rain water twenty-five feet above the main ground tanks. Often I have watered my entire command by scaling the mountain to those hidden tanks and, filling our boots and hats with water, poured it on the flat, roof-like rocks so it would run down into the tanks below where our horses and mules would be watered in good shape. The city of El Paso, I am told, now has a fine graded road to those old historic mountains and many of its citizens enjoy an outing there.

Our next halt was at the Alamose, across the beautiful plains, at that time covered with antelope that could be seen scudding away with their swift change of color looking like a flock of white birds. Here we found some Indian signs at the flat above the springs, but it was at Cornudos that we again saw the old signs of the Apaches. This Cornudos is a strange conglomeration of dark granite rocks shot high in the air in the midst of the plains by some eruption of the earth in ages past. This was the favorite watering place of the Tularosa Agency Indians on their raids into Texas and Mexico.

From Cornudos to Crow Flat is a long, monotonous tramp of twenty-five or thirty miles, and we arrived in the night and were promptly challenged by the faithful sentinel, old Shep. Although we were strangers, the dog seemed to recognize us as Americans and friends. He went wild with joy, barked, rolled over and over and came as near talking as any African monkey or gorilla could. We gave him a cheer. The faithful animal had been there alone for nearly fifteen days. His side of bacon was eaten and the sack of corn getting very low. The rangers were as much delighted as if it had been a human being they had rescued. The dog had worn the top of the wall of the old stage station perfectly smooth while keeping off the sneaking coyotes. Tracks of the latter were thick all around the place, but Shep held the fort with the assistance of the dummy sentinels. We found everything just as the owners, Andrews and Wiswall, had left it.

As was my custom, I walked over the ground where the Apaches and Messrs. Andrews and Wiswall had had their scrap. Near an old dagger plant I found where an Indian had taken shelter, or rather tried to hide himself, and picked up a number of Winchester .44 cartridge shells. We secured the ambulance and our return journey was without incident. We arrived back in our camp after making the two hundred miles in a week.

Mr. Andrews presented Lieutenant Baylor with a beautiful Springfield rifle. I don't know whether Andrews or Wiswall are alive, but that Mexican shepherd dog is entitled to a monument on which should be inscribed, "FIDELITY."

In the spring of 1880 two brick masons, Morgan and Brown, stopped at our quarters in Ysleta on their way from Fort Craig, New Mexico, to San Antonio, Texas. They had heard that some freight wagons at San Elizario would soon return to San Antonio and were anxious to travel back with them. These men spent two or three days in the ranger camp and seemed very nice chaps and pleasant talkers. One of them, Mr. Morgan, owned one of the finest pistols I ever saw. It was pearl handled and silver mounted. Our boys tried to trade for it, but Morgan would not part with the weapon.

After the two men had been gone from our camp three or four days word was brought to Lieutenant Baylor that two men had been found dead near San Elizario. The lieutenant sent me with a detail of three rangers to investigate. At San Elizario we learned that the dead men were at Collins' sheep ranch, four miles from town. On arriving there we found, to our surprise and horror, that the dead men were Morgan and Brown, who had left our camp hale and hearty just a few days before. It was surmised that the men had camped for the night at the sheep ranch and had been beaten to death with heavy mesquite sticks. They had been dead two or three days and were stripped of their clothing, their bodies being partly eaten by coyotes.

On repairing to his sheep ranch Mr. Collins found the dead bodies of Morgan and Brown, his shepherds gone and his flocks scattered over the country. Mr. Collins gave the herders' names as Santiago Skevill and Manuel Moleno. After beating out the brains of their unfortunate victims the Mexicans robbed the bodies and lit out for parts unknown.

As the murderers were on foot and had been gone three or four days, I found it very difficult to get their trail, as loose stock grazed along the bosques and partially obliterated it. As there was a number of settlements and several little pueblos along the river, I knew if I did not follow the Mexicans' tracks closely I could never tell where they had gone, so I spent the remainder of the day trying to get the trail from camp. We were compelled to follow it on foot, leading our horses. We would sometimes be an hour trailing a mile.

On the following day I was able to make only ten miles on the trail, but I had discovered the general direction. I slept on the banks of the Rio Grande that night, and next morning crossed into Mexico, and found that the murderers were going down the river in the direction of Guadalupe. I now quit the trail and hurried on to this little Mexican town. Traveling around a short bend in the road I came suddenly into the main street of Guadalupe, and almost the first man I saw standing on the street was a Mexican with Morgan's white-handled pistol strapped on him.

I left two of my men to watch the suspect and myself hurried to the office of the president of Guadalupe, made known my mission and told him I had seen one of the supposed murderers of Morgan and Brown on the streets of his city, and asked that the suspect be arrested. The official treated me very cordially and soon had some police officers go with me. They found the two suspected Mexicans, arrested them and placed them in the housgow. The prisoners admitted they were Collins' sheep herders and said their names were Moleno and Skevill but, of course, denied knowing anything about the death of Morgan and Brown. All my rangers recognized the pistol taken from the Mexican as the weapon owned by Mr. Morgan. The Mexican officers reported to the alcalde or town president that the suspects had been arrested. The latter official then asked me if I had any papers for these men. I told him I did not, for at the time I left my camp at Ysleta we did not know the nature of the murder or the names of the parties incriminated. I declared I was sure the men arrested had committed the murder and that I would hurry back to Ysleta and have the proper papers issued for the prisoners' extradition. The alcalde promised to hold the suspects until the proper formalities could be complied with.

From Guadalupe to Ysleta is about fifty or sixty miles. I felt the importance of the case, and while I and my men were foot-sore and weary, we rode all night long over a sandy road and reached camp at Ysleta at 9 o'clock the following morning. Lieutenant Baylor at once appeared before the justice of the peace at Ysleta and filed a complaint of murder against Manuel Moleno and Santiago Skevill, had warrants issued for their arrest and himself hurried to El Paso, crossed the river to El Paso del Norte and, presenting his warrants to the authorities, asked that the murderers be held until application for their extradition could be made.

Within a week we learned, much to our disgust, that the two murderers had been liberated and told to vamoose. I doubt whether the warrants were ever sent to the alcalde at Guadalupe. A more cruel murder than that of Morgan and Brown was never committed on the Rio Grande, yet the murderers went scot-free. This miscarriage of justice rankled in my memory and subsequently it was to lead me to take the law into my own hands when dealing with another Mexican murderer.

CHAPTER XV

VICTORIO BECOMES A GOOD INDIAN

As soon as the summer rains had begun in 1880 and green grass and water were plentiful, old Victorio again began his raids. He appeared at Lake Guzman, Old Mexico, then traveled east to Boracho Pass, just south of the Rio Grande. This old chief was then reported making for the Eagle Mountains in Texas. The Mexican Government communicated this information to General Grierson at Fort Davis, Texas, and Lieutenant Baylor was asked to cooperate in the campaign to exterminate the wily old Apache.

General Grierson, on receipt of this information, at once put his cavalry in motion for Eagle Springs, and on August 2, 1880, Baylor left his camp at Ysleta with myself and thirteen rangers equipped for a two weeks' campaign. On August 4th our little band reached old Fort Quitman, eighty miles down the Rio Grande from El Paso, and Lieutenant Baylor reported to General Grierson by telegraph. His message was interrupted, for the Apaches had cut the wires between Bass' Canyon and Van Horn's Well, but the general ordered him by telegram to scout toward Eagle Springs until his command should meet the United States cavalry. We were to keep a sharp lookout for Indian trails, but we saw none until we reached Eighteen Mile water hole, where General Grierson's troops had had an engagement with Victorio. From here the Indians went south and around Eagle Mountains, so we continued down the road beyond Bass' Canyon and found the Apaches had crossed the road, torn down the telegraph wire, carried off a long piece of it, and destroyed the insulators. The Indians also dragged some of the telegraph poles two or three miles and left them on their trail. The signs indicated they had from one hundred and eighty to two hundred animals. After destroying the telegraph the raiders finally moved north toward Carrizo Mountains.

At Van Horn, Lieutenant Baylor could learn nothing of General Grierson or his movements. We thereupon took the general's trail leading north and overtook him in camp at Rattlesnake Springs, about sixty-five miles distant. Here we joined Company "K," Eighth Cavalry, and Captain Nolan's company, the Tenth. The cavalry camped at Carrizo Springs and our scouts found Victorio's trail the next day leading southwest toward the Apache Tanks. We left camp at dusk and rode all night and struck the redskins' trail next morning at the stage road where General Grierson had fought. The Indians crossed the road, but afterwards returned to it and continued toward old Fort Quitman.

The overland stage company kept a station at this abandoned frontier post, situated on the north bank of the Rio Grande, eighty or ninety miles east of El Paso, Texas. On August 9, 1880, Ed Walde, the stage driver, started out on his drive with General Byrnes occupying the rear seat of the stage coach. The stage, drawn by two fast running little Spanish mules, passed down the valley and entered the canyon, a very box-like pass with high mountains on either side,—an ideal place for an Indian ambuscade. Walde had driven partly through this pass when, around a short bend in the road, he came suddenly upon old Victorio and his band of one hundred warriors. The Indian advance guard fired on the coach immediately, and at the first volley General Byrnes was fatally wounded, a large caliber bullet striking him in the breast and a second passing through his thigh. Walde turned his team as quickly as he could and made a lightning run back to the stage stand with the general's body hanging partly out of the stage. The Apaches followed the stage for four or five miles trying to get ahead of it, but the little mules made time and beat them into the shelter of the station's adobe walls.

It was a miracle that Walde, sitting on the front seat, escaped without a scratch and both of the mules unharmed. At old Fort Quitman I examined the little canvas-topped stage and found it literally shot to pieces. I noticed where a bullet had glanced along the white canvas, leaving a blue mark a foot long before it passed through the top. Three of the spokes of the wheels were shot in two and, as well as I remember, there were fifteen or twenty bullet marks on and through the stage. Lieutenant Baylor and his rangers buried General Byrnes near old Fort Quitman and fired a volley over his grave. Subsequently Walde joined Lieutenant Baylor's command and made an excellent ranger. It was from him that I obtained the particulars of the fight that resulted in the general's death.

En route the Apaches raided Jesus Cota's ranch, killed his herder and drove off one hundred and forty head of cattle. In crossing the river forty of the animals mired in the quicksands. The heartless Indians thereupon pounced upon the unfortunate cattle and cut chunks of flesh out of their living bodies. Many of the mutilated animals were still alive when we found them. The redskins, with a freakish sense of humor, perpetrated a grim joke on the murdered herder. He was rendering out some tallow when surprised and killed, so the murderers rammed his head into the melted tallow to make him a greaser!

After the fight at Quitman, Victorio and his band crossed into Mexico and there found temporary safety, as the United States troops were not permitted to enter that country in pursuit of Indians, though negotiations to permit such pursuit of Indians were even then pending between the two governments. Alone, we were no match for Victorio's hundred braves, so we returned to our camp.

Victorio, however, did not remain idle in Mexico. He made a raid on Dr. Saminiego's San Jose ranch and stole one hundred and seventeen horses and mules, besides killing two Mexican herders. Don Ramon Arranda, captain of the Mexican Volunteers, invited the rangers to Mexico to cooperate with him in exterminating the Apaches, so, on September 17, 1880, Lieutenant Baylor with thirteen rangers, myself included, entered Mexico and marched to Tancas Cantaresio, Don Arranda's ranch. Here we were joined by Mexican volunteers from the towns of Guadalupe, San Ignacio, Tres Jacalas, Paso del Norte, and from the Texan towns of Ysleta, Socorro, and San Elizario, until our combined force numbered over a hundred men.

On the night of the 19th we crossed an Indian trail south of the Rancheria Mountains, but could not tell the number of redskins in the party, as it was then dark and the trail damaged by rain. The same night we saw Indian signal fires to the east of the Arranda ranch. Next morning, with a detail of five rangers and ten Mexican volunteers, I scouted out in the direction of the fires but did not have time to reach the sign, as I was ordered to take and hold the Rancheria Mountains before old Victorio and his band reached them.

At Lucero, the first stage stand, the Apaches were reported within a league of Carrizal. We made a night march with our rangers and seventy-three volunteers, but found the Indians had left, and, as a heavy rain had put out the trail, we struck east toward El Copra Mountains. Here we again picked up the trail and, following it until night, we found a few loose horses of Saminiego's. The marauders now went west toward some tanks and we returned to Candelario, where Victorio's entire band had crossed the Chihuahua stage road. Thence we marched back to San Jose and went into camp to await the arrival of General Joaquin Terrasas.

The Mexican general made his appearance on the 3rd day of October with two hundred cavalry and one hundred infantry. This general, a member of a well known family of Chihuahua, was more than six feet in height, very dark and an inveterate smoker of cigarettes. He used four milk white horses, riding one while his aides led three. His cavalry, well armed with Remington pistols and carbines, was nicely uniformed and mounted on dark colored animals of even size. The infantry were Indians from the interior of Mexico. These foot soldiers wore rawhide sandals on their feet and were armed with Remington muskets. Each soldier carried two cartridge belts, containing one hundred rounds of ammunition. I was impressed with the little baggage and rations these infantrymen carried. On the march each man had a little canvas bag that held about one quart of ground parched corn, sweetened with a little sugar—and a table-spoonful of this mixture stirred in a pint cup of water made a good meal. Of course when in a cattle country plenty of beef was furnished them, but when on the march they had only this little bag of corn. This lack of baggage and rations enabled them to move quickly and promptly. This light infantry had no trouble at all in keeping up with the cavalry on the march and in a rough country they could move faster than the horsemen.

With General Terrasas' three hundred soldiers and our hundred volunteers we could bring to bear against Victorio about four hundred men. From San Jose the combined command marched to Rebosadero Springs, twenty miles south of El Caparo, on the new Chihuahua stage road. There we rested two days and then marched forty miles to Boracho Pass, where the Apaches had camped after killing General Byrnes and stealing Jesus Cota's stock. We crossed the Indians' trail twenty miles west of the pass and formed our line of battle, as we expected the enemy was camped at some tanks there. He did not appear, so we camped at the pass to await supplies.

When the supply wagons arrived, General Terrasas sent an orderly to Lieutenant Baylor and invited him to send his men to draw ten days' rations. While I was standing in my shirtsleeves near the wagon one of the Mexican soldiers stole from my belt a fine hunting knife that I had carried ten thousand miles over the frontier. I discovered the loss almost immediately and reported it to Lieutenant Baylor, who, in turn, mentioned it to General Terrasas. The Mexican general at once had his captains form their respective companies and had every soldier in camp searched, but the knife was not found. The thief had probably hidden it in the grass. The Mexican volunteers remained with General Terrasas until after the defeat of Victorio, and one of them told me afterward he had seen a Mexican soldier scalping Apaches with it. Just one year later an orderly of General Terrasas rode into the ranger camp at Ysleta and presented Lieutenant Baylor, then a captain, with the missing weapon and a note stating that Terrasas was glad to return it and to report that the thief had been punished.

While at Boracho we were joined by Lieutenant Shaffer, the Twenty-third United States Cavalry (negroes), Lieutenant Manney, Captain Parker and sixty-five Apache scouts. These latter were Geronimo's Chiricauhaus, who later quit their reservation and wrought such death and destruction in Arizona, New Mexico, and Old Mexico. From the first General Terrasas viewed these Indian allies with distrust, and as soon as we had scouted southeast from Boracho to Los Pinos Mountains, about seventy-five miles distant, and learned that Victorio's trail turned southwest toward Chihuahua, General Terrasas called Captain Parker, Lieutenants Baylor, Shaffer and Manney to his camp and informed them that, as the trail had taken a turn back into the state of Chihuahua and was leading them away from their homes, he thought it best for the Americans to return to the United States. I was present at this conference and I at once saw my chance for a scrap with old Victorio go glimmering. But there was nothing to do but obey orders, pack up and vamoose.

While on scouts after Victorio's band I met many United States officers, and often around the camp fire discussed this old chief. The soldiers all agreed that for an ignorant Indian Victorio displayed great military genius, and Major McGonnigal declared, with the single exception of Chief Crazy-horse of the Sioux, he considered Victorio the greatest Indian general that ever appeared on the American continent. In following this wily old Apache Napoleon I examined twenty-five or more of his camps. Victorio was very particular about locating them strategically, and his parapets were most skillfully arranged and built. If he remained only an hour in camp he had these defenses thrown up. He had fought in over two hundred engagements, but his last fight was now very close at hand.

The very next morning after the United States troops, the Apache scouts and the Texas rangers turned homeward General Terrasas' scouts reported to him that Victorio with his entire band of followers was camped at Tres Castilos, a small group of hills about twenty-five miles southwest of the Los Pinos Mountains. General Terrasas at once set his column in motion for that place. Captives afterward declared that Victorio's spies reported the presence of the Mexican cavalry early in the day and thereafter kept him informed hour by hour as to the movements of the approaching enemy.

Victorio had just sent his war chief, Nana, and fifty of his best young warriors away on a raid, so he had left in his camp just an even hundred braves, some of them very old men. He also had ninety-seven women and children and about five hundred head of horses and mules, yet the remarkable old Indian made no move to escape. By nightfall General Terrasas drew up near the Apache camp, surrounded the three hills as best he could and waited until morning before assaulting the enemy. During the night twelve of Victorio's warriors, with four women and four children, deserted the old chief and made their way back to the Eagle Mountains in Texas. Here they committed many depredations until exterminated three months later in the Diablo Mountains by Lieutenants Baylor and Nevill.

Early the following morning Victorio mounted a white horse and, in making some disposition of his braves to meet the expected onset of the enemy forces, exposed himself unnecessarily. The Mexicans fired on him at long range and two bullets pierced his body. He fell from his horse dead,—a good Indian at last.

The loss of Victorio and the absence of Nana demoralized the Apaches, and a vigorous assault by Terrasas and his army resulted in a complete victory for the Mexicans. Eighty-seven Indian warriors were killed, while eighty-nine squaws and their children were captured with a loss of only two men killed and a few wounded. This victory covered General Terrasas with glory. The Mexican Government never ceased to shower honors upon him and gave him many thousands of acres of land in the state of Chihuahua. The general was so elated over the outcome of the battle that he sent a courier on a fast horse to overtake Lieutenant Baylor and report the good news. The messenger caught us in camp near old Fort Quitman. Every ranger in the scout felt thoroughly disgusted and disappointed at missing the great fight by only two days after being with General Terrasas nearly a month.

The captured women and children were sent south of Mexico City into a climate perfectly unnatural to them. Here they all died in a few years. When Nana heard of the death of Victorio and the capture of the squaws and children he fled with his fifty warriors to the Sierra Madre Mountains in the State of Sonora, Mexico. There he joined forces with old Geronimo and massacred more people than any small band of Indians in the world. To avenge himself on Terrasas for killing his friends and carrying away their wives and children, Nana and his band killed more than two hundred Mexicans before joining Geronimo. Nana, with his new chief, surrendered to General Lawton in 1886 and, I believe, was carried away by our government to Florida, where he at last died.

On our return to camp at Ysleta a commission as captain was waiting Lieutenant Baylor, since Captain Neal Coldwell had been named quartermaster of the battalion, his company disbanded and its letter, "A," given to our company.

Though we missed the fight with Victorio it was not long before we were called upon to scout after the band of twelve warriors that had deserted the old chief on the night before the battle of Tres Castilos. However, we had first to clean up our company, for many undesirable recruits had seeped into it. This accomplished, we were ready to resume our Indian warfare.

CHAPTER XVI

SOME UNDESIRABLE RECRUITS

In the early fall of 1880 two well mounted and well armed men appeared at the ranger camp at Ysleta and applied to Captain Baylor for enlistment in his company. After questioning the applicants at some length the captain accepted them and swore them into the service. One gave his name as John (Red) Holcomb and the other as James Stallings. Unknown to us, both these men were outlaws and joined the rangers solely to learn of their strength and their methods of operations. Holcomb was a San Simone Valley, Arizona, rustler and was living under an assumed name. Stallings, though he went by his true name, had shot a man in Hamilton County, Texas, and was under indictment for assault to kill.

These two recruits came into the service just before we started on our fall campaign into Mexico after old Victorio and were with us on that long scout. Although one was from Texas and the other from Arizona, the two chummed together and were evidently in each other's confidence. Stallings had not been long in the company before he showed himself a trouble maker.

As orderly sergeant it was my duty to keep a roster of the company. Beginning at the top of the list and reading off the names in rotation, I called out each morning the guard for the day. We had in the company a Mexican, Juan Garcia, who had always lived in the Rio Grande country, and Captain Baylor had enlisted him as a ranger that he might use him as a guide, for Garcia was familiar with much of the country over which we were called upon to scout. It so happened that Jim Stallings and Garcia were detailed on the same guard one day. This greatly offended Stallings, and he declared to some of the boys that I had detailed him on guard with a Mexican just to humiliate him and he was going to give me a d—n good whipping. The boys advised him he had better not attempt it. I could see that Stallings was sullen, but it was not until months afterward that I learned the cause.

After our return from our month's scout in Mexico, Captain Baylor received a new fugitive list from the Adjutant-General, and in looking over its pages my eyes fell on the list of fugitives from Hamilton County, Texas. Almost the first name thereon was that of James Stallings with his age and description. I notified Captain Baylor that Stallings was a fugitive from justice. Baylor asked me what Stallings had been indicted for and I replied for assault to kill.

"Well, maybe the darned fellow needed killing," replied the captain. "Stallings looks like a good ranger and I need him."

Not many days after this I heard loud cursing in our quarters and went to investigate. I found Stallings with a cocked pistol in his hand standing over the bed of a ranger named Tom Landers, cursing him out. I could see Stallings had been drinking and finally persuaded him to put up his pistol and go to bed. The next morning I informed Captain Baylor of the incident, and suggested that if we did not do something with Stallings he would probably kill someone. The captain did not seem inclined to take that view. In fact, I rather believed Captain Baylor liked a man that was somewhat "on the prod," as the cowboys are wont to say of a fellow or a cow that wants to fight.

John Holcomb soon found out as much about the rangers as he desired and, fearing he might be discovered, asked Captain Baylor for a discharge. After obtaining it he took up his abode in El Paso.

Not long afterwards one morning at breakfast, while the twenty rangers were seated at one long dining table, Jim Stallings had a dispute with John Thomas, who was seated on the opposite side of the table and, quick as a flash, struck Thomas in the face with a tin cup of boiling coffee. Both men rose to their feet and pulled their pistols, but before they could stage a shooting match in the place the boys on either side grabbed them.

I at once went to Captain Baylor and told him that something had to be done. He seemed to be thoroughly aroused now and said, "Sergeant, you arrest Stallings, disarm and shackle him. I'll send him back where he belongs."

I carried out the order promptly and Captain Baylor at once wrote to the sheriff of Hamilton County to come for the prisoner. Hamilton County is seven hundred miles by stage from El Paso and it took a week to get a letter through. There was no jail at Ysleta at that time, so we were compelled to hold this dangerous man in our camp.

Stallings was shrewd and a keen judge of human nature. We would sometimes remove the shackles from him that he might get a little exercise. Finally it came the turn of a ranger named Potter to guard the prisoner. Potter had drifted into the country from somewhere up north, and Captain Baylor had enlisted him. He knew very little about riding and much less about handling firearms. Stallings asked Potter to go with him out into the corral. This enclosure was built of adobe and about five feet high. It was nearly dark and the prisoner walked leisurely up to the fence with Potter following close behind with Winchester in hand. All of a sudden Stallings turned a hand-spring over the fence and hit the ground on the other side in a run. Potter began firing at the fugitive, which brought out all the boys in camp. Stallings had only about one hundred yards to run to reach the Rio Grande, and before anything could be done he was safe in Mexico. He yelled a goodbye to the boys as he struck the bank on the opposite side of the river. Captain Baylor was furious over the prisoner's escape and promptly fired Potter from the service and reprimanded me for not keeping Stallings shackled all the time.

Though we had lost the man we had his horse, saddle, bridle and arms. Stallings at once went to Juarez and John Holcomb met him there. The fugitive gave his pal an order on Captain Baylor for his horse, saddle, and pistol, and Holcomb had the gall to come to Ysleta and present this order. He reached our camp at noon while the horses were all in the corral. At the moment of his arrival I happened to be at Captain Baylor's home. Private George Lloyd stepped over to the captain's and said to me, "Sergeant, John Holcomb is over in camp with an order from Jim Stallings for his horse and outfit."

"Gillett, you go and arrest Holcomb and put him in irons and I'll see if I can find where he is wanted," ordered Captain Baylor, who heard what Lloyd said.

Holcomb, seeing Lloyd go into Captain Baylor's, got suspicious, jumped on his horse and left for El Paso in a gallop. I detailed three men to accompany me to capture Holcomb, but by the time we saddled our horses and armed ourselves the fugitive was out of sight. We hit the road running and after traveling two or three miles and inquiring of people we met in the road I became convinced that Holcomb had quit the road soon after leaving our camp and was striking for Mexico. I turned back in the direction of camp and followed the bank of the river.

We had probably traveled a mile on our way home when we discovered Holcomb coming up the river toward us. He was about four hundred yards away and discovered us about the same time. Turning his horse quickly he made a dash for the river. Where he struck it the bank was ten feet high, but he never hesitated, and both man and horse went head first into the Rio Grande. The three men I had with me outran me and when they reached the point where the fugitive had entered the water they saw him swimming rapidly to the Mexican side and began firing at him. I ran up and ordered them to cease, telling them not to kill Holcomb, as he was in swimming water and helpless. Just at this moment the swimmer struck shallow water and I ordered him to come back or I would shoot him.

"I'll come if you won't let the boys kill me," he called back.

I told him to hit swimming water quickly, which he did, and swam back to the American side. He was in his shirtsleeves and with his hat gone. His horse, meantime, had swam back to our side of the river.

We all mounted and started back to camp, two of the rangers riding in front with Holcomb. I had not searched the prisoner because he was in his shirtsleeves. As we rode along Holcomb reached into his shirt bosom and pulled out an old .45 pistol and handed it to one of the boys, saying, "Don't tell the sergeant I had this." The rangers at camp gave the prisoner some dry clothes and dinner, then put him in chains and under guard.

Captain Baylor went on to El Paso, crossed the river to Juarez and had Stallings arrested. In two days we had him back in camp and chained to Holcomb. The captain then wrote to Bell County, Texas, as he had heard John Holcomb was wanted there for murder. Holcomb had a good horse and he gave it to a lawyer in El Paso to get him out of his trouble. Of course we had no warrant for Holcomb's arrest and Judge Blacker ordered our prisoner brought before him. The county attorney made every effort to have Holcomb held, while his lawyer tried his best to have the suspect released. The judge finally said he would hold Holcomb for one week and unless the officers found some evidence against him during that time he would order the prisoner freed. It was nearly dark before we left El Paso on our return to Ysleta, twelve miles distant. Holcomb had, in some manner, gotten two or three drinks of whisky and was feeling the liquor. I had one ranger with me leading the prisoner's horse. The road back to camp followed the river rather closely and the country was very brushy all the way.

As soon as we had gotten out of El Paso Holcomb sat sidewise on his horse, holding the pommel of his saddle with one hand and the cantle with the other, all the while facing toward Mexico. I ordered him to sit straight in his saddle, but he refused. We were riding in a gallop and I believe he intended to jump from his horse and try to escape in the brush. I drew my pistol and hid it behind my leg. Although Holcomb had the cape of his overcoat thrown over his head he discovered I had a pistol in my hand and began a tirade of abuse, declaring I had a cocked gun in my hand and was aching for a chance to kill him. I told him I believed from his actions he was watching for a chance to quit his horse and escape, and that I was prepared to prevent such a move. We reached camp safely and chained Holcomb to Stallings.

These boys, although prisoners, were full of life, and laughed and talked all the time. Holcomb played the violin quite well. We held the two suspects several days and finally one night one of the rangers came to my room and said, "Sergeant, I believe there is something wrong with those prisoners. They are holloaing, singing and playing the fiddle."

I was busy on my monthly reports and told him to keep a sharp lookout and before I retired I would come and examine the prisoners. On examination I found that while Holcomb played the violin Stallings had sawn their shackles loose. They laughed when I discovered this and said that when the boys had all gone to bed they intended to throw the pack saddle, which they used for a seat, on the guard's head and escape. We could get no evidence against John Holcomb and the judge ordered his release.

While a prisoner Holcomb swore vengeance against myself and Prosecutor Neal. Mr. Neal heard of this threat, met Holcomb on the streets of El Paso afterward and, jerking a small Derringer pistol from his pocket, shot Holcomb in the belly. Holcomb fell and begged for his life. He was not badly hurt, and as soon as he was well he quit El Paso, went to Deming, New Mexico, where he stole a bunch of cattle. He drove the stolen herd to the mining camp of Lake Valley and there sold them. While he was in a saloon drinking and playing his fiddle the owner of the cattle appeared with a shotgun and filled the thief full of buckshot. As he fell Holcomb was heard to exclaim, "Oh, boys, they have got me at last."

Jim Stallings was sent to Fort Davis and placed in the jail there, from which he and half a dozen other criminals made their escape.

A man named John Scott came to Captain Baylor, told a hard luck story, and asked to be taken into the service. Captain Baylor enlisted the applicant and fitted him out with horse, saddle, bridle and armed him with gun and pistol, himself standing good for the entire equipment. Scott had not been in the service two months before he deserted. I was ordered to take two men, follow him and bring him back. I overtook Scott up in the Canutillo, near the line of New Mexico, and before I even ordered him to halt, he jumped down, sought refuge behind his horse and opened fire on us with his Winchester. We returned the fire and killed his horse. He then threw down his gun and surrendered. We found the deserter had stopped in El Paso and gotten a bottle of whisky. He was rather drunk when overtaken, otherwise he probably would not have made fight against three rangers. Captain Baylor took Scott's saddle, gun and six-shooter away from him and kicked him out of camp, but was compelled to pay $75 for the horse that was killed.

Another man, Chipman, deserted our company and stole a bunch of horses from some Mexicans down at Socorro. The Mexicans followed the trail out in the direction of Hueco Tanks, where it turned west and crossed the high range of mountains west of El Paso. The pursuers overtook Chipman with the stolen horses just on the line of New Mexico. The thief put up a fierce fight and killed two Mexicans, but was himself killed. Captain Baylor had a scout following the deserter but the Mexicans got to him first and had the fight before our men arrived. However, the ranger boys buried the body of Chipman where it fell. This chap had made a very good ranger and we all felt shocked when we learned he had stolen seven ponies and tried to get away with them single-handed.

Yet another San Simone Valley rustler, Jack Bond, enlisted in the company. A band of rustlers and cow thieves were operating up in the Canutillo, eighteen miles above El Paso, about the time he joined the command. I did my best to break up this band and made scout after scout up the river, but without success. Finally Captain Baylor learned that Bond and another ranger, Len Peterson, were keeping the thieves posted as to the rangers' movements. The captain fired these two men out of the company and within ten days I had captured Frank Stevenson, the leader of the Canutillo gang, and broken up the nest of thieves. Stevenson was later sent to the penitentiary for fifteen years. Bond and Peterson went to El Paso, stole Mayor M.C. Goffin's fine pair of carriage horses and fled to New Mexico. Subsequently Bond was killed at Deming by Deputy Sheriff Dan Tucker in an attempted arrest.

Captain Roberts, Coldwell or Lieutenant Reynolds would never have let such a bunch of crooks get into their companies, for they had to know something about a man before they would enlist him. However, there was some excuse for Baylor at the time he was on the Rio Grande. It was a long way from the center of population and good men were hard to find. Then, too, it looked as if all the criminals in Texas had fled to New Mexico and Arizona, from which states they would ease back into the edge of Texas and join the rangers. Captain Baylor was liberal in his views of men: they all looked good to him until proven otherwise. If there was a vacancy in the company any man could get in. And if they lacked equipment the captain would buy the newcomer a horse, saddle, and arms and then deduct the cost thereof from the man's first three months' pay. However, Baylor had generally to pay the bill himself. The captain also liked to keep his company recruited to the limit and this made enlistment in his command easy.

In all the years I was with Captain Baylor I never knew him to send a non-commissioned officer on a scout after Indians. He always commanded in person and always took with him every man in camp save one, who was left to guard it, for he liked to be as strong as possible on the battlefield.

Captain Baylor never took much interest personally in following cattle thieves, horse thieves, murderers and fugitives from justice. He left that almost entirely to me. Sometimes we would have as many as six or eight criminals chained up in camp at one time, but the captain would never come about them, for he could not bear to see anyone in trouble. His open, friendly personality endeared Baylor to the Mexicans from El Paso down the valley as far as Quitman. They were all his compadres and would frequently bring him venison, goat meat and mutton. Always they showed him every courtesy in their power.

Now, having freed the company of its undesirable recruits, we were once more a homogeneous force ready and anxious to perform our duty in protecting the frontier and bringing criminals to justice. Almost as soon as the last undesirable had been fired from Company "A" we started on the scout that was to culminate in our last fight with the Apaches.

CHAPTER XVII

LAST FIGHT BETWEEN RANGERS AND APACHES

Despite General Terrasas' great victory at Tres Castilos as recorded in a preceding chapter, he did not entirely destroy all the Apaches that had been with old Victorio. Nana and fifty warriors escaped and finally joined Geronimo in his campaign of murder and destruction. On the night preceding the battle in which Victorio was killed and his band of warriors exterminated, twelve braves with four squaws and four children deserted the old chief and made their way to those rough mountains that fringe the Rio Grande in the vicinity of Eagle Springs. At once this band of twenty Indians began a series of pillages and murders that has no parallel considering the small size of the party.

The little band of Apaches soon appeared at Paso Viego and began their depredations by an attack on Lieutenant Mills and his cavalry. Paso Viego is a gap in the mountains that parallel the Rio Grande from Eagle Mountains on the west to Brites' ranch on the east, and is situated ten or twelve miles west of and in plain view of the present little town of Valentine, Texas, on the G., H & S.A. Railroad. The tribe of Pueblo Indians has lived at the old town of Ysleta, El Paso County, Texas, for more than three hundred years. They have always been friends to the Americans and inveterate enemies to the Apaches. It was customary, therefore, for the United States troops at Fort Davis to employ the Pueblos as guides during the Indian disturbances along the border. In 1881 Bernado and Simon Olgin, two brothers, were the principal chiefs of this tribe. Bernado was the elder and looked it. Both chiefs dressed in the usual Indian fashion, wore moccasins, buckskin leggins and had their long black hair braided and hanging down the back. Simon was a very handsome Indian, and he, with four of his tribe—all nephews of his, I think—were employed by General Grierson during the troublesome times of 1880-1881.

Simon and his four scouts had been detailed to make scouts down on the Rio Grande with Lieutenant Mills, commander of the Tenth United States Cavalry (colored). On their way out the troops reached Paso Viego early in the evening, and after they had eaten supper Simon Olgin advised the lieutenant to move out on the open plains three or four miles north of the pass where they would be safe from attack. Olgin declared Paso Viego was a favorite camping place for the Indians going to and returning from Mexico because of the fine water and good grass. He stated that should a band of redskins appear at the pass during the night and find it occupied by soldiers they would attack at daylight and probably kill some of the troopers.

Lieutenant Mills, fresh from West Point, replied that he was not afraid of Indians and did not propose to move. During the night the little band of twenty Apaches reached the pass, just as Olgin had prophesied, and hid themselves in the rocks. The next morning the soldiers had breakfast, packed their mules, and as they were standing by their horses ready for the order to mount a sudden fusillade of bullets was fired into their midst at short range. Other volleys came in quick succession. At the very first fire that grand old Indian, Simon Olgin, was shot down and killed, as were five or six of the negro cavalry. The remainder of the company thereupon fled, but the four Pueblo scouts, Olgin's nephews, took to the rocks and fought until they had routed the Apaches and saved the bodies of their old beloved uncle and the soldiers from falling into the hands of the attackers to be mutilated.

Repulsed at Paso Viego the twenty Apaches next appeared at Bass' Canyon, a gap in the mountains on the overland stage road about twelve or fourteen miles west of Van Horn. Here the redskins waylaid an immigrant train on its way to New Mexico. At the very first fire of the Indians Mrs. Graham, who was walking, jumped upon the tongue of the wagon and reached for a Winchester, but was shot and killed. A man named Grant was killed at the same time, while Mr. Graham had his thigh broken. From Bass' Canyon the Indians turned south, crossed around the east end of the Eagle Mountains and again entered Old Mexico, where they were for a time lost to view.

We next hear of this band at Ojo Calienta, some hot springs on the Rio Grande southwest from Eagle Mountains. A captain of cavalry with some colored troops near old Fort Quitman detailed seven men and instructed the sergeant in charge to scout down the river as far east as Bosque Bonita, keep a sharp lookout for Indian signs and report back to camp in one week. These troopers followed orders, and on their return journey camped for the night at Ojo Calienta. Next morning at break of day the soldiers were preparing to cook breakfast when the Apaches fell upon them and killed all save one at their first assault. This single survivor made his escape on foot, and after two days in the mountains without food finally reached the soldier camp and reported to his captain. The Indians evidently located the soldier scout the evening before but, as they never make a night attack, waited until daylight to massacre their victims. The redskins captured all the soldiers' equipment and baggage, including seven horses and two pack mules. They pillaged the camp and took everything movable away with them. Before resuming their journey the Apaches took six stake-pins made of iron and about twenty inches long that were used by the soldiers to drive into the ground as stakes to which to fasten their horses and drove one through each soldier's corpse, pinning it firmly to the earth. The captured stock was killed and eaten, for the soldiers' animals were fat while most of the ponies and little mules of the Apaches were worn out by constant use in the mountains, and consequently very poor.

This band was not heard of again for nearly two months—until the warriors set upon the stage at Quitman Canyon and killed the driver, Morgan, and the gambler, Crenshaw, a passenger. The reports about this stage robbery and murder were so conflicting and the impression so strong that the driver and the passenger had themselves robbed the stage and made Indian signs to avert suspicion that Captain Baylor deemed it best to go down to the canyon and investigate for himself. Accordingly, the captain made a detail of fourteen privates and one corporal, and with ten days' rations on two pack mules left Ysleta on January 16th to ascertain if possible whether the stage had been robbed and the driver and passenger killed by Indians or by white men, and to punish the robbers if they could be caught. To keep down disorder and violence threatened at El Paso, the captain left me and a detail of three men in our camp at Ysleta.

At Quitman, Captain Baylor learned that the trail of the stage robbers bore southwest to Ojo Calienta, and as the foothills of Quitman Mountains are very rough, he went down the north bank of the Rio Grande, as he felt quite certain he would cut signs in that direction. About twenty-five miles below Quitman he struck the trail of a freshly shod mule, two barefooted ponies and two unshod mules, and within fifty yards of the trail he found the kid glove thought to have been Crenshaw's. The trail now bore down the river and crossed into Mexico, where the Indian band made its first camp. Captain Baylor followed, and the next day found the Apaches' second camp near the foothills of the Los Pinos Mountains, where we had left General Terrasas the fall before. Here all doubts about the Indians were dispelled, as the rangers found a horse killed with the meat taken as food and a pair of old moccasins. Besides, the camp was selected on a high bare hill after the custom of the Indians. The same day Captain Baylor found another camp and a dead mule, and on the trail discovered a boot-top recognized as that of Morgan, the driver. Here also was the trail of some fifteen or twenty mules and ponies, quite fresh, coming from the direction of the Candelario Mountains with one small trail of three mules going toward the Rio Grande. The rangers passed through some very rough, deep canyons and camped on the south side of the Rio Grande, this being their second night in Mexico.

Next morning the trail crossed back into Texas. Going toward Major Carpenter's old camp above the Bosque Bonito the scouting party found a camp where the Indians had evidently made a cache, but Captain Baylor only tarried here a short time and followed on down the river a few miles when he found the Apaches had struck out on a bee line for the Eagle Mountains. The captain felt some hesitation about crossing the plains between the Eagle Mountains and the Rio Grande in the daytime for fear of being seen by the Indians, but as the trail was several days old he took the risk of being discovered. He camped within three or four miles of the mountains and at daybreak took the trail up a canyon leading into the peaks. The party came suddenly upon an Apache camp which had been hastily deserted that morning, for the Indians left blankets, quilts, buckskins and many other things useful to them. They had just killed and had piled up in camp two horses and a mule, the blood of which had been caught in tin vessels. One mule's tongue was stewing over a fire and everything indicated the redskins were on the eve of a jolly war dance, for the rangers found a five-gallon can of mescal wine and a horse skin sunk in the ground that contained fifteen or twenty gallons more. Here Captain Baylor found the mate to Morgan's boot-top and a bag made from the legs of the passenger's pantaloons, besides express receipts, postal cards and other articles taken from the stage. The night before had been bitterly cold and the ground had frozen hard as flint rock, so the rangers could not get the trail, though they searched the mountains in every direction, and the three Pueblo Indians, Bernado Olgin, Domingo Olgin, and Aneseta Duran, looked over every foot of the ground. The scouting party now turned back toward Mexico to scout back on the west side of the Eagle Mountains around to Eagle Springs in search of the trail.

At Eagle Springs, as good luck would have it, Captain Baylor learned that Lieutenant Nevill and nine men had just gone toward Quitman to look for him. As soon as Lieutenant Nevill returned to the Springs he informed Baylor that he had seen the trail six miles east of Eagle Springs and that it led toward the Carrizo Springs or Diablo Mountains.

Captain Baylor's rations were out and Lieutenant Nevill had only supplies enough to do the combined force five days, but the two commanders trusted either to catch the Indians or get in striking distance of the Pecos settlements within that time. The Apaches made pretty good time across the plain in front of Eagle Springs, and did not seem to recover from their scare until they reached the Diablo Mountains. Here they killed and cooked meat from one horse and obtained water by melting snow with hot rocks.

The trail led northward by Chili Peak, a noted landmark to be seen from Eagle Station. Here the rangers quit the trail and went into the Diablo Mountains to camp at Apache Tanks, where General Grierson cut off Victorio from the Guadalupe Mountains the summer before. Next morning Captain Baylor followed the trail north and camped on the brow of cliffs overlooking Rattlesnake Springs. The sign now led to the edge of the Sierra Diablo, where the Indians camped and slept for the first time since leaving Eagle Mountains. They were still watchful, as they were near a most horrible looking canyon down which they could have disappeared had the scouting party come upon them. Their next camp was about ten miles farther on, and Captain Baylor saw they were getting more careless about camping. On the 28th he came across another horse and fire where the Apaches had eaten some meat. The leg of the horse was not yet stiff and blood dropped from one when picked up. The chase was getting to be exciting, and Captain Baylor and his men felt their chance to avenge the many outrages committed by this band was now near at hand.

The trail led off north as though the redskins were going toward the Cornudos in New Mexico, but turned east and entered Sierra Diablo Mountains. In a narrow gorge the rangers found where the Indians had eaten dinner, using snow to quench their thirst, but their horses had no water. From this camp the Apaches made for the cliffs on the northeast side of Devil Mountains. The scouting party now felt the Indians were nearby, as they were nearly all afoot. The danger of being discovered if they passed over the hills during the daylight was so apparent that the rangers decided to make a dry camp and pass the mountain's brow before day the next morning. All the signs were good for a surprise; the trail was not over two hours old, and a flock of doves passing overhead going in the direction of the trail showed that water was nearby.

The morning of the 29th of January the party was awakened by the guard, and passed over the mountain's brow before daylight. There was some difficulty in picking up the trail, though Captain Baylor, Lieutenant Nevill and the Pueblo trailers had been up the evening before spying out the land. By stooping down with their faces close to the ground the Pueblos got the trail leading north along the crest of the mountains. Soon the Indian guides said in low voices: "Hoy esta los Indias." And Captain Baylor perceived the Apaches' camp fires not over half a mile distant.

Leaving a guard of five men with the horses the rangers advanced stealthily on foot. By taking advantage of the crest of the mountain they crept within two hundred yards of the camp, supposing the Indians were camped on the western slope of the hill. The Apaches, however, were cautious enough to put one tepee on the eastern slope overlooking the valley and the approaches from that direction. Captain Baylor thereupon ordered Sergeant Carruthers of Lieutenant Nevill's company to take seven men and make a detour to the left and attack that wigwam while Lieutenant Nevill and himself with seventeen men advanced on the eastern camp. Sheltering themselves behind some large Spanish dagger plants and advancing in Indian file the attackers got within one hundred yards of the enemy, who was apparently just out of bed, for it was then sunrise. Halting the men deployed to the right and left and then, kneeling, the rangers gave the astonished Indians a deliberate volley. At the second fusillade the Apaches broke and fled, the rangers charging the flying foe with a Texas yell.

Sergeant Carruthers executed his orders in gallant style. The Apaches on his side, alarmed and surprised by the fire of Captain Baylor's force, huddled together and three were killed within twenty yards of their camp fire. The redskins ran like deer and made no resistance, for it was each man for himself. Nevertheless, as they fled they were thickly peppered, as there were but two or three out of the party of sixteen or eighteen but left blood along their trail as they ran off.

One Indian the rangers named Big Foot (from his enormous track) ran up the mountain in full view for four hundred yards, and not less than two hundred shots were fired at him, but he passed over the hill. Sergeant Carruthers and several men pursued the fugitive for a mile and a half and found plenty of blood all the way. Another warrior was knocked down and lay as though dead for some time, but finally regained his feet and made two-forty time over the hills with a running accompaniment of Springfield and Winchester balls. One brave stood his ground manfully, principally because he got the gable end of his head shot off early in the action.

Of course the women were the principal sufferers. As it was a bitterly cold, windy morning and all ran off with blankets about them few of the rangers could tell braves from squaws, and in the confusion of battle two women were killed and one mortally wounded. Two children were killed and a third shot through the foot. One squaw with three bullets in her hand and two children were captured. Seven mules and nine horses, two Winchester rifles, one Remington carbine, one United States cavalry pistol and one .40 double action Colt's, six United States cavalry saddles taken from the troops killed at Ojo Calienta and some women's and children's clothing, American made,—evidently those of Mrs. Graham,—a Mexican saddle with a bullet hole in it and fresh blood thereon and over a hundred and fifty yards of new calico fell as spoil to the victors. All the Indians' camp equipage was burned.

The victorious rangers breakfasted on the battleground, as they had eaten nothing since dinner the day before. Some of the men found horse meat good, while others feasted on venison and roasted mescal. The band of scouts could not remain long at this camp for water was very scarce. They had forty head of stock to care for, and the Indians, in their flight, ran through the largest pool of water and liberally dyed it with their blood, and as none of the men were bloodthirsty enough to use this for making coffee or bread they were short of water. However, the rangers found enough pure good water for their use but the horses had to wait until the force reached Apache Tanks, thirty miles distant. This scarcity of water made it impossible to remain at this Apache camp, otherwise Captain Baylor could have added three or four scalps to his trophies. The return march was begun, and at Eagle Station Lieutenant Nevill and Captain Baylor separated. The captured squaw and the two children were sent to Fort Davis to be turned over to the post commander for medical attention, for the rangers had neither a surgeon nor a hospital.

On their return from the battle of the Diablos, Captain Baylor's Pueblo Indian scouts, Chief Bernado Olgin, Domingo Olgin, and Aneseta Duran, suddenly halted about one mile from Ysleta, unsaddled and unbridled their tired little ponies and went into camp. This was their custom after a successful campaign against their Apache enemies so that their comrades might come out and do honor to the returning heroes. For three days and nights a feast and a scalp dance was held by the whole of the Pueblo tribe of Ysleta. They feasted, wined and dined their returning warriors and invited the rangers to the festivities. The boys all went and reported they had a fine time generally. This celebration was the last scalp dance the Pueblo Indians ever had, for the destruction of the Apaches in the Diablos exterminated the wild Indians and there were no more of them to scalp.

CHAPTER XVIII

AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE

The American citizens of Socorro, New Mexico, during Christmas week of 1881, held a church festival, and Mr. A.M. Conklin, editor of the "Socorro Sun," was conducting the exercises. Abran and Enofrio Baca appeared at the church under the influence of liquor. Their talk and actions so disturbed the entertainment that Mr. Conklin went to them and requested them to be more quiet, at the same time telling the offenders they were perfectly welcome in the church but that they must behave. The brothers, highly indignant, invited Mr. Conklin to fight, but Mr. Conklin declined and again assured the two that they were welcome but must act as gentlemen. Abran and Enofrio at once retired from the church.

After the social had ended and as Mr. Conklin with his wife at his side passed out of the church door, Abran Baca caught Mrs. Conklin by one arm and jerked her away from her husband. At the same instant Enofrio shot and killed the editor on the church steps.

This foul murder created no end of indignation in the little town of Socorro. Scouting parties were sent in all directions to try and effect the capture of the murderers. However, the two Bacas managed to elude their pursuers and made their way into the Republic of Mexico. The governor of New Mexico at once issued a proclamation offering $500 for their capture and the citizens of Socorro offered a like amount for the murderers, dead or alive. The proclamation, with a minute description of the Baca boys, was sent broadcast over the country. And, of course, the rangers at Ysleta received several of the circulars.

In the spring of 1881 the county judge of El Paso County was Jose Baca, an uncle of the two murderers. He was also a merchant at Ysleta, then the county seat of El Paso County. Captain Baylor's company of rangers was quartered in the west end of Ysleta, about one-half mile from the public square. On receiving the New Mexico proclamation I set a watch over the home and store of Judge Baca and kept it up for nearly a month but without success. We finally concluded that the Baca boys had not come our way and almost forgot the incident.

However, one morning in the latter part of March, 1881, Jim Fitch, one of our most trustworthy rangers, hurried back to camp from Ysleta and informed me that he had seen two well dressed Mexican boys, strangers to him, sitting on the porch of Judge Baca's home. I at once made a detail of four men. We saddled our horses, rode to town, rounded up the Baca home and captured two strange Mexicans. I believed them to be the Baca brothers, and left at once for New Mexico with my prisoners.

Before we had reached El Paso on our journey we were overtaken by Judge Baca, who had with him an interpreter. He asked me to please halt as he wished to talk with the prisoners. After a short conversation with the boys the judge asked me what was the reward for the capture of Abran Baca. I replied, "Five hundred dollars."

"If you will just let him step out in the bosque and get away I will give you $700," Judge Baca finally said with some hesitation.

Subsequently the judge raised the bribe to one thousand dollars, but I informed him there was not enough money in El Paso County to buy me off, so he returned to Ysleta and I continued my journey to New Mexico, feeling assured I had at least captured one of the Conklin murderers. On arriving at Socorro I was at once informed that I had Abran all right but my second prisoner was Massias Baca, a cousin of the murderers, but not incriminated in the crime.

I was treated royally by the citizens and officers of Socorro. They were delighted that one of the murderers had been captured and promptly counted out to me $250 as their part of the reward offered for the apprehension of one of the criminals. Colonel Eaton, head deputy sheriff of the county, issued me a receipt for the body of Abran Baca delivered inside the jail of Socorro County, New Mexico. This receipt, forwarded to the governor of the territory, promptly brought me a draft for $250 and a letter of thanks from his excellency.

Early in April, about one month after the capture of Abran Baca, I learned from Santiago Cooper, a friend that lived in Ysleta, that he had seen a man at Saragosa, Mexico, who, from the description, he believed to be Enofrio Baca. I told Cooper I would give him $25 if he would go back to Saragosa and find out to a certainty if the person he had seen was Enofrio Baca. A week later Cooper came to me and said the man at Saragosa was Baca and that the murderer was clerking in the one big store of the town. This store was a long adobe building situated against a hill with the front facing so that one riding up to the front of it would bring his saddle skirts almost on a level with the building because of the terraces in front of it made necessary by the slope of the hill. Enofrio was of florid complexion with dark red hair, which made it easy to identify him.

I kept this information about the murderer to myself for nearly a week while I pondered over it. I was anxious to capture Baca, yet I well knew from previous experience that if I caused him to be arrested in Mexico the authorities there would turn him loose, especially when the influence of wealthy relatives was brought to bear. Knowing he would follow the law to the letter I dare not take Captain Baylor into my confidence. Saragosa, a little town of about five hundred inhabitants, is situated about four miles southwest of Ysleta. While it is only about a mile from the Rio Grande as the crow flies, yet, because of the many farms and big irrigation ditches, it was impossible to enter or leave the town only by following the public road between Ysleta and Saragosa. It has always been the delight of border Mexicans to get behind an adobe wall or on top an adobe house and shoot to ribbons any hated gringo that might be unfortunately caught on the Mexican side of the river. I knew only too well from my own experience that I could not go into Saragosa, attempt to arrest a Mexican, stay there five minutes and live, yet I determined to take the law in my own hands and make the attempt.

I took into my confidence just one man, George Lloyd. If ever there was an ace in the ranger service he was one. I unfolded my plans to him. I did not have to point out the danger to him for he had lived on the Rio Grande ten times as long as I.

"Sergeant, that is an awful dangerous and risky piece of business and I will have to have a little time in which to think it over," he said when I talked with him.

The next day Lloyd came to me and said, "Sergeant, I will go anywhere in the world with you."

Though willing to accompany me I could tell he doubted our ability to execute the capture.

I planned to attempt the capture of Baca the next morning and sent Cooper back to Saragosa to look over the situation there once more. He informed me on his return that Baca was still clerking in the store. I now told Lloyd to keep our horses up when the animals were turned out to graze next morning. This move caused no especial thought or comment, for the men frequently would keep their horses to ride down town. As soon as we had crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico I planned to quit the public road, travel through the bosques, pass around on the west side of Saragosa and ride quickly up to the store in which our man was working. Lloyd was to hold the horses while I was to dismount, enter the store and make the arrest. Then, if possible, I was to mount Baca behind Lloyd and make a quick get-away.