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Updated: May 26, 2025
Judge by this paragraph from the "Arizonian," August 27, 1870: On Thursday, August 18, the mail buggy from the Rio Grande had come fifteen miles toward Tucson from the San Pedro crossing when the driver, the messenger, and the escort of two soldiers were killed by Apaches. The mail and stage were burned. Also there is one passenger missing who was known to have left Apache Pass with this stage.
As a matter of fact I had already that very day accomplished a climb not at all easy for the Arizonian, and I should have been happy. But I had not been used to a lame back. When I reached the rim I fell there, and lay there a few moments, until I could get up. Then I followed along after Edd whose yells to the hounds I heard, and overtook him upon the point of a promontory.
About sunset I sent Gallagher, Stubbs, and Jamaica Ginger aboard with the box of treasure, the Arizonian being in charge of the boat. While I waited for its return I took a turn up the beach to catch the light breeze that was beginning to stir. I walked toward the head of the harbor, strolling farther in that direction than any of us had yet gone.
Following that long-legged Arizonian on foot was almost as strenuous as keeping him in sight on horseback. I managed it. We climbed steep slopes and the farther we climbed the thicker grew the brush. Often we would halt to listen for hounds, at which welcome intervals I endeavored to catch my breath. We kept the hounds in hearing, which fact incited us to renewed endeavors.
Not very much hard Western experience had passed by this man, yet he was not old, measured by years. When he dismounted Jean saw he was tall, even for an Arizonian. "Seen your tracks back a ways," he said, as he slipped the bit to let his horse drink. "Where bound?" "Reckon I'm lost, all right," replied Jean. "New country for me." "Shore. I seen thet from your tracks an' your last camp.
Except the Arizonian I think all of us felt a weight lifted from our hearts. The chief villain was in our hands and the mutiny nipped in the bud. But Bothwell had managed to inject a fly into the ointment of my content. "We've drawn your sting now," Blythe had told him before he left. "Have you? Bet you a pony I'll be free inside of twenty-four hours," the Russian had coolly answered.
Lawson had stated some time before that he was afraid of cougars, which was a weakness he need not have divulged in view of what happened. The horse plunged, throwing him ten feet, and snorting in terror, stampeded with the rest of the bunch and disappeared among the pines. "Why the hell didn't you tell a feller?" reproachfully growled the Arizonian.
The first impulse of the Arizonian had been to step out and end the campaign by a fighting finish with the Slav. But second thoughts brought wiser counsels. Blythe, called hurriedly upstairs, had agreed to his proposal to try and determine the mutiny at a stroke. To both of them it had been clear that Bothwell surrendered the bridge because he was afraid to let me have a talk with the men alone.
About dawn Lawson and Stewart straggled in on spent horse and found awaiting them a bright fire, a hot supper and cheery comrades. "Did yu fellars git to see him?" was the ranger's first question. "Did we get to see him?" echoed five lusty voice as one. "We did!" It was after Frank, in his plain, blunt speech had told of our experience, that the long Arizonian gazed fixedly at Jones.
"John, don't be silly! He goes about with Katherine all the time." John only shook his head and changed the subject. That afternoon, however, Billy Porter buttonholed DeWitt in the corral where the New Yorker was watching the Arizonian saddle his fractious horse.
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