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Who could have dreamed that a band of Apaches, cut off from their native wilds by detachments from Bowie, Lowell, and Crittenden, and forced to make a wide détour to the southwest, had sought refuge in the very gorge of the Cababi whither Pasqual with all speed was urging his men? "We rest when we reach the cave."
The plains are all alive alive with hostile red men; and the worst one of all he that had the golden scalp is but a half-breed Cheyenne Dog. Never the Apaches were so bad as he." The cattle horned about the well, with their drivers shouting and struggling to direct them, as we went wide to avoid the mud, then passed up to the rise beyond which lay the old trail's westward route.
On the 1878 trip, L. John Nuttall of Snow's company, writes of passing into the Gila Valley through a rocky canyon, "a terrible place, almost impassable, the dread of all who travel this way." The same road is very little better to this day. At one point was passed a ridge known as Postoffice Hill, where was found the grave of a white man, killed several years before by Apaches.
He told me that the Apaches had never given him any trouble from the fact that he had gotten the good will of the chief when he first went there by giving him numerous little presents of different kinds. He told me that although isolated from the world, he was doing well, from the fact that most all of the people passing there patronized him. This family was from Indiana.
After crossing the dividing ridge of the continent west of the Rio Grande, Gray thus alludes to the country: "There were large haciendas and fine cattle ranches in this neighborhood, until a war of extermination was declared by the Apaches against the Mexicans.
Within the hour a group of Apaches came riding up the nearest gorge, and at their head General Howard saw one whose sinister face conformed to the description which Jeffords had given him. The warrior was carrying a lance. And behind him rode the war-chief. Cochise dismounted and entered his lodge. After the Mexican fashion he kissed Jeffords on both cheeks embracing him warmly. Then
Twice over his cob hesitated at a monstrous piece of rock. And each time Bart nearly lost his seat; but he recovered it and raced on. Faster and faster they swept along, the Indian followers of the Beaver urging their horses on by voice and action, while the yells of the Apaches acted like so many goads to the frightened beasts. Would they hear them on the rocks? Would Joses be ready?
He had never yet had trouble with soldier or settler. Ever since he had been a chief among the Chiracahua Apaches he had held down the turbulent spirits in his portion of the tribe; he had out-intrigued savage politicians and had smoothed over more than one difficulty like this.
In the days when the American colonists were still contented with Great Britain's rule it was a main thoroughfare between the Piños Altos mines and old Mexico. Long trains of pack-mules, laden with treasure which the Spaniards had delved from the sun-baked mountains near where Silver City now stands, traveled this route. Apaches and bandits made many an attack on them in the cañon.
The commanding figure of Koon-Kah-Za-Chy, an eminent Apache chief, stood before Chief Plenty Coups compelling the attention of the entire council: “As I stand before you to-day my mind runs over the many fierce battles that my own tribe, the Apaches, have had with the Kiowas, Cheyennes, Sioux, and other tribes.
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