Chapter XVI

AMONG THE APACHES, NAVAJOES, AND ZUNI INDIANS OF TEXAS,
ARIZONA, AND NEW MEXICO.

SHORTLY after the great tide of emigration had swept into California, yet another vast tract of country, that now known under the several titles of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, was annexed to the United States. We have already visited these districts in the company of various early heroes, chiefly missionary; but in the adventures of Cozens, as related in his _Marvelous Country_, we find so many vivid pictures of the life of the wild inhabitants at the present day, that we propose supplementing our record of discovery by a short abstract of his travels.

Cozens left Merilla, a town of Mexico, in company with three other gentlemen and a few servants, in June, 1858, with the intention of visiting first the copper mines of Santa Rita del Cobre, on the Rio Mimbres, and thence making his way into Arizona. Simple as this programme appears, its execution was fraught with great difficulty, owing to the hostility of the Apaches, a wild native race inhabiting the mountain fastnesses of the north of Spanish America.

The party were riding happily along, after a careful examination of the mines, when the mule ridden by Mr. Laws showed signs of uneasiness. “There are evidently Indians near,” said Cozens; to which Dr. Steck, a second of his companions, replied, “If there are, they know better than to attack their Great Father,” the name by which he was himself called by the savages, among whom he had long been working. He was wrong! A few minutes later, a small cañon, or pass, was entered, with lofty rugged rocks on either side; and when retreat was impossible, the war-whoop of the Apaches suddenly rang out from above, and, echoing from side to side, filled every heart with horror.

A moment’s pause, and then, spurring on their mules, the travelers endeavored to reach the mouth of the cañon, but, alas! even as they gained it, an arrow struck Laws in the back. He fell from the saddle dead, and the mule which had first given warning of the approaching catastrophe galloped riderless away.

The survivors hastily retreated to a neighboring height, determined to sell their lives as dearly as they could; but though they waited an hour, revolvers in hand, for the arrival of the Indians, they were left unmolested. When the evening shadows lessened the risk, they returned to the spot where Laws had fallen, and, placing his corpse before them on their saddles, carried it with them to the summit of the highest hill within reach. There, by the light of the moon, a grave was dug, and poor Laws was buried. No stone or other memorial marked his resting-place, as it would but have served to ♦provoke the desecration of his remains.

♦ ‘provoked’ replaced with ‘provoke’

The next day the march was resumed, and, during an interesting trip among the lovely passes of the Mexican range, known as Los Organos, an adventure was met with, scarcely less exciting, though less tragical in its ending, than the encounter with the Apaches. The guide, who was a little in advance of the party he was escorting, suddenly pointed to a spot far up on the mountain, and observed laconically, “Yonder is the hole of a cinnamon bear.” It was at once resolved that the owner of the lofty cave should be compelled to show himself, and pay for that privilege with his life.

The guide leading the way, all but Cozens, who was in no humor for the sport, ♦proceeded to climb up to the mouth of the hole, it being agreed that each should fire as he saw the bear emerge from his retreat. When all were in position, the guide commenced operations by dropping a large handful of pebbles in front of the mouth of the cave. The effect was almost immediate. But a minute or two elapsed before the hunted animal put his head out and calmly surveyed his tormentors. Rogers, one of the men farthest from the actual scene of action, now fired; the bullet struck the bear on the nose, and, furious with pain, he rushed at one of the party named Parker, who, flinging down his weapon, fled to a fir-tree hard by. As the doctor scrambled up the tree, the bear gazing ruefully after him, two well-directed shots brought the latter down dead, and, after a hearty laugh at Parker’s expense, the carcass was cut into strips, and packed among the stores for the journey.

♦ ‘proceede’ replaced with ‘proceeded’

A little later, a _détour_ was made to visit the ruins of Le Gran Quivera, situated on a plain some ten miles distant from the mountains, and supposed to be identical with one of the seven cities of Cibola, visited by Father Kino. The ruins were found to be still in excellent preservation; the remains of a large temple and of a skillfully-constructed aqueduct for bringing water from the heights above the town were distinctly made out, and the Indians told many interesting traditions of the days when “Le Gran Quivera had been a mighty Aztec metropolis.”

In 1680, according to the redskins, when vast quantities of precious metal had been extracted from the mines, and they were about to be taken to the South, the Apaches came down from their rocky homes and attacked the miners. The latter, warned too late of the impending danger, had but time to bury their treasure when the savages were upon them. All but two were massacred, and these two, on their arrival in Mexico, gave such a terrible account of the cruelties inflicted upon their brethren by the Apaches, that no bribes could induce any one to attempt to recover the gold and silver left behind.

Of the near presence of the descendants of these dreaded warriors, our travelers received proof, before leaving Le Gran Quivera, in the loss of two valuable pack-mules and Dr. Parker’s horse; but, knowing the uselessness of attempting to recover the stolen property, the camp was struck, and the march resumed at once. A north-easterly course was now pursued, and, after passing through the remains of the strange petrified forest――the origin and history of which has been so much discussed――the banks of the Rio Grande, forming the boundary between Mexico and the United States, were reached, whence a pleasant ride brought the whole party back to La Merilla.

The little that Cozens had seen of the Apaches on this trip, combined with the wonderful stories told of them by their neighbors, and by those who had escaped from captivity among them, rendered him anxious to learn more of their ways. In spite, therefore, of the earnest entreaties of his friends not to risk his life needlessly, he determined to start alone for the encampments――or _rancheria_, as they were called――of the Pinal and Tonto Apaches, two of the most noted bands of this savage race dwelling near the banks of the Gila.

For this new and venturesome journey, Cozens was fortunate enough to secure the services, as guide, of an Apache war-chief named Cochise, of the Pinal tribe, who assured him that in his company no danger was to be apprehended from his brethren.

It was a lovely morning in June when the two strangely assorted companions left the Chiricalmi Mountains behind them, and, striking across country in a north-westerly direction, entered an Indian trail leading to the Apache encampment, over a vast plain with nothing to relieve its monotony but an occasional glimpse of what looked like the gleaming waters of a vast inland sea, though it turned out to be the great mirage known as Greenhorn’s Lake.

Illustration: COCHISE.

Beyond the plains the travelers came to a mass of “cañons, ravines, ridges, gullies, chasms, and mountains,” some of them presenting the appearance of exquisitely constructed Gothic cathedrals, while one so exactly resembled an organ, with pipes of green, white, blue, brown, and pink sandstone, that Cozens could scarcely believe it to be merely a natural phenomenon.

The Indian trail led into the very midst of this chaos of rocks, and, breathlessly following his guide, our hero presently found himself upon the edge of a pass, looking down a precipice two thousand feet in depth, with perpendicular walls of a blood-red color, relieved at their summits with patches of grayish white alkali. Cochise now made signs to his employer――master Cozens could scarcely be called――to dismount and leave his mule to find its own way down. Then with one word, “_Adelante!_” (Forward!), he led the way down the pass.

Descending into the gloom beneath the overhanging rock-masses, and feeling their way step by step in the darkness, with the mules so close behind them that a moment’s hesitation would have been certain death――for the animals would assuredly have pushed their masters over the abyss――the adventurers at last reached in safety the bed of the river, which had eaten out the pass of which they had availed themselves. Here a halt was made for the night, and on the ensuing day the descent of the ravine was completed, under difficulties even greater than those already conquered.

Late in the afternoon, however, Cochise pointed out four or five black specks in the distance, perched on the strange truncated mounds so common in Arizona, and which have excited so much curiosity among scientific men. “They are Apaches,” was the guide’s laconic remark; and though Cozens pressed him with eager questions as to the next experiences to be anticipated, he could get no replies.

Silently the two plodded on for another two hours till they came to the summit of a bare bluff, when Cochise again paused, and, pointing to the valley beneath, exclaimed, “Look! Apache home!” Cozens obeyed, and, gazing down upon a lovely valley, watered by a copious stream, and surrounded on all sides by bluffs some hundred feet high, their surfaces worn by wind and weather into all manner of strange forms, he obtained his first glimpse of the goal of his journey.

The Apache huts, with yellow thatched, dome-shaped roofs, nestled here and there against the crags, or in little groups by the stream; from before each door rose the smoke of a little camp-fire; and beyond, on the slopes of the upper end of the valley, grazed thousands of cattle, ponies and mules.

As the two gazed motionless upon this scene of peace and plenty in the wilderness, they were suddenly perceived by the Indians. A loud yell notified the fact, and in a moment the village was astir; children running together, dogs barking, warriors hastily seizing their weapons. But Cochise, the wandering war-chief, raised his hand and gave utterance to a peculiar cry. He was recognized at once, the arms were thrown aside, and, quickly descending the bluff, the two travelers were received by a set of men whom Cozens characterizes as the most degraded-looking creatures he had ever seen. The women especially, he says, “were ugly, fat and dirty,” and nowhere did he see any of the beautiful squaws described in the works of Cooper, the ♦romanticist of the Indians.

♦ ‘romancist’ replaced with ‘romanticist’

The hearty welcome given to the new-comers, however, compensated in a great degree for the absence of beauty in the inmates of the camp. Cozens was feasted on pemmican; a hut was set apart for him and Cochise; a concert――though of a somewhat ear-splitting character, the instruments consisting exclusively of drums and rattles――was given in his honor; and the next morning found the white stranger peacefully performing his ablutions in the stream, in the presence of an admiring crowd of women and children.

Later in the day, Cozens’ sense of security was a little disturbed by the news of the approach of one Magnus Colorado, an Apache chief, noted for his hostility to the white men, and the number of their scalps he had at various times secured to himself as trophies.

“What,” said Cozens to Cochise, in as careless a manner as he could assume, “will Magnus Colorado say to the presence in your camp of a white man?” “Oh,” was the reply, “I sent him word as soon as I knew it was he; and you know, too, he is the white man’s friend.”

Illustration: THE APACHES’ HOME.

Not having hitherto had any proof of the latter assertion, unless scalping could be considered a token of friendship, Cozens withdrew, to his hut; but he was soon relieved from his anxiety by a visit he there received from Colorado, who extended his hand in a friendly manner, with the words, “Good day! give me bacca.”

Cozens of course complied at once, adding to the usual chewing tobacco a small parcel for smoking, thereby winning the full confidence of his visitor, who proceeded to tell of his recent adventures, showing off as one of his best trophies a blood-stained baby’s frock, the wearer of which he boasted he had himself sent home to the Great Spirit!

Disgusted with this and similar anecdotes, Cozens resolved to leave the home of the Apaches as soon as possible; but he found that he could not do so abruptly without risking his life, and, much against his will, he was compelled to be present at a scalp-dance given in honor of Colorado, and surpassing in weird horror any thing he had ever read or heard of.

A huge fire, over which hung a steaming kettle, formed the center-piece of the open-air stage on which the revolting ceremony was performed. Round this kettle danced a number of half-naked braves and squaws, each holding aloft a spear crowned by a scalp, while every now and then one of the women snatched a piece of meat from the caldron, and offered it in derision to the ghastly human relics.

Not until far on in the night was Cozens allowed to retire, and, when he did so, it was with a firm resolve never again to allow his curiosity to get the better of his judgment. A few days later he was on his way back to Mexico, whence, in spite of the resolution just quoted, he subsequently made two expeditions――one to the silver mines of Tucson, the other to the ruins in New Mexico.

The account given of the first trip is little more than a _résumé_ of all that had been done by the early travelers whose work we have already recorded; but the second contains many a thrilling anecdote of intercourse with the Navajoes, who so long harassed the white settlers in the newly-annexed American territories.

Accompanied by a man named Jim Davis――“a small, wiry, hatchet-faced, red-haired Yankee, known as the Emigrant’s Friend,” on account of the welcome he gave to all new-comers to what he considered his own special domain――Cozens crossed the Rio Grande near its entrance into New Mexico, and, after visits to the pueblos or towns of Acoma and Laguna, commenced the ascent of the Sierra Madre, from the summit of which a magnificent view, stretching far away to the Pacific, was obtained.

Thus far all went well, and the descent of the western slope was all but accomplished, when it became necessary to encamp for the night. Cozens had fallen asleep, and was dreaming of the lovely scenes he was about to visit, when he was suddenly awakened by a hand laid on his shoulder. He started up, revolver ready, but no one except “Jimmy,” the Irish servant, was near, who whispered, “She is calling me!” Thinking his servant had gone mad, or had woke up in terror from a nightmare, the master was about to order him off to bed again, when a low wail, like that of a child in trouble, fell upon his ear.

“Jimmy” was right. _She_ was calling him, and _she_ was one of the mules, at that moment in an agonized struggle with a panther, whose low, almost plaintive yell was one of triumph. Rushing forward, accompanied by two gentlemen of his party, Cozens came up just as the mule’s sufferings were over, and shared with them the triumph of shooting the panther, who turned out to be one of the finest creatures of the kind ever brought down in the neighborhood.

On the following day a slight détour was made to visit the ruins of El Moro, one of the most stately of the old Spanish cities, bearing traces on its walls of the engraved names of many of the old heroes of the days when the power of the Roman Catholic Church was at its zenith. From El Moro a ride of a few hours brought the cavalcade to the Valley of Zuni, inhabited by a few survivors of a race of blue-eyed and fair-skinned Indians, who are said to have been descended from the Welsh miners who accompanied Prince Madoc on that visit to Cibola, concerning which so hot a war has been waged among archæologists.

Entering the town of Zuni, a ruin differing but little in general character from that of El Moro, the travelers were courteously received by the cacique, or chief――a fine-looking old man, with large, intelligent, dark-blue eyes――wearing a Spanish shawl and trowsers. He conducted them over his city, pointing out to them, among its special features, a sacred spring, from which neither man nor beast was ever allowed to drink, the genius of the place avenging any such desecration by instant death.

After a careful examination of the wonders of Zuni, the ascent of the mountain plateau on the west was commenced, and, after many a pause to examine the strange monuments of a departed race with which its sides and summit were strewn, the land of the blue-eyed Indians was left behind, and that of the fierce Navajoes entered.

Again, as in the Apache country, Cozens had encamped for the night with a sense of false security, when he awoke suddenly, a presentiment of danger, which he could not explain, causing him to start up and look around him. As he listened intently, the sharp crack of a rifle-shot struck upon his ear, succeeded by another and yet another. Springing to his feet, he saw a gentleman of the party advancing with stealthy steps, who laid his finger on his lips and whispered, “Hist! Navajoes.”

Another moment and the Navajo war-whoop rang out, and about a dozen dusky forms, mounted on splendid horses, were seen advancing toward the camp. “We’d better go behind the wagon,” suggested one of the white men. From behind the friendly shelter of the wagon, therefore, the heroes watched the approach of their enemies, who, however, to their great surprise, suddenly disappeared.

“It’s the pits! the pits!” cried one of the party, rejoicing at the thought that the Indians had fallen into a hollow unperceived by them until it was too late to check their horses; but again the wild war-whoop rang out, and as the white men fired, a shower of arrows cleft the air. Cozens received one of these missiles in his arm, but, drawing it out, he continued to fire at intervals, and by their judicious mode of aiming, the handful of white men managed to keep off nearly three times their number of savages, who finally rode off, leaving many of their warriors and horses dead upon the field of action.

A little later, Jimmy, who had been missing from the affray, came riding wildly into the camp with the news that he had, single-handed, worsted a large body of Navajoes, and that there had also been a struggle between some of these fierce savages and some Zunis, four of whom had been killed. The latter part of the story received confirmation, as the bodies of the Zunis were found on the ground, but of Jimmy’s part in the tragedy no proof was ever obtained. It also transpired that seven hundred head of cattle had been stolen from the Zunis by the Navajoes, the attack on the white men’s camp having merely formed part of a well-organized plundering expedition. The white men, who had experienced much hospitality from the Zunis, now resolved to return their courtesy by aiding in the recovery of their property. A consultation with the sufferers was held, and before many hours were over, a large body of horsemen were galloping across the lovely plains of the Navajo land to the pueblo where the cattle had been penned.

So prompt indeed were the measures taken, and so little did the Navajoes expect pursuit, that the whole of the cattle were recaptured, and on their way back to their old pasture-lands before the alarm was given. The same night found the white men and their escort once more in safety at Zuni; and, taking the disturbed state of the country into account, Cozens resolved to attempt no further explorations among the Navajoes for the present.

In ascending the heights above the sacred spring of Zuni, however, an accident occurred which delayed for a considerable time the return of Cozens to Mexico. In following his guide along a narrow ledge of rock, our hero’s foot slipped on a loose stone, and, before he could recover himself, he was flung over the bluff, and fell a distance of no less than three hundred feet into the abyss, clutching wildly at the rocks in a vain hope of saving himself. Presently, he tells us in his own account of the matter, the heel of his right boot hit the corner of a stone, he was thrown forward on his face, and as he flung up his arms to protect himself, one of his hands struck against something sharp. He grasped that something, and, clinging to it convulsively, lost consciousness.

When he came to himself, he was lying on blankets, surrounded by his companions, who had had themselves lowered down the abyss over which he had fallen, and, finding him still breathing, had given signals to the Zunis watching above to hoist the sufferer up. This was done with the aid of cords as tenderly as possible, and Cozens was then carried to camp on the shoulders of the faithful Indians.

Illustration: SACRED SPRING AT ZUNI.

A long and tedious illness, through which he was faithfully nursed by his own people and the Zunis, followed, and in the long weary hours of weakness the white man learned more perhaps of the ways of the people than he could have done in weeks of hurried traveling. While he was still at Zuni, there took place one ♦of the worst tragedies enacted by the Apaches in these the early days of the annexation of their territory to the United States.

♦ omitted word ‘of’ added

A little party of emigrants, numbering some ten persons, under the guidance of the head of the family, a Mr. Stewart, were crossing Arizona on their way to California, when they were one night surprised by a party of Apache warriors. Without warning or parley, the savages closed round the women and children, discharging showers of arrows upon them with deadly effect. All fell victims to the unexpected assault except Mr. Stewart himself, who, seeing that he could do nothing, fled to warn two of his daughters, who, for some reason or another, had been separated from the main party, and were awaiting them a little distance off.

The daughters, alas, were not at the rendezvous, and after a long heart-rending search, during which he had again and again to dodge the Apaches hunting for him, poor Stewart returned to the scene of the massacre of his other dear ones. Arrived there, a horrible sight greeted him. A huge fire had been lighted, and on it, half consumed, were the naked bodies of his wife and six children. All night long he lay upon the ground in an agony of despair, and the next day commenced an aimless wandering to and fro, careless of what should happen to himself. He came presently, however, upon a little Moquis village, where he was kindly received, and whence two natives conducted him to Zuni. He lived but long enough to tell his terrible story. His heart was broken, and after a few days of suffering he passed peacefully away.

As soon as he was able to travel, Cozens left Zuni for the last time, returning, as he had come, to the Rio Grande, and thence to his old home in Mexico. Since his return, many a thrilling tale has been told of the wild doings of the Apaches and Navajoes; but gradually they, like their more northerly brethren, are succumbing to the civilizing influence of the white man, and their final subjugation is but a question of time.

The completion of the Southern Pacific railroad, and the opening of the many supplementary transit lines of the Union, have at last united in indissoluble bonds the States of the East and of the West. Fresh capital and fresh enterprise are ever flowing, like mighty arteries, throughout the once deserted wastes between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains; and the shrill whistle of the steam-engine replaces alike the war-whoop of the savage and the wail of his victim.

Illustration: NEW WEST BRITISH COLUMBIA.