“I hope they won’t git the critter: he ain’t nothin’ but a cussid nuisance, no how,” said Jerry, as Hal disappeared in the gloaming.

“It’s so dark they won’t be very likely to,” was my reply.

“I ‘spect the Irishman had a hand in startin’ him,” continued Jerry. “He’s owed the critter a grudge ever since he tarred his clo’es so, the other night.”

“How was that, Jerry?” inquired I.

“Why, yer see the boy had been a-proddin’ the critter with a sharp stick; and, arter he got through, he was a-standin’ by the wagon, and the bar made a jump and ketched him right by his trousers-leg. This kind er scart the feller, and he made a leap, and left the biggest part of his breeches in the critter’s mouth. Ned laughed, and told him, that one bar(e) in camp was enough, and he’d better go an’ mend up thar he is, now,” pointing towards one of the wagons.

I called him, and he came towards me, looking decidedly guilty. I said to him, “Patsey, how did the bear get away?”

“He runned away, sure, sur.”

“Yes; but how did he get loose?”

“He aited the rope aff, I suppose, sure. I seed him goin’, and thought it’d be no harm to spake to the boys, sur.”

“That was all right, Patsey; but you didn’t turn him loose, did you?”

“I turn him loose, sur! Phat would I be doin’ that fur?”

“Well, why didn’t you go out and help find him?”

“I was afraid, sur;” examining the huge rent in his pantaloons.

“Afraid!” said I. “What under the sun was you afraid of? your bare legs?”

“Will, sur, I didn’t know what the quinisquences might be if two bears (bares) happened to mate in the woods.”

Just here Jerry gave one of his peculiar chuckles; and, seeing that I got but little information from the boy, I dismissed him with the remark, that, when we got to Tucson, he should have a suit of clothes.

“That’ll suit me, your honor,” was the reply, as he moved briskly off.

The boys soon returned, after an unsuccessful search for the bear.

Hal was disposed to blame everybody but himself for the escape, while Ned, with whom the bear had never been a great favorite, was inclined to laugh at the matter, to Hal’s great disgust.

His ill nature reached its culminating point, however, when Jerry suggested, that, “if he lied fifteen dollars more to git rid of, he’d better bury it than give it for a cussid, good-for-nothin’ bar, that warn’t nothin’ but a infernal nuisance to everybody, anyway.”

Hal accepted the gauntlet thus thrown down by Jerry, and was about to reply in no very polite language, when I changed the conversation, by requesting him to finish the narrative of his visit to the Apaches; and, after a little hesitation, he resumed his story as follows:

“The Indian told me, that, if I spoke to Juanita again, he’d send a bullet through my head; so Anastacio said, for the Indian spoke in Spanish.

“I didn’t talk to her any more for several hours, but rode all the afternoon by her side. When we got to the top of the bluff from which we could see the Rio Grande, Juanita cried, and said that her home was there, and Anastacio felt so bad for her that he led her horse all the way after that.

“When we got to the river, instead of crossing, the Indians rode into it; and they made us all wade through the water for three or four miles, though the whole party came out on the same side. From here we struck into the prairie again; and, after riding for two or three hours, we camped.

“Juanita was so tired, she dropped to sleep as soon as we stopped; but Anastacio and I kept awake, and saw the Indians cast a mule, and open his veins and suck the warm blood from them. After this, they cut off portions of the flesh and roasted it over the coals, and made motions to us, that, if we wanted any, we must cook for ourselves.

“We were both hungry, but we couldn’t eat mule meat, then, although we had to come to it in a little time.

“We started by daybreak the next morning; and Juanita became so exhausted, that, before night, she asked me two or three times to kill her. Finally, she appealed to Anastacio; and I heard him promise her, on a little cross she wore around her neck, that, if worse came to worse, he would do it.

“That day one of the Indians killed an antelope, and we all ate heartily of it, but Anastacio. He took the meat they gave to him, and saved it for Juanita. He carried it in his hand all day, and walked beside her horse, telling her stories in Spanish, and trying to cheer her. He was as kind to her as he could be, during the whole seventeen days we were together.

“One night we slept in a great cave in a mountain,[Probably the Waco Mountain, thirty miles east of El Paso.] where there were four or five deep pools, of nice, clear water. Juanita was so delighted at the sight of them that she sat on the brink of one and put her feet in it, to ’rest them,’ she said. When the Indians saw her do this, one of them struck her with his quirt [A small, heavy whip.] over the shoulders.

“Anastacio sprang at him like a wild beast, and I believe would have killed him, but the other Indians took him off. They seemed greatly amused at the fight; but said they were only saving us for their squaws to torture, after they got us home.

“After this they made us all walk; although Juanita’s feet and ankles were swelled so terribly that she could scarcely move: whenever Anastacio got the chance though, he carried her in his arms.

“One day one of the Indians brought her some fresh mule’s blood to drink, and, because she wouldn’t take it, he threw it in her face, and told her in Spanish, that, when they got to their village, he should make her his squaw. This made her cry terribly; and I heard Anastacio tell her he’d certainly kill her, before the Indians should have her. After that I thought she seemed happier, and repeatedly said, if she could only see her dear old father once more, she should be glad to die.

“We all suffered terribly from fatigue and thirst; for, after they thought Juanita was going to drown herself in the pool, they were very cross to us, and used to make us do all their work about the camp. If we refused, they stuck sharp-pointed knives into us, and struck us with their quirts; though, after Anastacio made the fuss, they didn’t strike Juanita any more.

“The night you rescued us was the first time they hadn’t put a guard out, since we were captured.

“You see, they always sent one of their party back a mile or two, to watch the trail, so as to avoid being surprised; but they had got so near home, they didn’t dream of being pursued, I suppose.

“That day Anastacio told me they were talking of having a big dance when they got to the village, and he was going to kill Juanita before we reached it. He cried about it, and wanted to know if I supposed the Blessed Virgin would forgive him if he did it. We’d just been talking about it, when we heard the crack of Tom’s rifle, and saw the Indians run towards the wood.

“I tell you what it was, when I heard that shot, I felt that it wasn’t an Indian’s gun (it didn’t sound a bit like one), and my heart jumped right up into my mouth.

“The Indians appeared so anxious about Juanita, that they seemed to forget Anastacio and I, when they heard the rifle. We both run for the hut, and saw that she wasn’t there, and supposed the Indians had taken her. Then we heard the soldiers’ guns, and run towards them; and, the next I knew, I met Ned, and was hugging and kissing him just like a girl, I was so glad to see him. I tell you ’twas jolly, though; and, when I found that Juanita was all right, I felt like dancing and crying in the same minute.

“One thing is certain: you saved Anastacio from killing Juanita, for she never would have gone into that village alive.”

“Wall, youngster,” said Jerry, “I’ve heered you through; and now I’d like ter know what you think of the ’Paches; ’cause, you see, we’ve got ter travel a good many hundred miles through their country, and I’d like ter hev your opinion of ’em.”

“Why, I think they are a cruel, cowardly, treacherous tribe, as Mr. Mastin said; and the dirtiest things I ever saw.”

“Tell me, Jerry, do you know much about them?” interrupted I. “If you do, tell us something of their character and habits, as you’ve seen them.”

“Wall, I’ve been through their country seven times, and I’ve met a heap of ’em, one way and another; but I hain’t got no better opinion of ’em than Mr. Mastin hed. They’re the smartest, wickedest and cunningest, Injins I ever seed. A Comanche ain’t a touch to ’em, and I’ve never yet seed a white man smart enuff to beat ’em.”

“You don’t exactly mean that, do you, Jerry?” inquired I.

“That’s exactly what I do mean: no more and no less,” was the reply. “You’ll hev a chance ter see for yourself, afore we git through this trip, I’m thinkin, or you’ll be the only man thet ever travelled through their country that hain’t; that’s my idée, sartin. Why, the cusses’ll telegraph to one another all over the country, and know just what’s goin’ on a hundred miles away.

“Americans can’t understand ’em, and never will. No one ever saw a white man look at a country as a ’Pache does: he’ll see everything. Ther ain’t a ravine, gully, rock, bush, or tree, a foot high, thet he don’t hev his eye on. Now, a white man don’t look at a country in that way, does he?

“Jest ez likely ez not, there’s a Injin within a dozen yards of us; but we wouldn’t think it.”

“A dozen yards of us!” exclaimed Hal, looking around; “why, where could he hide, I’d like to know?”

“That’s jest it, youngster. We might go within ten feet of him, and never see him. Why, I’ve knowed ’em to hide behind a brown-bush, clump er cactus, or a rock, so mighty cunnin’ thet ther ain’t one scout in fifty would see ’em, let alone a stranger.

“They’ll kiver therselves with grass, and lay on the ground all day, without movin’, waitin’ for a party to pass. I’ve been within ten foot of one myself, and seed him, too, and thought ’twas a part of the rock he was lying agin.

“I tell yer, them fellers’s smarter’n a whip! They be, sartin, now.”

“Well,” said Ned, who had been listening attentively to Jerry’s description of the Apache character, “if I’d had any idea these Indians were half as smart as you say they are, I’d rather have stayed in Texas than started on the trip.”

“I wouldn’t,” declared Hal. “I’ve had about as much experience with ’em as anybody in the party, and I don’t believe they’re half as smart as you make ’em out. At any rate, I wouldn’t be afraid to put my brain against theirs.”

“Put your what, youngster?” inquired Jerry, in such an incredulous tone, that we all burst into a hearty laugh, in the midst of which Hal retired, leaving Jerry, Ned, and myself to continue the Apache question alone.

“You may depend on’t, we ain’t a-goin’ ter git through this blasted country without more’n one brush with them fellers; and my way is ter keep our ears and eyes open, our rifles and pistols well loaded, and meet ’em when they come; for come they will, sartin,” said Jerry.

“Well, you must adopt such precautions and make such rules as you think proper,” was my reply. “We’ll all obey them.”

“I’ll set ther guard ter-night, and yer may ez well turn in now, ’cause we must make a early start.”

We had hardly been on the road an hour the next day, before we observed one of the remarkable signal-smokes (used by the Apaches to give warning of the approach of strangers into their country), suddenly shoot up into the air from a spur of the mountains several miles distant.

Although the morning was windy, the smoke arose in a straight column to a great height, then spread out like a huge umbrella at the top, and, in the twinkling of an eye, was gone.

“That means ‘look out,’ plain enuff, don’t it?” asked Jerry. “That’s what I call telegraphin’. Now, putty soon you’ll see some more answerin’ of ’em.”

“Do you know what that means?” inquired Ned.

“That means, ‘Strangers is comin’.’ If they’d repeated it three or four times, it would have said, ‘The party’s a big one, and wants watchin’.’ But they’re so fur off, I reckon they’ll send two or three spies in ter see how many thar is of us, afore we shall hear from ’em. Hilloa! there they go,” continued he, pointing to three more of the signals that were suddenly sent up in different directions. “We’re in amongst ’em, sure, boys; so let’s keep our eyes open.”

Notwithstanding we maintained the utmost vigilance during the entire day’s journey, we saw nothing of Indians, or any signs indicating their presence; but, upon camping at night, we so disposed our wagons, that we should be able to make a vigorous resistance in case of attack. The guard was posted, to be relieved every two hours. Our camp was on an open plain, with no shrubbery save an occasional brown-bush or yucca near us; and we retired, feeling as safe as we had any time since crossing the Rio Grande.

The night passed quietly; and, just as the grey dawn began to make objects visible about camp, I awoke.

I saw the guard sitting over the smoldering fire, the mules hitched to the wagon-wheels as usual, and the remainder of the party wrapped in their blankets, apparantly sleeping soundly; so I determined to take another nap before rising.

While thus lying, half awake and half asleep, I dreamily turned my eyes towards a small bush that stood a few yards from the place where I was lying, and, to my horror, discovered a pair of bright eyes peering at me from between the branches.

My first thought, that it was some animal, was speedily dissipated by discovering the fingers of a human hand holding aside the branches so as to give its owner an uninterrupted view of our camp; and it required but little stretch of the imagination to plainly see the features of a swarthy, ugly face behind them.

In an instant I remembered the conversation with Jerry the day previous, and decided that it must be the face of an Apache spy, and that I had better remain quiet; knowing, that, if my surmise was correct, we need not fear an attack from him or his companions, at that time.

I lay for some moments, it seemed hours, spell-bound, watching the face, but not daring to move even an eyelid, lest the discovery of the fact that I was awake, should be the signal for my own destruction. I expected every moment to hear the twang of a bow-string, and feel the head of an arrow penetrate my flesh; for I felt confident the spy was not alone.

I remember watching the eyes, so steadily gleaming from between the boughs, and comparing them to those of a tiger, about to spring upon its prey, and then, I found myself speculating as to whether a flint arrow-head would cause more pain than an iron one.

While these thoughts were passing through my mind, I noticed the branches almost imperceptibly resume their natural position and the eyes disappear from view.

My first impulse was to spring to my feet and alarm the camp. Then I bethought myself of the well-known cunning of the Apaches, and determined to remain quiet for a few moments, lest a ruse had been adopted to ascertain if their presence had been discovered.

Just at this moment, the guard, who had been sitting over the dying embers of the camp-fire, arose, drew his coat closer about him to shield him from the chill morning air, and, after taking a look around, again sat down. As he did so, I saw the branches once more cautiously pushed aside, and two pairs of eyes, instead of one, survey the scene.

What should I do? A cold sweat started from every pore of my body, and my heart almost ceased to beat, as I realized that the least movement of either of my sleeping companions might precipitate upon us a foe, of whose numbers I could form no estimate.

Conscious that I had acted wisely in doing nothing myself to hasten it, I felt equally certain I could have done nothing to avert it.

There I lay waiting, I knew not for what. The suspense became terrible. It seemed as though every moment had become a long hour, as though I dared not breathe, lest the breath should be my last.

Suddenly, I felt that the boughs had again resumed their natural position, and the eyes were gone. Yes! they were there no longer. Once more I breathed freely.

Why I did not instantly arouse the camp, I cannot tell. I waited several minutes, then quietly cocked my rifle beneath my blankets, and touched Jerry on the shoulder. The instant he felt it, he started; but my low “s-h” apprised him of danger, and he again resumed his old position.

In a low tone, I told him what I had seen. He waited a few moments and then aroused the camp.

No one was aware, that, during the night, Indians had been so near us, nor did the camp show any evidence that they had entered it; but the ground in the vicinity of the bush, which had concealed the foe revealed very plainly the track of four moccasined feet. Although we found it difficult to tell in what direction they had gone, yet it was quite evident that we might, at any time, expect a visit from our Apache friends, and our only course was to be ready when they appeared.

Hal and Ned were disposed, at first, to imagine that the visitors of the night previous were the creation of a dream; but the sight of their footprints in the sand, soon dissipated that theory, while they plainly told them the necessity of greater caution.

Breakfast dispatched, we got under way once more; and, during the next three or four days crossed several spurs of the Burro and Pelloncillo ranges of mountains, and over that portion of the great Madre Plateau, that lies along the thirty-second parallel, but saw no Indians.

This fact gave Hal a good opportunity to laugh at what he termed my vision; nor did he fail to improve the opportunity.

Jerry and I often consulted together, and wondered why it was that we heard nothing more from the spies that had visited us; for, as Jerry wisely said, “If they’d come along and have it out with us, one way or t’other, he wouldn’t keer; but ter keep us always expectin’ ’em, is what wears a feller out. By’m by, when we git keerless, they’ll ketch us nappin’, and then, God help us, that’s all.”

Our route, the next day, passed through a fertile cienega,[Valley.] thence over an alkali plain. It was while crossing this latter, that I met with an adventure, the most desperate we encountered on the trip. Our route carried us over this vast plain, strongly impregnated with alkali, and sparsely covered with dwarfed mesquite with an occasional cluster of yuccas, scarce two feet in height; and was so level, we could see for miles over it in any direction.

The road was thickly covered from five to six inches deep, with an impalpable dust, so fine that the lightest footstep, or breath of air, sent it in clouds above our heads. So dense was it, that it completely enveloped our whole party, making it impossible for us to distinguish one another, at a distance even of three or four feet.

Jerry and myself had been riding a few rods in advance of the wagons; but he returned to them for the purpose of giving some order, while I continued on. So open was the plain, that it seemed impossible for any foe to be concealed upon its surface; and we naturally abated somewhat, the vigilance we should have maintained, had we been passing through a rocky canon, or wooded defile. We therefore rode carefully along, shrouded in dust, but not dreaming of danger.

Suddenly, without the least warning, three or four muskets, and a shower of arrows, were discharged upon us from a spot not twenty yards away.

A clap of thunder from a clear sky would not have astonished me more.

The thought, that Hal or Ned might have been killed, passed like a flash of lightning through my mind; for the dust was so dense, I could not distinguish friend from foe; but I heard Jerry shout, “Adelante! Adelante hombres!” and forgetting for the moment that I was already in the advance, in obedience to the order, I spurred my horse forward, just as the Apache war-whoop sounded, apparantly upon all sides of me.

The spot selected for the ambush was at a point where the road passed though a large body of prickly-pear, the terrible thorns of which, in connection with the sharp-pointed leaves of the Spanish-bayonet, formed a natural chevaux-de-frise that no living creature could penetrate.

I soon discovered this; and, in the expectation of reaching the train, turned my horse’s head and rode blindly back through the thick dust, although unable to see more than a few feet from me in any direction.

Suddenly I found myself surrounded by Indians. One stout, sinewy fellow, naked, with the exception of a breechcloth, seized my horse by the bits, and by main strength, forced him back upon his haunches, and in the twinkling of an eye, I lay upon my back in the dust of the road, deprived of my weapons, with an Apache, whose nude body had been well smeared with grease, sitting squarely astride me, with a knee upon each arm.

It was impossible for me to move; and I gave myself up for lost, as I noticed the wicked, fiendish expression upon the hideously painted face of the savage, and heard him mutter a malediction in Spanish through his closed teeth. The next instant, the welcome crack of three or four rifles greeted my ears. The Indian gave a start, and I saw the blood spurt from his side.

He gnashed his teeth, uttered a harsh, fierce exclamation of rage, and seized my throat with one hand, while he made a desperate attempt, with the other, to grasp my knife, which, in the struggle, had fortunately fallen just beyond his reach.

As he stretched forward, I felt his hold upon my throat relax; and, making a tremendous effort, I succeeded in pitching him over my head; then, springing to my feet, ran like a race-horse in the direction of the shots just fired; and, the next moment, was with Jerry and the boys.

I was so excited and bewildered, that, for a few seconds, I could hardly realize what had passed. I soon learned, however, that, immediately upon the attack being made, Jerry had halted the wagons, and, as he was unable in the dense dust to form any estimate of the number of the foe, was advancing with the men on foot, at the time they so opportunely fired the volley which rid me of my foe.

The Apaches left two dead bodies upon the ground; and we, three horses, while ever after I followed the advice I had so frequently given Hal and Ned, and kept with the wagons.

My adventure furnished a fruitful theme for conversation around the camp-fire for many nights. Jerry, Hal, Ned, Patsey, and even the Mexican teamsters had a theory as to the course they should pursue under the same circumstances; and I believe it is an unsettled question to this day, whether I did right in turning back instead of riding forward, after I heard the order given.

The evening of the succeeding day brought us to the entrance of the Apache Pass, the only canon through which we could cross the Chirichui range of mountains, that for many years had been the home of Cochise’s band of Apaches, one of the worst that ever infested the country. Here, it was necessary to exercise the greatest caution; for the place was notoriously the most dangerous upon the entire route.

Extra guards were sent out, the animals securely corralled, each man required to sleep upon his arms, and every precaution taken to enable us to repel an attack at a moment’s notice.

The night passed without any alarm, and Jerry chuckled at the thought that we should probably get through without being molested. Just as we were starting, however, it was found that one of our wagons required repairs, that would cause a delay of several hours. As the water was good and the grass luxuriant, we concluded to run the risk of an attack, and to remain for the day where we were and give our animals, which were sent to graze a limit a mile from camp, a much-needed rest.

Jerry undertook the repair of the wagon; and, as the day was bright, the boys determined to do some washing.

I had thrown myself upon my blanket, and was lazily admiring the beauties of an Arizona landscape, when Patsey approached me, and, pulling off his brimless hat, said, “Ef yer plase, sur, the byze wants to git some sooap.”

“What is it, Patsey?” said I.

“It’s the sooap, sur. Where’ll the byze git the sooap ter wash wid?”

“Tell them to take a spade, and go and dig some,” was my reply.

Patsey looked at me a moment, as though half inclined to think I had suddenly taken leave of my senses, and then exclaimed, in tones of astonishment,

“Dig sooap! Where’ll they go to dig it, shure?”

“Right there,” said I, pointing to a small palmilla,[The palmilla is a species of palm, known as the soap-plant, whose roots, when bruised in water, make a very thick and remarkably soft and white lather. The plant is much used by the natives for cleansing clothes, and is far superior to any manufactured soap for scouring woolens. It also makes an admirable shampoo mixture.] numbers of which were growing all about us.

Patsey looked in the direction indicated; and, seeing nothing that resembled soap, regarded me attentively for a moment, and then wheeled and darted away.

Presently I saw the three boys coming towards me, and Ned laughingly remarked that he and Hal wanted some soap to wash their shirts with.

I answered, that I had just sent them word by Patsey, to go and dig some.

Evidently Ned was as much surprised at my answer as Patsey had been; but he mustered courage enough to inquire where he should find it.

“There, there, and there!” replied I, pointing in rapid succession to the plants that were growing around us. Ned stood spell-bound for a moment, and then slowly turned towards Hal and Patsey, who were standing at a little distance.

As he approached them, Patsey caught him by the arm, and, with a most knowing look on his broad, Irish face, exclaimed, “Didn’t I tell yez the boss wuz crazy, an’ I wouldn’t git my new clo’es, any how?”

Wishing them to learn the merits of this truly wonderful plant that grows so common throughout this region, I rose from the ground. Patsey beat a hurried retreat, taking refuge with Jerry, saying, the “Boss had gone as crazy as a bidbug, wid his diggin’ sooap and givin’ clo’es away, to be shure.”

Sending Ned for a spade, I soon unearthed one of the large bulbous roots, which I divided into pieces, and, accompanying the boys to the spring, practically demonstrated its remarkable saponaceous qualities, leaving them delighted with the experiment; but had hardly returned to my blanket again when I was startled by the report of two rifles, that came from below us, near the base of the mountains where our animals were grazing.

However commonplace this incident may appear to the reader, to us it was the tocsin of danger. Before the lofty crags above us had ceased to reverberate the echoes, every man was on the alert.

The boys came running to the spot where I stood, their bare arms dripping with soap-suds, while the men rushed to the wagons to procure their firearms and ammunition.

Before we had time to fully equip ourselves, the sight of one of the herders, rapidly approaching, told the story. He rode near enough to make himself heard, then, checking his horse so suddenly as to almost throw him upon his haunches, he brandished his revolver and shouted,

“Los Indios! Los Apaches!” and, turning, rode rapidly in the direction whence he came.