Chapter XII: Our First Fight with Apaches

On October 5, 1879, at midnight, Pablo Mejia brought Lieutenant Baylor, from Captain Gregorio Garcia of San Elizario, a note stating that a band of Apaches had charged a camp of five Mexicans who were engaged in cutting hay for the stage company fourteen miles north of La Quadria stage station and killed them. As first sergeant I was ordered to make a detail of ten men and issue them five days' rations. I detailed Second Sergeant Tom Swilling, Privates Gus Small, George Lloyd, John Thomas, George Harold, Doc Shivers, Richard Head, Bill Rutherford, and Juan Garcia for the scout, and myself made the tenth man. It required an hour to arouse the men, issue the rations and ammunition and pack the two mules, so it was 1 o'clock a.m. when we finally left Ysleta.

By daylight we reached Hawkins Station, near where Fabins Station now is. Here we were told we would find the survivor of the terrible massacre. Riding up to the door of the stage house we had to thump some time before we had evidence that anyone was alive on the premises. Finally the door opened about an inch very cautiously and a Mexican peeped out. Lieutenant Baylor asked him if he had been one of the grameros or hay cutters.

"Si, senor," replied the sleepy Mexican.

Asked for an account of the massacre, the native said it was nearly dark when the Indians, numbering from twenty-five to fifty, charged the camp and uttered such horrid yells that everyone took to his heels and was soon in the chaparral. The speaker saw his pobrecita papa (poor papa) running, with the Indians about to lance him, and knew that he and the remainder of the party were killed. He himself only escaped. As he mentioned the tragic death of his beloved parent the tears rolled down his cheeks. Lieutenant Baylor comforted the weeper as best he could and asked if the Mexican would not guide the rangers to the raided camp, but the survivor declined with thanks, saying he must stay to help the station keeper take care of the stage mules, but he directed us to the ranch where some of the dead men's families lived and at which a guide could be obtained.

When we arrived at the ranch below Hawkins Station it was sunrise and we halted for breakfast after a night ride of forty miles. The people at the ranch were very uneasy when we rode up, but were rejoiced when they realized we were Texas Rangers and learned our mission. They showed us every attention. Among the first to come out to us was an old Mexican who had been in the hay camp when it was attacked. He gave a lurid account of the onset. His son had been one of the grameros, and when he mentioned this the tears began to flow.

"Ah, hijo de mi cara Juan. I shall never see him again," he lamented. "All were killed and I alone escaped!"

Lieutenant Baylor then explained to the weeping father that his son was very much alive and that we had seen him that very night bewailing the death of the father he thought killed. And it now developed that all the dead men were alive! When the camp was attacked each Mexican had scattered, and the Apaches had been too busy looting the stores to follow the fugitives. Moreover, those ranchers would fight and the Indians did not care to follow them into the brush.

A bright young Mexican went with us to the hay camp, which was about six miles toward Comales, where Don Juan Armendaris now has a cow ranch. The Apaches had made a mess of things in camp sure enough. They had broken all the cups and plates, poured salt into the sugar, this combination into the flour and beans and the conglomeration of the whole on the ground, as the sacks were all they wanted. The Indians smashed the coffee pot, the frying pan, the skillet and the water barrels with an ax. Then taking all the blankets, the raiders started eastward as though they intended to go to the Sierra Priela, but after going a mile the trail turned south. We found the redskins had come from the north by way of Los Cormuros and were probably from Fort Stanton, New Mexico, on their way to raid Old Mexico. They were in a dry country and making for the Rio Grande, fourteen miles to the south. When they discovered the hay camp on their route they charged it and fired on the hay cutters. The Mexicans scattered and made their escape in the darkness, each thinking himself the sole survivor and so reporting on reaching his home, though as a matter of fact not a single life was lost.

Our guide went back to give the alarm to the ranches below and we followed the trail down the mesa until opposite Guadalupe. There we crossed the overland stage route near the present Rio Grande Station and found our guide waiting for us. He had discovered the trail, and fearing the Indians might ambush the road below, he had awaited our arrival. The trail made straight for the Rio Grande, crossing about one mile west of the Mexican town of Guadalupe. From the pony and mule tracks Lieutenant Baylor judged there were fifteen to twenty Indians in the band. We had some trouble following the trail after we got to the river bottom, where loose horses and cattle ran, but a few of us dismounted and worked the trail out, crossed the river and struck camp for dinner.

Lieutenant Baylor sent Pablo Mejia into town to inform the president of Guadalupe that we had followed a fresh Apache trail to the Rio Grande going south into Mexico, and asked permission to follow the Indians into his country. The scout soon returned and reported that the president was not only pleased that we had pursued the redskins, but would willingly join us himself with all the men he could muster. Just after we crossed the river we came across a Mexican herder with a flock of goats. As soon as he heard we were trailing the Apaches he began yelling at the top of his voice and soon had the goats on the jump for town, though the Indians had passed the night before. We were quickly in saddle again, and as we rode into the pueblo we were kindly received by the people. We found a mare the Apaches had killed just on the edge of town and from which they had taken some of the choice steaks.

After leaving Guadalupe the trail went south, following closely the stage road from Juarez to Chihuahua. Not long after leaving town we met a courier coming to Guadalupe from Don Ramon Arrandas' ranch, San Marcos de Cantarica, twenty-one miles distant, who informed us that the Apaches had killed a herder on that ranch and had taken four horses and sixteen mules of the stage company. We hurried onward and reached Cantarica at sunset, having traveled seventy-eight miles since 1 a.m. that morning. Both men and horses were rather tired.

All was confusion at the ranch. The Mexican herder had been shrouded and laid out with a cross at his head and several little lighted candles near the body. Many women were sitting around the room with black shawls pulled up over their heads. The Apaches, numbering sixteen well armed and well mounted warriors, had slain their victim and captured the stock near the ranch just about noon. Mexican volunteers from Guadalupe and San Ignacio began to ride in until our combined force numbered twenty-five or twenty-six men. Everyone was excited at the thought of a brush with the redskins responsible for the murder.

Accompanied by our volunteer allies we left the ranch at daylight next morning and picked up the trail at once. It led off south along the base of the Armagora Mountains or Sierra Bentanos. As the Mexicans were familiar with the country they took the lead and followed the trail rapidly. About 11 o'clock the trailers halted at the mouth of the Canyon del Moranos, an ugly black hole cut in the mountains, looking grim and defiant enough without the aid of Apache warriors. When we had joined the Mexicans--we were traveling some half a mile behind them--Lieutenant Baylor and Captain Garcia held a short conference. The lieutenant turned to me and said that Captain Garcia declared the Indians were in the canyon among the rocks, and ordered me to detail two men to guard our horses while we scaled the mountain on foot and investigated it. I could not bring myself to believe that a band of Indians that had killed a man and driven off all the stage stock the day before had gone only thirty miles and was now lying in wait for us.

"You don't know the Apaches," Lieutenant Baylor declared when I voiced my thoughts. "They are very different from the plains Indians, the kind you have been used to following. These Apaches delight to get into the rocks and lay for their enemies."

At the conference the Mexicans suggested that Lieutenant Baylor should take nine of his men and ten of their volunteers and follow the trail up the canyon, but the lieutenant declared that this would never do, as the Apaches had no doubt anticipated just such a move and hidden themselves in the cliffs where they could kill their attackers without exposing themselves in the least. He proposed scaling the mountain and following them down on top of the ridge in the Indians' rear. And this was the strategy finally adopted.

The Mexicans dismounted and started up the mountainside about one hundred yards to our left. Lieutenant Baylor and his eight rangers marched straight forward from our horses and began the ascent. As we went along the lieutenant pulled some bunch grass and stuck it all around under his hat band so his head would look like a clump of grass and conceal his head and body if he should have to flatten himself on the ground. He counselled us to follow his example. I had taken some Mexican cheese out of my saddle pockets and was eating it as we marched carelessly up the mountain. Honestly, I did not believe there was an Indian within a hundred miles of us, but it was not long before I changed my mind. Suddenly there came a loud report of a gun and then another. I looked up to where the Mexicans had taken position behind a ledge of rocks and saw where a bullet struck the stones a foot above their heads. I did not want any more cheese. I threw down what I had in my hand and spat out what I had in my mouth.

These old Apache warriors, high in the cliffs above us, then turned their attention to our little band of eight rangers and fired twenty-five or thirty shots right into the midst of us. One of these big caliber bullets whizzed so close to my head that it made a noise like a wild duck makes when flying down stream at the rate of fifty to sixty miles an hour. Lieutenant Baylor ordered us to charge at once.

In running up the mountain I was somewhat in advance of the boys. We came to a rock ledge three or four feet high. I quickly scaled this, but before I could straighten up an Indian rose from behind a rock about fifteen to twenty yards ahead and fired point-blank at me. The bullet struck a small soap weed three feet in front of me and knocked the leaves into my mouth and face. I felt as if I had been hit but it was leaves and not blood that I wiped out of my mouth with my left hand. I turned my head and called to the boys to look out, but the warning was unnecessary,--they had already taken shelter under the ledge of rock.

Just as I turned my head a second shot from the Apache carried away the entire front part of my hat brim. I saw the warrior throw another cartridge in his gun and brought my Winchester quickly to bear upon him. When he saw that I was about to shoot he shifted his position and turned sideways to me. We both fired at the same instant. My bullet hit the redskin just above his hip and, passing straight through his body, broke the small of his back and killed him almost instantly. This old brave was a big man, probably six feet tall, with his face painted in red and blue paint. He used an old octagon barrel Winchester rifle and he had with him an old shirtsleeve tied at one end in which were two hundred and fifty Winchester cartridges.

Some Indians fifty yards up the mountain now began to shell our position, so I took shelter behind the ledge of rock. Fifteen or twenty feet to our left and a little higher up the mountain, Lieutenant Baylor was sheltered behind some boulders. He raised his head slightly above his parapet for a peep at the Indians and those keen sighted warriors saw him; a well directed shot cut part of the grass out of his hat. Had the bullet been six inches lower it would have struck him full in the face.

"Darn that old Indian," exclaimed Baylor, ducking his head. "If I had a shot gun I would run up and jump right on top of him."

The lieutenant was mad now and ordered a charge. The boys hesitated, and George Harold, an old scout, said, "Lieutenant, if we leave this shelter and start up the mountain the Indians hidden behind those rocks seventy-five yards above will kill us all."

"Yes, I suppose you are right; they would be hard to dislodge," replied Baylor.

The Apaches evidently had plenty of ammunition, as they kept up a desultory fire all day. Seeing we were not going to fall into their trap they turned their attention to our horses. Although the animals were four or five hundred yards from the foot of the mountain they killed Sergeant Swilling's horse, the bullet passing entirely through the body just behind the shoulders. When his horse, a large white one, staggered and tumbled over, Swilling began to mourn, for he had the horror of walking all Western men have. John Thomas, however, got the laugh on him by saying, "Sergeant, you had better wait and see if you are going back to camp." We could see the Indians' bullets knocking up dust all around the horses and the guard replying to the fire. Baylor now sent a man and had the guard move the horses out of range.

During the afternoon the Apaches moved up higher toward the crest of the mountain, and in doing so one of the Indians exposed himself. The Mexicans to our left spotted him and killed him with a well directed shot. The warrior fell out in open ground where he was literally shot all to pieces.

We had been without water all day and when night came Lieutenant Baylor and Captain Garcia decided it was useless to continue the fight any longer, so we withdrew toward our horses. After reaching the animals we could still hear the Indians firing on our positions. We might have captured the Apaches' horses by a charge, but we would have had to go down the side of the mountain and across a deep canyon where we would have been compelled to pick our way slowly under a constant cross fire from the concealed riflemen, and neither Baylor nor Garcia thought the horses worth the sacrifice required to capture them.

As the nearest water was thirty miles away and our men and horses weary and thirsty, we rode back to our hospitable friend, Don Ramon Arrandas' ranch, where our horses were fed and we ourselves supplied with fresh milk and cheese. On our return to Guadalupe we were most kindly entertained by Mr. Maximo Arrandas, custom house officer at San Elizario, and brother to Don Ramon. We reached our headquarters at Ysleta after being out five days and traveling two hundred and twenty-two miles, sustaining no other damage than a few bruises from scaling the mountain and the loss of Sergeant Swilling's horse. This first brush with Apaches, however, was but a prelude to other expeditions after this tribe, and we were soon hot on the trail of Victorio, the Apache Napoleon.