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Together with His Letters and Statements 
by His Friends 



^Published (for John C. Coble] by 

The Louth&n *:Book Company 


Copyright, 1904, by John C. Coble. 
All Rights Reserved. 



Cover design by John Ohnimus. 


In preparing this autobiography for publication, there 
has been no attempt to make it literature. No sentence 
has been added ; and no alterations have been made, save 
to avoid ambiguity, and to promote clearness and 
strength. All changes have been kept strictly in harmony 
with the style of the author. For the convenience of 
the reader the manuscript has been broken into chapters ; 
and of course the chapter headings were not original with 

For obvious reasons, the Westernisms, and even the 
slang, have been retained. Horn was thoroughly West 
ern. Born and reared in the West if, indeed, it can be 
correctly said that he was "reared" he passed his entire 
life here, with the exception of the period of his service 
to his country during the war with Spain; and, being 
Western, his conversation was replete with local expres 
sions, not always elegant, yet rarely profane and never 

I wish to repeat this: Tom Horn icas seldom profane. 
And this assertion will be sustained by those who really 
knew him a fact which alone serves to disprove that so- 
called famous "confession," the language of which 
smacks very much more of the talk of those who edited 
the "notes taken on the spot." 

But, as I have suggested, there have been no additions 
made to this autobiography, and such alterations as have 
been made do not alter the text in any material manner. 
Rather, it has been the object, in editing the manu- 


script, to present the writer s life-story in his own pleas 
ing style, with his own strong personality gleaming 
through the whole. Note his unerring memory, even to 
minute details; the objects of his hero worship and the 
sort of men they were; his unconsciously expressed for 
giveness for injuries; his untiring faithfulness to duty 
under the most trying circumstances; his strong sense 
of justice; and note particularly that although his manu 
script was written to hurry lagging time, and for the 
private perusal of his friends only, it contains not the 
slightest strain of vulgarity. No expurgation has been 

This autobiography is now given in book form for gen 
eral circulation, in response to an insistent public de 
mand. The fact that such a "Life" had been written had 
no sooner become known than I was besieged by his per 
sonal friends and acquaintances, and by interested read 
ers of the published reports of the trial, for the publica 
tion of the autobiography prepared by Tom Horn. Let 
ters reached me by every mail from almost every state 
and territory of the Union; and I may be permitted here 
to state that there was scarcely a letter among them all 
which did not declare a belief in the innocence of Horn, 
"after carefully considering the details of the case." 

Telegrams and letters reached me, also, from daily 
newspapers, monthly magazines and publishing houses, 
making propositions for "exclusive publishing rights." 

And so I have yielded. In your hands is the book. 
For it, is asked a reading without prejudice. For its 
writer, is asked that which, during his closing years, was 
denied him fair play. 


Iron Mountain Ranch, Bosler, Wyoming, 
March 1, 1004. 





















MANDER 83-93 














i ages. 










TELL THE STORY ! 172-183 






1TUCH NEEDED REST... ...208-217 





TO MINING 232-248 





















CLOSING WORDS BY J. C. COBLE... ...315-317 


Op. Page 

1 TOM HORN Title Page 






7 GEN. LAWTON 192 






13 JOHN C. COBLE... ...316 


Horn s Boyhood His Dog "Shed." Bennie, the Model 
Bov Horn Leaves Home for the West. 

I was born near Memphis, Scotland County, Mis 
souri, November 21, 1860 a troublesome time, to be 
sure; and anyone born in Missouri is bound to see trouble 
so says Bill Nye. 

Up to the time I left home I suppose I had more 
trouble than any man or boy in Missouri. We had Sun 
day schools and church, and as my mother was a good 
old-fashioned Campbellite, I was supposed to go to 
church and Sunday school, as did most of the boys and 
girls in the neighborhood. I had three brothers and four 
sisters, and there was not one of them but acted as 
though he really liked to go to those places. I had 
nothing particular against going, if it had not been for 
the coon, turkey, quail, rabbits, prairie chickens, pos 
sums, skunks and other game of that kind, with once in 
a season a fat, corn-fed deer; and they were all neglected 
to such an extent by the rest of the family, that it kept 
me busy most every Sunday, and many nights through 
the week, to do what I considered right in trying to keep 
on proper terms with the game. 

I would steal out the gun and take the dog and hunt 
all day Sunday and many a night through the week, 
knowing full well that whenever I did show up at home 


I would get. a whipping or a scolding from my mother 
or a regular thumping from father. 

My mother was a tall, powerful woman, and she 
would whip me and cry, and tell me how much good she 
was trying to do me by breaking me of my Indian ways, 
so she called them (though I had never seen an Indian, 
and did not know what their ways were). Then if a 
skunk or coon or fox came along and carried off one of 
her chickens during the night, at daylight she would 
wake me and give me the gun and tell me to take old 
"Shedrick," the dog, and go and follow up the varmint 
and kill it. 

For a kid, I must have been a very successful hunter, 
for when our neighbors would complain of losing a 
chicken (and that was a serious loss to them), mother 
would tell them that whenever any varmint bothered 
her hen-roosts, she just sent out Tom and "Shed.," and 
when they came back they always brought the pelt of 
the varmint with them. 

To this day, I believe mother thought the dog was of 
more importance against varmints than I was. But 
"Shedrick" and I both understood that I was the better, 
for I could climb any tree in Missouri, and dig frozen 
ground with a pick, and follow cold tracks in the mud or 
snow, and knew more than the dog in a good many ways. 
Still, I think, even yet, that there never was a better dog. 
I always thought "Shed." could whip any dog in Missouri 
(and at that time I did not know there was any other 
place than Missouri, except, perhaps, Iowa. I knew of 
Iowa, because one of our neighbors came from there). 
But I had many a hard fight myself to keep up the rep 
utation of old "Shed.," for as he began to get old and 


wise, I do believe he thought I would always help him. 
Once in a while Dad would go to an election or public sale 
or horse race or something, and "Shed." would go with 
him and sometimes the dog would get whipped. When he 
did get whipped he always came home looking pretty 
badly used up, and after an occurrence of that kind, 
"Shed." would not leave me for days. 

I recollect a family of boys named Griggs who had 
what they always claimed was the best coon dog and the 
best fighter in the world; (Missouri or our neighborhood 
was the world to them), and now I think he must have 
been a good dog and no mistake; but at that time I did 
certainly hate him. Whenever the Griggs boys and I 
ran together, we had a dog fight, and the termination 
of the meeting was always a fight between Sana Griggs 
and myself. I also distinctly recollect that on nearly 
every occasion "Shed." and I both went home pretty 
badly used up. Sam Griggs always said I helped "Shed. 
and he would try to keep me from doing so; then Sam and 
I would mix. I guess we fought a hundred times and he 
always quit when he "had his satisfy" for I never did 
nor could lick him. 

The Griggs dog was named "Sandy" (because he was 
yellow 7 , I suppose), and my argument always was that 
my dog "Shed." knew more than "Sandy." To illustrate, 
once Sam Griggs was up in a tree to shake off a coon for 
"Sandy" to kill. A limb of the tree broke and down 
came Sam, and "Sandy" jumped on him and bit his ear 
and bit him in the arm and shoulder and used Sam up 
pretty badly before he could get "Sandy" to understand 
that he was not a coon or a wild cat. I alwavs claimed 


that "Shed." would have had more sense than to jump 
on me if I had been fool enough to fall out of a tree. 

My mother was always anxious to have all the chil 
dren go to school during the winter months, and I always 
had to go, or to start anyway; but all the natural in 
fluences of the country were against my acquiring much 
of an education. During the summer we had to work 
on the farm, and work hard and long hours putting 
in crops and tending to them. Thus I had little legiti 
mate time to fish and hunt bee trees. So when 
winter came and the work was all done and the crops 
all in, I wanted to go and look after the game, but as I 
was ordered to go to school, I had to go. 

The first natural influence of any importance was that 
the school house was a mile from the house we lived in, 
and there was always more or less snow on the ground 
in winter, and on the trail to school I would always be 
finding fresh rabbit or coon or cat tracks crossing the 
trail to school. I never could cross a fresh track, for I 
would see one and the rest of the children would pay 
no attention to it, so I would follow it a little ways just 
to see which way it went, and then I would go on a little 
farther, and then I would say to myself, "I will be late 
for school and get licked." Then an overpowering de 
sire to get that rabbit or coon or wild cat, as it happened 
to be, would overcome me, and I would go back in the 
orchard behind the house, call the dog and as he would 
come running to me, the stuff for school was all off, and 
"Shed." and I would go hunting. So you see, had the 
school house been nearer, I could have gotten there a 
great deal oftener than I did. 

V f 


I could never keep my mind on my books when I was 
at school, for if it happened to commence to snow I could 
not help thinking about how fine it would be to trail coon 
on the morrow, and I would speculate a good deal more 
on the skins of the varmints I could catch, and could see 
far more advantage in having a good string of pelts than 
in learning to read, write and cipher. 

Things were beginning to get rather binding on me 
about this time any way, as a cousin named Ben Markley 
came to live with us. He was a son of my mother s 
sister, and I guess he was the best boy in the world. 
Oh, how many hundred times I w r as whipped or scolded 
and asked by father, or mother or school teacher, why 
I did not do as Bennie did. 

Ben never forgot to wash or comb his hair. He never 
swore. He could walk to school and not get his boots 
muddy. One pair of boots would last him as long as 
four pairs would me. He never whispered in school; 
never used tobacco. He never went hunting nor fishing 
on Sunday, and never w r anted to. He never had any 
fights and he would talk of an evening about what the 
lesson would be in Sunday school next Sunday. Those 
were some of his good points, but not all for he was held 
up as a model of perfection by everybody. Of course 
my opinion of him was different. 

I knew he could not shoot. He could not climb a 
tree. He did not know a coon track from a cow track. 
He was afraid of bees when a bee tree was to be robbed. 
He said coon skins were nasty, and skunks he could not 
go at all. He did not know how to bait a hook to fish. 
He could not swim, was afraid of horses, and once he 
struck old "Shedrick" with a piece of hoop pole. I had 


known a long time before this that he was a failure, so 
far as I estimated boys, so when he struck the sharer of 
my joys and sorrows, I jumped onto him. I was about 
13 and he was about 17, but I had him whipped before 
my mother and the rest of the family could get me off 
him. Dad was there but he did not try to help the 
women pull me off, for I do think Ben was a little too 
good for him. 

Well, after that, "Shed." and I left him alone and he 
put in a good deal of his spare time leaving us alone. 
That row with Bennie made me no favorite with the 
women folks; something that was of little importance 
to me. 

The climax to my home life came the next spring. 
Some emigrants were going along the road, and behind 
the wagons were two boys on one horse, bareheaded, and 
one of them had an old, single-barreled shot gun. They 
met "Shed." and me on the road and stopped to talk to 
us. I remarked that a man who shot game with a shot 
gun was no good. The oldest one of the boys asked me 
if I called myself a man, and the answer that I made him 
caused them both to get off their old mare, and tie her 
to the fence. The younger and smaller of the two held 
the gun and the big one and I started to scrap. Things 
were looking so unfavorable to the boy I was fighting 
with that the smaller boy laid his gun down on the 
ground and was going to help his brother. He gave me 
a kick in the jaw as a preliminary; but he never smiled 
again. Old "Shed." sprang and caught him and threw 
him down and bit him in the arm and shoulder in doing 
it. That stopped the fight between the other boy and 


me, as I had to let the big one go to take care that 
"Shed." did not hurt the small one too much. 

Well, I took the dog off and told them they had better 
get on their old mare and go and get the rest of the 
family if they wanted to win a fight, and then the big one 
picked up the gun and helped the small boy on the mare, 
and he raised the gun and shot poor, old "Shed." "Shed. 
whined and I could scarcely believe such a thing had 
been done. The big boy then got on the mare with the 
other one and they went off at a gallop. I carried "Shed." 
home, which was about a quarter of a mile away, and he 
died that night. 

I believe that was the first and only real sorrow of 
my life. 

Dad got on his horse and went and overtook the emi 
grant train that night, and I guess there was "something 
doin," for he came home that night before "Shed." died 
and he was pretty badly done up himself. Dad was 
called the hardest man to whip in Northwest Missouri, 
but when he came home that night he looked to me like 
a man who had had at least what I would have called 

I was about fourteen years old by this time and I 
wanted to go somewhere. I had heard of California and 
thought that would be a good place to go. Dad and I 
had a disagreement one day and he had the trace of a 
single buggy harness in his hand, and he struck at me 
with it. I grabbed it and then the fight was on. 

Well, I tried to do something, but the old man was 
too much for me. When I saw I was in for a daisy, I 
told him to just help himself, as it was his last time, for 
I was going to leave home. 


He helped himself, and when he got through, he said: 
"Now, if you are going to leave home, go! and just re 
member that the last time the old man whipped you, he 
gave you a good one. Go," he said, "but ask your 
mother for a lunch to take with you. You will be back 
by night if you start in the morning, and if you take a 
lunch with you, you won t miss your dinner." 

This happened at the barn. I lay down on the hay 
and lay there all night. Next morning, mother and the 
girls carried me to the house and put me in bed where 1 
lay for a week. Dad had done his work well. 

As soon as i could get around, I sold my rifle for 
$11.00, kissed my mother for the last time in my life, 
went out and took a look at old "Shedrick s" grave, got 
a lunch and started West. 



Horn Becomes Overland Mail and Stage Driver Night 
Rider, Boss of Quartermaster s Herd, Government 
Interpreter Siber Kills Chugadeslona Siber and 
Horn Visit Pedro, Chief of Friendly Apaches. 

I had, of course, heard of the West, California, Texas 
and Kansas also, but from all the geography I had picked 
up at school I could not form any idea as to the location 
or character of these places. I had not the faintest idea, 
except that I supposed they were West. 

There was no railroad there, and as I had no horse 
nor team, I started on foot. I headed West, and walked 
and walked day after day, stopping at farm houses to get 
my grub; and many a good woman would give me a 
hmch to take with me. I never went hungry, and as it 
was in July and August, I could sleep anywhere. One 
woman, named Mrs. Peters, made me stay all day at her 
house, and wear some of her son s clothes while she 
washed mine and started me out into the world again as 
clean as a new dollar. 

When I got to Kansas City I spent the first cent since 
I left home. 

I stayed in Kansas City two days and then hired to 
an employment agency to go to Newton, Kansas, to work 
on the Santa Fe railroad. 


I worked on the railroad at Newton about twenty-six 
days and got |21.00 for it, and then went with a man 
named Blades with his two teams on toward Santa Fe. 
Traveling in this way, and with freighters, I finally 
reached Santa Fe in the latter part of 1874, just about 
Christmas time, in fact. Up to the time I left home I 
had never been five miles away but once, and that was 
when I went to the County Seat of our County Memphis 
a town of perhaps 7,000. 

By the time I got to Santa Fe I was a different boy 
from what I was when I left home. I was getting wis 
dom and gray-backs. In January, 1875, I hired out to 
Mr. Murray, Superintendent of the Overland Mail Route, 
that ran from Santa Fe to Prescott, Arizona. 

I drove from Santa Fe to Los Pinos for a couple of 
months for $50.00 a month, and was furnished a rifle to 
guard the mail and protect the passengers and keep up 
appearances, I guess. Then I was sent on to drive from 
Los Pinos to Bacon Springs or Crane s Ranch. I drove 
a couple of months there, and in May I was called in to 
Santa Fe by Mr. Murray, and sent with another man to 
the Beaver Head Station, close to the Verde River, in 
Arizona, to take mules to replace some stolen by the 

So within a year from the time I left home I was on 
the Beaver Head Creek, in the heart of the Indian coun 
try, and could speak Mexican fairly well. 

My feelings were so different and my life was so differ 
ent from what it was at home that it seemed to me then 
as though I had been all my life on a stage line. 

I left Beaver Head and went down the river to Camp 
Verde, a government post, but I was not traveling on foot 


any more, for I had a good horse, saddle, bridle, and a 
Winchester rifle. That Fall I went to work for George 
Hansen, herding oxen at night for the men hauling wood 
into Camp Verde. I got $75.00 a month for three months, 
and five years ago, George Hansen told me I was the 
best night herder he ever saw. Nearly all the teamsters 
and choppers were Mexicans, and at Christmas when I 
left there and went to Prescott, I could speak Mexican 
as well as a native could. It had taken me just about 
a year to get from Santa Fe to Prescott, but I had learned 
more in that year than in all my previous life. 

The cavalry horses for the Department of Arizona all 
came overland from California at that time, and they 
came in big bunches of about 400 each, so I hired out to 
the Quartermaster to herd these horses till the different 
posts sent and got their allowance, Ft. Whipple, right 
at Prescott, being the Department Headquarters. There 
were three of us to do the work, and as the other two 
were Mexicans and I was an American, although only 
sixteen years old, I was made boss of the Quartermaster s 

When all the cavalry horses were issued to the differ 
ent troops of the Fifth Cavalry, I was out of a job, and 
Al. Sieber, Chief of Scouts, came into Whipple from Tonto 
Basin and stayed a couple of weeks, and when he was 
getting ready to go back south he asked me how I would 
like to go with him as Mexican interpreter at $75.00 a 
month. He told me I would be with him all the time, 
and I was tickled to get a chance to go, so in July of 76 
we set out for San Carlos Agency, where we arrived in 
about ten davs. 


My work, as I found out, was nothing at all. Sieber 
just wanted me because I was young and active and 
could travel with him all day and herd the horses at 
night, and do the cooking and tend to the packs and 
clean his gun every night; and all of this was fun for me. 

The San Carlos, or Apache Reservation, was sixty 
miles wide and one hundred and twenty miles long, and 
Sieber and I, with a few Indian scouts and police, were 
on the go all the balance of the year around on the reser 
vation. Sieber was keeping an eye on the peace and con 
duct of the Indians. Sieber spoke Apache and Mexican 
both, and as there were always Indians with us, I began 
to learn the language very rapidly. 

That was a glorious time for me, as I could hunt deer 
and turkey to my heart s content, and if I would leave 
camp and be gone all night to some Indian camp, Sieber 
never said a word against it; in fact, he encouraged it, 
as he saw I was getting onto the Indians ways and lan 
guage very fast. 

Sieber was one of the grandest men in the world in 
my eyes, and although old and white-headed and a 
cripple for life now, he is still a nobleman. Up to some 
time after this I had never seen Sieber s "mad" on in an 
Indian fight and he was always, during our many years 
of association, as kind as a school ma am to me, but oh. 
what a terror he was when he arose in his wrath! You 
bet there were things doin then. 

The first time I ever saw him right mad was when we 
went to where an Indian was making Tis-win (Indian 
whiskey). The Indian was an old offender, and Sieber 
began to talk to him in Mexican, which Sieber said the 
Indian understood perfectly. The Indian, whose name 


was Chu-ga-de-slon-a (which means "centipede" in Mis 
souri), spoke to Sieber in Apache, and told him that he 
was always watching around like an old meddlesome 
squaw. Sieber said: "Yes, I am always watching such 
men as> you, that make devil s drink." Chu-ga-de-slon-a 
said: "1 have a notion to kill you, Jon-a-chay," and that 
was what made Sieber mad. Jon-a-chay in Apache means 

Well, the Indian had picked up his gun as he said this, 
and Sieber sprang towards him, and I guess must have 
pulled his knife as he did so, for he caught that Indian 
by the hair and made one swipe at him with his knife and 
nearly cut his head off. 

The Indian had been fermenting his stuff in a big 
earthen-ware pot. Sieber slung this Indian to the ground, 
looked at him a minute, then picked him up and threw 
him partly into this big pot. The pot would not hold 
the Indian, or he certainly would have put him entirely 
in. I am pretty sure that I was scared, anyhow I had 
a very queer feeling. 

Sieber turned to some squaws who were helping make 
this Tis-win and told them to get their horses, get away 
from there and go back where the rest of the Indians 
were on White River and tell the rest of the Indians that 
they had better leave off making that stuff, as he, Sieber, 
calculated to stop the biggest part of the making of it 
some how. And when he caught a man at it the first 
time he would put him in the calaboose; but when he 
caught a man at it like the one he had just killed, who 
was always making Tis-win, that he would just slay him, 
so he could make no more trouble among the other In 
dians by making and selling them Tis-win. 


We then went into camp close by and stayed a couple 
of days, and I don t think Sieber slept a wink for those 
two days and nights, also he had very little to say and 
he looked awfully stern and determined. I was very 
uneasy, myself, as were the Indians with us, but I asked 
no questions of Sieber and he said nothing to me more 
than to keep the mules and horses close to camp and 
never to lay my gun down for one minute. 

At the end of two days we broke camp and went over 
on White River, and camped right in the forks of White 
and Black Kivers. Our Indians stayed in camp, and 
Sieber and I went up the river about a mile to the camp 
of a chief named Pedro, and we had a long talk with the 
old chief, who spoke Spanish perfectly. 

Pedro had always been tolerably friendly towards 
Sieber, and Sieber told the old chief what he was trying 
to do. Pedro said he did not want his men either to 
make or to drink whiskey, and that he would help Sieber 
at all times. He also told Sieber that all Indians were 
not bad, but that some of them were as good as any man 
the Great Spirit put on earth, but that he had six hundred 
warriors, and some of them were as bad as a bad Apache 
could be, and that he could not do anything with them. 
He said that the bad ones never got killed, and they 
never got good nor old and disabled, but just remained 
and were always in any and all trouble that came up. 

"You see, they are part Devil/ 7 said Pedro, "or they 
would get old or get killed some time." 

Pedro ordered his women to feed us, which they did, 
giving us roast venison straight, but it was well % roasted, 
and we ate heartily. Pedro asked Sieber where he got 
me, and if I was not a Mexican half-breed, but Sieber said 


I was a pure American. Pedro said: "Well, I hear him 
speaking Mexican to my men and boys and that is the 
reason I thought he was a half-breed/ Sieber said: "He 
is learning Apache very fast, too." 

Pedro then commenced to talk to me in Apache. 1 
was very much embarrassed at first, for Pedro, the great 
Chief, Warrior, Friend of the Whites, Counsellor and 
Orator, was to me a great personage; but when once I 
got to talking Apache to him he made me feel at home. 
Pedro asked me to stay and visit with him a few days 
and go hunting with his young men, and I told him I 
would like to do so but that I had to go away when Sieber 
went. Sieber was away at some distance talking to some 
old women and Pedro and I walked over, and Pedro asked 
Sieber to let me stay and visit with him for a while. He 
asked Sieber also to stay but Sieber said it was not con 
venient for him to do so. 

While we were talking of this visit some soldiers 
came into the forks, and Indian runners came running 
and told us of it. It caused some little excitement, which 
Pedro immediately proceeded to quiet. 



Micky Free, Scout and Guide Horn Begins Life Among 
the Apaches "The Talking Boy" a Full-Fledged In 
dian A Lodge and Housekeeper. 

It proved to be Lieutenant Wheeler, of the Fifth Cav 
alry, with about twenty men. A rumor had gone into 
San Carlos to the effect that we were held by the Indi 
ans, and Wheeler had come out to see. 

Wheeler was led by the famous Micky Free. I will 
here give a little sketch of the pedigree and disposition 
of this still noted character. Micky Free was born in 
1855, on the Sonoita River, close to the Mexican and Ari 
zona line. His father was an Irishman named Hughes, 
and his mother was a Mexican woman. His father and 
mother were killed in 1862 by the Indians, and he and 
his sister were carried off into captivity. Micky 
was then about seven and his sister about nine years old. 
He now spoke both Mexican and Apache like a profes 
sor, and was the wildest dare-devil in the world at this 
time. He had long, fiery red hair and one blue eye, the 
other having been hooked out by a wounded deer when 
he was twelve years old. He had a small, red mustache, 
and a "mug" that looked like the original map of Ire 

He was about twenty-one or twenty-two years old at 
the time of which I am writing, and had been working 


for the Government for several years. Always consid 
ered an invaluable man by the Government, he was 
thoroughly qualified for a typical scout and guide in 
every sense, except the fact that he never had any re 
gard for his own life, and would, with a smile on his face, 
have led Wheeler and his handful of men against old 
Pedro and his 600 warriors, knowing that Pedro could 
be reinforced by 1,000 more men in four hours, and by 
2,500 in ten hours. Such was Micky Free. He is now 
living on the White Mountain part of the Keservation, 
and has a large Indian family, and is wealthy in "horses, 
cattle, squaws and dogs," as he himself puts it. 

W^ell, to resume: Sieber and I went back down to 
the forks and met Wheeler, and Sieber and he had a long 
talk. They then sent a squad of soldiers back to San 
Carlos to report everything O. K., and Sieber and his 
party safe and sound. 

Micky Free had a sweetheart in Pedro s band, and 
as soon as Wheeler made camp and Sieber and I showed 
up all right, Micky went off with his girl, and we did 
not see anything more of him until midnight, when I 
heard him challenged by the soldier guard, and shortly 
after I heard a hum of voices in the dark and I knew 
Micky and Sieber and Lieutenant Wheeler were holding 
a council of some kind. I could hear Wheeler and Sieber 
talk to Micky in Spanish, and then I could hear them 
talk to one another in English, and I knew there was 
something in the wind. I knew, also, when W^heeler 
and Sieber talked English they did so because they did 
not want Micky to understand them. I could not hear 
what they were talking about, and neither could I go 
to sleep. 


Presently a voice said to me, in Apache: "Are you 
the Talking Boy? " I was scared for an instant, for I 
was fully awake, though I had heard no one move. There 
sat Micky by the head of my bed. 

Micky saw me start when he spoke to me, and he 
gave a low laugh as though he were tickled. 

I told him I was the "Talking Boy" (as the Apaches 
called me), and he said that the Soldier Captain and 
Sieber would speak with me, and that they awaited me. 
I got up and took my gun and went over to where Sieber 
and Wheeler were. They asked me how I would like 
to live there with Chief Pedro for a while by myself that 
is, with no other soldiers or scouts. When it came to 
the question of living there a while, I felt a little timid; 
and then old Sieber gave me a long, fatherly talk. He 
said, in substance: "Tom, do you like this kind of life, 
and do you calculate to follow it? That is what I want 
to know first." I told him I did like it, and calculated 
to follow it if I was made of the right kind of stuff. 

"Now," said he, "I want you to do what I am going 
to tell you. In the morning take your horses (I had 
three head) and go up and live with Pedro. Pedro is 
a good man, and he has taken a fancy to you, and you 
are picking up the Apache language very fast; in six 
months you will speak the language like a native. You 
are naturally born for a life of this kind, and are just 
the right age to begin. You are an excellent shot, a 
good hunter, and after a few years of this kind of life 
you will become a good and valuable man in the Indian 
wars which will continue for many years to come. Now, 
I will take you up to Pedro s camp in the morning and 
leave you there, for Pedro sent Micky down here to ask 


for you, as he likes you personally, and wants very much 
to have a Government representative in his camp." 

I told Sieber I would try it, and we then made ar 
rangements about my pay and grub, and the next morn 
ing Sieber, Wheeler, Micky and I went up to Pedro s 
camp, and I turned my extra horses loose with the old 
chief s band that were herded and looked after by the In 
dian boys and girls, and I saw Sieber, Wheeler and Micky 
ride down the river without me. 

I was watching them, and wondering where I would 
get off at, when old Pedro said: "Well, my son, you are an 
Apache, now." Pedro then gave me a lot of good advice, 
and called his son (or one of them, for he had about forty 
children); but he called one named Ramon, and told me 
there was a brother for me, and for me always to call 
him Chi-kis-in (brother). He told Ramon to treat me as 
a brother. 

"And now," ended Pedro, "my camp is your camp, 
and my lodge will be your lodge till you set up one for 
yourself. There are many fine girls here, and I know 
several that are waiting now to get a chance to throw 
a stick at you." (The custom of Apache girls is to throw 
a stick to you if she likes you. You can then court her 
after their fashion.) 

So, here I was, in the latter part of 76, a full-fledged 
Indian, living in Pedro s camp as a Government agent, 
though receiving $75.00 a month as interpreter. I got 
along well, considering everything; hunted to my heart s 
content, and game was plentiful. 

I made frequent trips to San Carlos and Fort Apache. 
On one of my trips to San Carlos we met a herd of horses 
that had just come up from Sonora to be sold to the In- 


dians; stolen in Mexico, so Sieber said. They were selling 
at from fl2.00 to $20.00 a head, and I bought eight head 
of them; also bought two fine Mexican saddles and 
bridles for $80.00. I gave four of the horses and a sad 
dle and bridle to my new Indian brother, and we went 
back to Pedro s camp rich and respectable. I also gave 
one of the Mexicans $5.00 for a fine Mexican blanket, 
which I gave to Chief Pedro, and I do believe he thought 
more of that blanket than he did of any squaw he had; 
and he was sure rich in squaws. 

This was only a short time before Christmas of 76. 

The following morning, after my new brother and I 
got back to Pedro s camp, we were summoned before the 
chief, and he made us a long, fatherly talk, and told us 
how well fixed we were, and said it was time we had 
a lodge of our own, as it would look as though we could 
not make our own way, living so long as we were in one 
of his lodges. We were advised to buy each of us a 
wife and set up a house of our own. This was given 
to us in the privacy of his council lodge. We were then 

That day my brother and I took a long ride; in fact, 
we went to Fort Apache to show off our new saddles and 
bridles. At Fort Apache my brother (whom I will call 
Chi-kis-in from now on) met one of his sisters, or rather 
a half sister, and she had just lost her buck; another 
Indian had killed him, and she was going to Pedro s camp 
to live. She had four horses and three kids, the oldest 
about nine years and the youngest about six years old, 
and she had also five dogs. It was ration day in Fort 
Apache, and hundreds of Indians were there drawing 
their rations, which every Indian drew once a week 


(every Friday). Well, Chi-kis-in and I concluded this was 
the chance to get a housekeeper, for it was a sure thing 
Pedro wanted us to have a lodge of our own. A word of 
advice, I may add, was the same as a command from 

This woman, who was called Sawn, said she would be 
our housekeeper if we would keep grub in camp. Keep 
ing house in an Indian camp meant to do our washing, 
cooking, to tan our buckskins, make our moccasins, herd 
our horses, and, in fact, do everything there was to be 
done. In those days an Apache buck did nothing but 

In a week s time we had a fine lodge and were the 
proudest "Injins" in camp. 



Major Chaff ee and First Military Indian Agency Pedro s 
"Medicine" for Bad Indians Horn Out of a Job- 
Goes Prospecting Tombstone, and Why so Called 
Indian Troubles Interprets Once More First Ap 
pointment With Geronimo. 

Shortly after this, which was early in 77, I was called 
to San Carlos by Major Chaffee, (who is now General 
Chaffee of world-wide fame). 

Major Chaffee had come to Arizona in the fall of 76, 
and early in 77 was selected by the Government as 
Indian Agent. The first Military Indian Agency was 
thus established at San Carlos, all previous agents had 
been Civilian Agents. Indians, newspapers and merchants 
all over the country said the Civilian Agents could, would 
and did sell grub, such as flour, sugar, coffee, soap, baking 
powder and beans, a great deal cheaper than the mer 
chants could afford to. I, myself, have seen grub by the 
twelve-mule-team-load hauled away. Rations were sup 
posed to be issued to 12,000 Indians every week, and for 
years not more than 5,000 of them would come in for 
their rations, and it was claimed that the Civilian Agents 
sold the extra grub; issued the rations on paper for all 
the 12,000 Indians, and did a big business in competition 
with the local merchants. 


Major Chaffee called Chief Pedro and myself down to 
explain to Pedro the change in affairs, and to get Pedro 
to use his influence to have all the Indians do as he, 
Pedro, was doing, that is, come in and draw their rations 
once a week and be counted, and to stop, if it could be 
done, all the raiding, stealing and killing around in the 

The council and big talk lasted for several days and 
nothing much came of it. Pedro said he could and did 
control his band of close to 600 warriors and their 
families, but that there were hundreds of Indians no one 
could control. He advised Major Chaffee to take his 
soldiers and go and kill off all the bad, turbulent Indians, 
and he offered Major Chaffee 200 good warriors to help 
him do it. Major Chaffee then asked Pedro how it would 
do to send me out to talk to the bad Indians and to live 
with them; maybe they could be controlled in that way. 

Pedro was a grand and very impressive orator for an 
Indian, and he always stood up while talking, and when 
Major Chaffee proposed to send me to the Cibicu country, 
where the bad Indians lived (and of which I will write 
later) to try to pacify them, the old Chief said, "No, he 
must not and shall not go unless you allow me to send 
at least 100 warriors with him. Soldier Captain, you 
know soldiers. I am an Indian Chief, as was my father 
and my father s father, and I have more influence with 
the Indians than any man on earth, and I know the 
Apaches as you know your soldiers. But the day you 
send this boy to the Cibicu country alone, will be the day 
he dies, for to you, I, Chief Pedro, do say no white man 
can go among them and return. They will burn him 
at the stake and send an old Indian woman in and tell 


you to keep your flour and sugar and send on some more 
warriors for them to burn." 

Of course, when Major Chaffee saw the old Chief talk 
so long and earnestly and passionately, and after I had 
told him what the old Chief said, then, and for the first 
time, did Major Chaffee understand what kind of people 
he had to deal with, and I was not sent to the Cibicu 

Pedro told Major Chaffee that the Aqua Caliente and 
Chiricahuas were even worse than the Cibicus, as they 
lived in Mexico and raided up into Arizona and then went 
back across the Mexico line, and the American troops 
could not follow them; that so long as there was Aqua 
Caliente and Chiricahua Indians, just so long would 
there be Indian wars. The old man knew what he was 
talking about, for the war with those Indians continued 
for exactly ten years longer. 

There were many different branches of the Apache 
tribe, named as follows: Tonto Apaches, San Carlos 
Apaches, White Mountain Apaches, Cibicus, Aqua Cal 
iente (or warm spring), and last and worst of all, the 
Chiricahuas. These Indians all spoke "the same language, 
but were divided acording to their dispositions. Thus 
a bad Tonto would leave the Tontos and go to the Cibicus 
or to the Chiricahuas, and a timid Chiricahua would go 
to the Tontos, so at the time of which I am writing you 
could find a good Indian or a bad one by knowing to 
what tribe he belonged. They all wore their hair differ 
ent, and to one accustomed to them, they could be told 
apart as far as you could see them. 

Well, at the end of this talk which lasted several 
days, we all went back to the W T hite Mountains and I 



stayed there till the middle of May and was then sent 
for to go to San Carlos and there I was told by the 
Quartermaster that there was no more money in the De 
partment to pay me so I would have to be discharged 
until another appropriation was made. All the rest of 
the scouts and packers were in the same fix. 

We were consequently discharged, and Major Chaffee 
told us that he had understood there had been a good 
many irregularities around the Agency and that one of 
the strictest requirements of the Interior Department 
was that no white man not in the employ of the Govern 
ment would be allowed to live on the Reservation, and 
we were given to understand that we must "git up and 
git out." 

I went back to the Indian camp and told the old Chief 
all about the whole business, and that I must go. We 
had a big feast and dance that night and my friends each 
gave me a present of some kind, consisting principally 
of hair ropes, raw-ride ropes, hackamores, moccasins, 
buckskin bags and all kinds of stuff such as Indians make. 
The Apache women and some of the bucks were very 
skilful in making raw-hide and hair work of all kinds, 
and I had, during my residence with them, picked up a 
good deal of the work, but it is something that takes 
years of practice to become perfect in. Before I left the 
Apache and Mexican country I, myself, had become an 
expert in all work of that kind, as I learned all that the 
Indians and Mexicans both knew. And many an hour 
and day and week have I passed here in jail making raw 
hide ropes, hair ropes, hackamores, bridles and quirts. 


Well, the work was over for most of us and we had 
to drift; and as Tucson was the Mecca of every border- 
man in that country, to Tucson we went. 

I had seven or eight good horses and a fine outfit, as 
did others of the scouts. Sieber was our leader, of course, 
then there were Archie Mclntosh, Sam Bowman, Frank 
Monic, Charley Mitchell, Long Jim Cook, (six feet eight 
inches in height), Frank Leslie, Frank Bennett, Sage. 
Merijilda Grijola, Jose Maria Yescus, and Big Ed Clark, 
scout. All of these were scouts or interpreters, and then 
there were a good many packers. I think there were 
twenty-one of us in the bunch. 

We stayed around Tucson for a while that summer 
till Ed Scheflin came in from California and was getting 
an outfit at Tucson to go to where he had found some 
rich mineral a few years before that time. Scheflin and 
Sieber were well acquainted, and they had a talk. So we 
all concluded we would go to this place as we had nothing 
else to do. Most all of the packers had gone to work 
skinning" mules for some of the freighters, so that when 
we did finally pull out with Scheflin there were only 
about five or six of our original crowd. Scheflin de 
scribed the country to Sieber, and Sieber told me it was 
the "Cochise" country, as Sieber and I called it, for Co- 
chise, a Chiricahua Chief of great fame, had been born 
there, and two of his grandsons, Chihuahua and Natchez 
still lived there a good deal of the time. Scheflin s party 
were all well armed, but they were like all pioneer 
miners, seemed to care not in the least when Sieber told 
them, when we were ready to start, that we were going 
into the very heart of the country where the worst In 
dians in the world lived; that we would have to fight 


and fight hard if the Indians happened to be in there, 
and that there never was a time when there were not 
Indians there; that we would not be there long till every 
hostile Indian in the South would know of it. 

"Scheflin assures us that there is mineral there, and 
lots of it," said one big prospector, "and if there are any 
bad Indians there they will have to look out for them 
selves." Sieber said, "Come on boys!" and we pulled out. 

There were about sixty men in the party, and as I 
was talking to Sieber that night at Pantano, he told me 
about those prospectors of whom I knew very little. 
Scheflin had found silver there, and was run out by the 
Indians and one of his partners had been killed and he 
had gone to California and got these men, and every one 
of them was a frontiersman, a miner, and a warrior, and 
no Indians could keep them out of that country now that 
they were sure there was mineral there, for nothing has 
ever yet stopped people of that kind. If they found the 
mineral there as Scheflin assured them, it would be as 
that big fellow had said in Tucson, The Indians would 
have to look out for themselves. 

Six days after we left Tucson we camped on the 
ground where Tombstone now stands, and after we made 
camp, Ed Scheflin said, "Boys, we have arrived; for right 
here is where I was camped when Lenox was killed, and 
now come on and I will show you where I was digging." 

We all followed him up in the hills about a mile, and 
sure enough there was a hole twenty-three feet deep, 
just as Scheflin had said there would be. The entire ex 
posure was all ore and good ore at that, and those miners 
went as crazy as bats over it. Scheflin had this claim 
all staked out and all the men had made some kind of a 


contract with Scheflin before he brought them there. 
Scheflin told all of them to go back to camp and that he 
would hold a council that night. 

That night all these prospectors got together and 
Scheflin made them a talk, and reminded them of some 
agreement entered into before they left California and 
Nevada, which, as I afterwards understood, was for 
Scheflin to get a quarter interest in all claims staked 
by the party; but Scheflin did not say in this talk what 
their agreement was. He told them there were millions 
of dollars there to be had for the digging, and he made 
a motion to call the camp Tombstone, as the initial mon 
ument of his claim was right at the grave of Lenox, who 
had been killed by the Indians on the first trip to that 

"Tombstone shall be the name of the new camp," said 
every one, and then the meeting broke up. 

Next morning by daylight every man was ready to 
go to look for mines. Sieber and I went way up toward 
the divide and staked out a claim that day. And I will 
say here, that though the claim was not worth a dollar, 
we sold out that fall for $2,800.00. 

Scheflin s claim, that he had previously worked, 
turned out to be a bonanza, and was known as the 
"Grand Central." Scheflin left the camp in three years, 
a very rich man. Many others of the party also made 
fortunes there, as Tombstone turned out to be one of 
the big silver camps of the Southwest. 

I made plenty of money by hunting, as I could get 
$2.50 apiece for deer, and I kept the camp pretty well 
supplied. The news went broadcast that a new mining 


canip was struck, and by October there were 1,500 men 
there and plenty of stores and saloons. 

Such was the starting of Tombstone, that in one year 
had a population of 7,000 souls. 

In October of that year a detachment of soldiers, 
with Micky Free as guide, came to the new camp, or 
Tombstone, as we will now call it, and made inquiry for 
Sieber and myself. Sieber and I were up in the middle 
pass after deer when the soldiers came in. Lieutenant 
Von Shroder was with them, and had a letter from Gen 
eral Wilcox, Department Commander, wanting Sieber 
and me to go to Fort Whipple at once, and to consider 
ourselves under pay and orders from the time we received 
the communication. 

When we got back to Tombstone, Von Shroder was 
waiting for us. So, as we both had enough of mines and 
mining, we hunted up a man named Charley Leach, and 
he gave us $2,800.00 for our claim, and on the 16th of 
October we pulled out for Fort Whipple. 

General Wilcox told us, when we got to Whipple, 
that everything was in bad shape, and that the Indians 
were "raising Cain/ and he wanted Sieber to take up his 
work where he had left off early in the summer, and see 
if something could not be done to quiet the Indians. 
Some of the Indians were making whiskey; all of them 
were drinking it, and they were robbing and raiding and 
killing, and the soldiers could never come up with them. 

The Sixth Cavalry had come into Arizona the year 
before and relieved the Fifth Cavalry. The Sixth had 
never been in the mountains, and while General Wilcox 
said the Sixth was one of the best regiments in the army, 
they could never get at the Indians. 


Under Sieber s directions, a scouting force was again 
organized, Sieber as Chief of Scouts and I as interpreter. 
I was now to get f 100.00 per month; but it did not take 
an old hand to see that we were going to have trouble, 
and a lot of it. 

San Carlos, of course, was to be our headquarters, 
and it was very little of the time that we were to put in 
there. Sieber himself was a tireless worker, and any 
one to hold a job under him, when there was work to 
do, had to go day and night; for in a case of emergency 
Sieber would entirely forget to sleep, and he could live 
on what a hungry wolf would leave. 

I was sent to old Pedro s camp to get some Indians 
Sieber wanted as scouts and police, and as it took a week 
to get the ones I was sent after, I had a good visit with 
my old friends. Many of the young bucks of about 
twenty years of age wanted to go and fight their own 
people, but Sieber and Pedro were of one mind about 
them, for it was the work of able and experienced war 
riors to get the Indians back where they were eight 
months before. The tamest and best of the Indians 
needed a strong hand to control them, like Pedro, for 
instance, and the wild and bad ones were as Pedro 
had previously said to Major Chaffee uncontrollable. 

"You will have years of hard work, and many and 
many of them will have to be killed," said the old coun 
selor, proud that he did, indeed, know the Apaches. 

Nana at this time (Spring of 78) sent in word by an 
old squaw that he and Geronimo, who were living in 
Mexico, wanted to come and live on the Reservation, 
and that he wanted to see Sieber and have a talk with 
him. He sent word that he did not know any of the 


officers in the Department, and he said they didn t know 
anything about what an Indian wanted, anyhow, and 
for Sieber to come to the Terras Mountains and make cer 
tain signs, and some of Geronimo s men would come to 
him. We were to be at a certain place at the full of 
the May moon. That was just what Sieber wanted; so 
he sent the old squaw back to tell these two chiefs that 
Sieber, Merijilda and I would be there. (Merijilda Gri- 
jola was a Mexican captive raised by the Nana and Ge- 
roniino bands of Chiricahuas.) 

We started from San Carlos so as to reach the desig 
nated place by the full of the moon. We followed the 
San Bernardino Creek from its head down to where it 
runs into the Bavispe Eiver, in Mexico. Just as we 
were crossing the Bavispe Kiver we saw an Indian com 
ing down a ridge on foot from towards the Terras Moun 
tains. While our horses and mules were drinking in 
the river, the Indian came and stood on the bank and 
leaned on his gun and looked at us, but did not speak 
a word till our animals were through drinking, and we 
rode out on the side he was on. Sieber and Merijilda 
spoke to him, and I did the same. He said to me: "Who 
are you? I know these two men, but I never saw you 

Merijilda then told him who I was, and told me, also, 
who the Indian was. In talking to an Apache you may 
never ask his name, for no Apache buck ever pronounces 
his own name, and when once you know the custom you 
will never ask his name. You may ask who he is, and 
he will tell you what band he belongs to, but his own 
name he never speaks. 


Well, this man turned out to be the one sent by Nana 
and Geronimo to meet us, and his name was Hal-zay. 
He was the first hostile Indian I had ever seen, and he 
sure looked the brave that he was. Tall, slender and 
smiling, he stood there looking as unconcerned as you 
please. He was dressed in a low-cut breech clout and 
a handsome pair of moccasins. For ornaments he wore 
a belt full of cartridges, with a long Mexican knife. 
Sieber said he was a half brother to Natchez, and that 
he w r as one of the worst Indians there was in the entire 
tribe. As he appeared then, now smiling good-naturedly 
and now laughing, he did not seem to be the bad man 
Sieber said he was. I will write later on of his death 
at the hands of an old man in Pedro s band. 

Hal-zay said Nana and Geronimo were waiting for 
us up on the top of the Terras Mountains, and he told 
Merijilda to go to a place in the Terras Mountains called 
by the Indians Tu-Slaw. We asked him if he were not 
going back with us, and he said no. We then started 
on to where he had directed us to go. Sieber and Meri 
jilda said that this fellow would watch to see that no 
soldiers were following us to trap the rest of 1he hos- 



Arrival at the Hostile Camp The Council Geronimo 
in the Height of His Power, the Biggest Chief, the 
Best Talker, and the Biggest Liar Horn Interprets 
at. the Big Talk "Not Scared, but a Little Shaky" 
The Apaches Grievances Sieber s Reply to Geron 

It was about 10 a. in. when we saw the first 
Indian, and it was night when we got up on top of the 
mountain to the main Indian camp. There must have 
been 1,000 or 1.200 Indians in camp. Camp fires were 
burning everywhere. Just when we got to the edge of 
the camp an Indian boy about ten or twelve years old 
spoke to us, and told us to follow him and he would take 
us to a camping place. We followed him to the place 
he indicated, then made camp and turned our animals 
loose, and the boy said he would take care of them. We 
got to w r ork and straightened things around a little, and 
four or five women came with wood and built a fire for 
MS. bringing cooked meat. We had some bread, and as 
wo were very hungry we enjoyed a good meal. 

When we were through eating, an Indian buck came 
up and began to talk to us, and asked us did we want 
anything more to eat, and we told him we had had 
enough. He said we would be looked for at the council 
at sunup next morning, and we told him we would be 


there. The old squaw came up then, the one that had 
come to San Carlos with the message that took us to 
the place we then were. Quite a lot of squaws had gath 
ered around by this time, and were laughing and talk 
ing to us as if we belonged to them. 

Merijilda had been raised with these Indians, and he 
asked Sieber if he might go and visit around a while, 
and Sieber said yes, that he might, and that I might go, 
also, if I wanted to. Sieber spoke to Merijilda in Span 
ish, and many of the Indian women understood what he 
said, and we were invited by the women to go with 
any and all of them. I went one way and Merijilda an 
other, for the camp was very large. Merijilda didn t get 
back to camp that night, and it was nearly morning when 
I got back. I did not see half a dozen men that night, 
but there were women and children by the hundreds. 

The old woman who had brought the message to us 
at San Carlos wanted me to stay at her lodge all the 
time I was in the Indian camp, but I excused myself by 
saying I had to stay where my chief could find me any 
time. This old woman gave me a good send-off among 
the Indians by telling them how well I had treated her, 
and had given her all she could eat, fed her mule, and 
given her a lot of flour and sugar and meat when she 
left. Of course, she did not know that I did this because 
Sieber and Major Chaffee ordered me to do so, and I 
would not spoil a good thing by telling her! 

At daylight the women were at camp to give us some 
more meat, I made some coffee and we had breakfast. 
Just as it was ready, Merijilda came in, and after we 
got through, he led the way to the council. The sun was 
just coming up. Now all the women and kids were out 


of sight, and only warriors were around the place se 
lected for the council. Then Geronimo got up out of a 
crowd of Indians and came over and shook hands with 
Sieber, and for the first time in my life I saw this man 
of whom I had heard so much from both Indians and 
white men. 

Certainly a grand looking war chief he was that 
morning as he stood there talking to Sieber; six feet high 
and magnificently proportioned, and his motions as easy 
and graceful as a panther s. He had an intelligent look 
ing face, but when he turned and looked at a person, his 
eyes were so sharp and piercing that they seemed fairly 
to stick into him. Anyhow, that was how they looked 
to me; but I was a little shaky, anyhow. 

"How are you, young man?" said he to me in Apache. 

I told him I was all right. I might as well have told 
him I was a little shaky, for he knew it anyhow. He 
asked us to come over into the center of the circle, where 
we had the talk, and then he said to Sieber: "Who will 
interpret for you?" Sieber told him I would do it. 

While Sieber could talk Apache very well and under 
stand it very well, still he could not talk anyways near 
well enough to take in all that a man like Geronimo 
said. Geronimo then said to me: "I speak very fast, 
sometimes. Can you undertake to interpret as fast as 
I talk?" 

I told him he had but one mouth and tongue, that I 
could see, and for him to let loose. "Well spoken !" said 
he; and then he asked Sieber what he had come down 
there for, and Sieber said to hear what he (Geronimo) had 
to say. "I want to hear you talk," said Sieber. 


Well, the big talk was ou; and how that old renegade 
did talk! Of the wrongs done him by the agent, and by 
the soldiers, and by the White Mountain Apaches, and 
by the Mexicans and settlers, and he had more griev 
ances than a railroad switchman, and he wanted to go 
back to live on the Reservation. He wanted to be al 
lowed to have a couple of Mexicans to make muscal for 
him, and he wanted the Government to give him new 
guns and all the ammunition he could use. He wanted 
calico for the women, and shoes for the children when 
there was snow on the ground, and any and everything 
he ever saw or heard of he wanted. Geronimo was the 
biggest chief, the best talker and the biggest liar in the 
world, I guess, and no one knew this better than Sieber. 

Geronimo must have talked an hour or two, and Sie 
ber never said a word in reply. At last Geronimo 
stopped talking, for he had asked for everything he could 
think of, and he was a natural born genius at thinking 
of things. 

Sieber sat perfectly still for some time, and then arose 
and looked around him, and it was sure a beautiful spot 
we were camped, and Sieber looked around as though he 
was admiring the view and the camp. 

"Torn, tell Geronimo just what I say, no more and 
no less," said he. "You have asked for everything that 
I know anything about," continued Sieber, "except to 
have these mountains moved up into the American 
country for you to live in, and I will give you till sun 
down to talk to your people and see if you don t want 
these mountains moved up there to live in. If you are 
entitled, by your former conduct, to what you have asked 


for, then you should have these mountains too." That 
was all. Sieber turned and walked out of the council. 

Not an Indian stirred nor spoke for a long time, and 
then Geronimo arose and said: "Anybody s business 
that is in that man s hands will be handled as he says, 
or it won t be handled at all. We will meet here again 
at sundown." 

Everybody then went his own way. I went back to 
our camp and Sieber was lying down on his back on his 
blankets looking up at the sky, and he did not move for 
a long time. At last he got up and said to me: "Tom, 
did you ever know of another such man as Geronimo?" 
Of course I never did, and I told him so. 

"Well, go on away now, for I want to think to-day of 
all the mean things I can say to that old wolf to-night. 
Come about noon and make me some coffee, and tell 
those women that feed us to bring me some meat then, 
and tell them to keep away from me to-day." 

I went away and visited and got acquainted during 
the day, and was welcomed in every camp. Sieber had 
bought some calico and a few presents for the women 
that he knew from former experience would have to 
wait on us, and he told me to give them to the women 
who seemed to have the business in charge. I did so, 
and they were received by the women with great appar 
ent joy. And then I learned that it was considered 
quite a privilege to be allowed to cook for us, as those 
who did so were sure to get nice presents in the shape 
of calico, beads, needles, thread and pearl buttons. 

W r hen sundown came, Sieber and I again went to the 
place where the council was held, and saw a good big 
fire had been built, and there was a lot of dry wood piled 


up, and two women were there to keep the fire in proper 
shape. I guess there must have been three or four hun 
dred warriors there, and most of them had on a blanket 
of some kind or other. 

Sieber stood and looked all over the crowd, and then 
said to Geronimo: 

"This morning you asked for many things, and you 
knew I could not give you many of the things you asked 
for, and I do think that you asked for the most of them 
because you love to talk, and not because I could or 
would do as you asked me. Anything I do promise, you 
know full well you will get; for you have ever found me 
as I said 1 would be. I am not the fluent orator that 
you are, neither do I put in my time asking for or trying 
to get that which I know I can never obtain. 

"Now, this I do say to you: Go to the Keservation, 
and do as you will be advised to do by the Government, 
and you will get all that the Government can give you. 
You know what the Government can give you, for you 
have lived there and drawn your rations, as many In 
dians are doing now. You will also be given a blanket 
for each of you, and other things just as you have before 
received; but I can promise you no more, for it is spoken 
by my Government that you shall get no more. 

"Geronimo, I have no idea you will do as I say, for 
you do not love peace. You are a man of war and battle, 
else you would not be war chief of the Chiricahua tribe. 
You could go to the Reservation and stay maybe one 
season, and maybe only one moon. But within this camp 
may be some who do really want to come up and settle 
down to a peaceful life. Any and all such I will take 
back safely, and most of your people know what you will 


get. Twice already have I taken you there, and twice 
have you become uneasy and left. Never did a com 
plaint come to the Government that you were not fed. 
Never did you complain of not having clothing and 
blankets enough. But there would be a row between 
this tribe and some of the other tribes, or some one would 
sell you a lot of whiskey and you would all, or a great 
many of you, get drunk and away you would go; and un 
til now you have not complained of not getting what the 
Government promised you. 

"This thing can not last. The white men are as the 
leaves upon the trees. There are hundreds and hundreds 
of white men to every Apache. It is true many and 
many of the white men can not protect themselves from 
such warriors as there are here, for it is my opinion in 
the world there are none better. Still, all the Chiricahua 
and Aqua Caliente in existence, or nearly all, are within 
hearing of the words I am saying now, and they can not 
stay on the w r ar path and not be exterminated. Slowly, 
of course; but one by one you will be killed or captured, 
and how will you ever replace them? 

"True, you can say the Americans can not and will 
not be allowed to come armed and in force into this, a 
Mexican country, to fight you. 

"Such have been the conditions so far, and I know 
that you have no fear of the Mexican soldiers, and many 
a time have I heard your women say they could whip 
the Mexican army, and that the Mexicans were poorer 
than the Apaches. And to that I will say that within 
a short time, a year or two, or maybe three, that a peace 
talk will be held by the Mexican and American Govern 
ments, and arrangements will be made to allow Amer- 


lean soldiers and scouts to enter these mountains in 
force and in pursuit of you, and then you will be doomed 
to capture, or will be all exterminated; for, as I said be 
fore, the American troops are without number. I have 
ever spoken words of advice to you in council. Never 
have I told you one lie, and not a warrior here now will 
say he thinks I talk two ways. 

"Consider well what I have said to you. I leave in 
four days for San Carlos." Sieber then turned and went 
back to our camp. 

His talk had, as I could see, made a deep impression 
on the Indians. Merijilda was left there with me. 
Presently Geronimo spoke to one of the sub-chiefs, and 
he came over to where we were standing, and said that 
the Apaches would be alone; or, in other words, for us 
to leave the council. We left, of course, and went back 
to camp. All night long did the council fire burn, and 
at daylight, when I got up and looked around, I could 
see bucks returning to their camps. They had talked 
among themselves all night! 



Goodbye to Geronimo "Happy to Meet You in Battle 
as Well as in Council!" Escorting Indians Back to 
Reservation Under Difficulties Evading the Cus 
toms Horn Again Out of Employment Hires to a 
Beef Contractor Indian Troubles Brewing Major 
Chaffee Superseded by Civilian Tiffany "Something 
Rotten in Denmark." 

During the rest of our stay a good many Indians came 
and told us they were going back with us. 

There was a camp or troop of soldiers at old Fort 
Tony Rucky, and as that was not far from where we 
would cross the Mexican line going back, we knew we 
could get rations there for the Indians that returned to 
the Reservation with us. 

I traded two fine Mexican blankets for two good 
horses and two mules. They were all splendid animals. 
The blankets cost me f 12.00 in Tucson; so I made a good 
trade. The Indian I traded with did well, also, for he 
of course stole the stock from the Mexicans! 

There was no more council, for Sieber had said his say. 
When we were ready to start to San Carlos, at the time 
set by Sieber, sixty-two Indians were ready to go with 
us, among them being the chiefs Nana and old Loco, a 
once famous chief, but at this time he must have been 
eighty years old, or maybe more. 


Geronimo came to us when all was ready to start, 
and said he was glad that these Indians were going 
back, as they were mostly widows (whose men had been 
killed) and children, and a few very old bucks. Geron 
imo told me to come to his camp at any time that I had 
any word to bring him from the Government officials, 
and not to be afraid, as I would always be well treated 
and perfectly safe. "You are a young man," he said, 
"and will always be at war with me and mine; but war 
is one thing, and talking business is another; and I will 
be just as pleased to meet you in battle as in council." 

We then pulled out for San Carlos Agency. 

At night, after we had camped on the Bavispe River, 
Merijilda left us to go on ahead with dispatches to Gen 
eral Wilcox and Major Chaffee. We had to have troops 
to escort us as soon as we crossed the Mexican line into 
the United States. When we got up close to the line 
we swung off toward the Bonito Canon to w r ait for this 
escort, which arrived in a few days, and we then pro 
ceeded toward San Carlos. 

We finally got to the Agency all right with our In 
dians and made them camp in the forks of the San Carlos 
and Gila Elvers. 

We had not been back a great while till another 
squaw came in and told us more of the same Indians 
we had the talk with in Mexico were ready to come to 
the Reservation. Sieber was then laid up with the 
rheumatism, so I was ordered to go with some troops 
and escort them in. I then saw what their game was 
that is, to raid and kill in Mexico and bring the stock 
to San Carlos. 


There were about fifty, or, to be accurate, forty-nine 
in this second bunch, and they had about 500 head of 
horses and mules. Trouble was sure just beginning for 
us! There was a duty on horses and mules coming from 
Mexico into the United States, and at San Bernardino, 
on the line, was a bunch of custom house men from El 
Paso, Texas, to collect duty on this stock. Not a soul 
of us knew what to do. We could not pay this duty, 
and these officers would not let us bring in this stock 
without it, and the Indians told us that the Mexican 
troops were following them and would perhaps overtake 
them in a day or two. 

The renegades, of course, could not and would not 
understand the condition of affairs. There were about 
fifty warriors with this last bunch of Indians, but they 
had not shown up to us. They w r ere in the rear to head 
off the Mexicans. 

Luckily, the Mexicans turned back after getting 
within about twenty miles of the line. The custom house 
men counted the horses and mules and finally let us go 
on; the officer in charge of our escort promising to do 
what was required by the custom department later on. 

All that year I was going back and forth between the 
Mexican line and San Carlos bringing in bunches of In 
dians and big bunches of stock. 

The Mexican Government was just "raising Cain" 
because we were doing as w*e did. There was no mistake 
but that it was wrong, and very wrong; but we were 
powerless, and it did look to the Mexicans as though 
our troops were upholding the Apaches and protecting 
them in their raiding. 


We had about 2,000 head of horses and mules taken 
from the Mexicans and several delegations of Mexican 
rancheros came to San Carlos and proved their property, 
but they all went back empty handed. The Indians 
would not give up the stock voluntarily, and our agent 
would not take them by force; so Mr. Mexican had to go 
back as poor as he came. Mad? Well, you should have 
seen them! 

There was a Mexican newspaper at Tucson called 
"El Fronterizo," and it did sure write some warm articles 
on the subject. Don Carlos Valasquez, the editor of this 
paper, came to San Carlos personally to see what could 
be done. But nothing was ever done. The Indians made 
their play stick, and we had to protect them in it. 

Along in the spring of 79 a good many warriors came 
in and all of them made a big talk and said they were 
going to remain on the Reservation and draw their 
rations, and be good and go out on the war path no more. 
There were still a lot of renegades in Mexico under Ge- 
ronimo and Ju (called "Who"), but they were hopeless as 
far as getting them to come in was concerned. 

In June of 79, we scouts and interpreters were again 
all discharged and fired off the .Reservation. Appro 
priation had run out and the Quartermaster had no 
money to pay us. Of course we all went to Tucson. 

Tuly Ochoa & Co. had the contract to furnish the 
beef to the Indians at San Carlos from July, 79 for one 
year, and they employed me to handle the San Carlos end 
of it, and gave me $150.00 a month. It took, on an aver 
age, of 225 beeves a week, all issued on foot. 

Loco was still camped in the San Carlos and his band 
by this time numbered about 650 Indians. They must 



have had close to 5,000 head of horses and mules. The 
grass was fine, and their horses were all fat, and the 
bucks were running the whole country. In August, 79. 
I turned loose 2,000 head of steers about six miles above 
the Agency and the Chiricahua bucks did have a good 
time with them. Every day, when they wanted meat, 
they would just round up and kill what they wanted. 
Of course, I complained to the agent, and the best he 
could do was to have me keep count of the ones killed by 
them, and that suited me all right, for I did well with my 
counting. I could not get any cow-boys to stay at the 
camp to look after the cattle, so they were soon all killed 
off by the Indians. The Chiricahuas were not the only 
ones doing the killing. The San Carlos, and White 
Mountain Indians all helped themselves. 

It did not take a very wise man to see that the In 
dians were running the mill to suit themselves. Major 
Chaffee had been relieved and sent to Fort McDowell 
and a man named Tiffany, a civilian, was agent. There 
were no troops at the Agency and things looked a good 
deal more like a hostile Indian camp than did the camp 
of Geronimo when we had gone to have the talk with 
him the year before in Mexico. 

A man named Stirling was Chief of Police at the 
Agency and lie had eleven police to keep the peace of 
the Agency. They w r orked for the Interior Department 
and not for the War Department. 

Stirling was absolutely without fear and an able and 
intelligent scout, but what could he do toward handling 
5,000 or 6,000 wild or half wild Indians with but eleven 
police? These police were Indians, and would have 


been splendid men had they had any show ; but as things 
were, they were disgusted. 

Tiffany, the agent, was so busy selling the Indians 
rations to freighters, prospectors and to merchants in 
Globe and McMilenville, that Indian troubles did not 
bother him in the least. Major Chaffee had accumulated 
a large amount of rations during his time as agent, and 
all the store houses were full of rations when Tiffany 
took charge. Tiffany was a very industrious and busi 
ness-like politician, and immediately commenced to dis 
burse that grub at the rate of f 5.00 for a hundred pounds 
of flour, and flO.OO a hundred for sugar. That was dirt 
cheap in that country at that time, but Mr. Tiffany soon 
found himself arrested and taken before the United 
States Court at Tucson, and I think was charged with 
not being able to account for $54,000.00 worth of rations. 
This all happened in six or eight months. Nothing was 
ever done to him that I remember of, though he was in 
the courts for several years with this business. 



An Indian Outbreak Death of Stirling Horn Carries 
News of Outbreak to Camp Thomas Pursuing the 
Renegades. "Six Men Killed in One Minute."- 
Horn s Knowledge of Apache Language Saves the 

Such was the condition of affairs at the Agency it 
self, so it was small wonder that in the spring of 80, Ju 
came up from the renegades in Mexico and brought one 
hundred men with him to take Loco and his band back 
to Mexico. I was living five miles above the Agency and 
the Chiricahua camp was half-way between me and the 
Agency. I think it was May 5th, 1880, that this out 
break occurred. 

There were supposed to be about 700 Indians belong 
ing to Loco s camp, but no one knew the exact number. 
The settlers in the country said there was a continuous 
string of Indians going and coming from Mexico to San 
Carlos, and I think such was the case. Personally I do 
not know, for I was at San Carlos all the time. 

At daylight, or a very little after, I heard a lot of 
firing at the Chiricahua camp. There were Indians 
camped all around me, and they began to arm themselves, 
and in about ten minutes word came in that the Chiri- 
cahuas were leaving for the war path. There were 
"things doin " then for sure. In a very few minutes all 
the Indians around my camp were ready. Of course we 


did not want to tight, as the Bronks, (as we called the 
Chiricahua) far out-numbered us. Across the Gila Val 
ley rose a big spire of iron ore, or rather a good many of 
them, making an ideal fortification, and there we all 
went. It was a fine fort, its prominence giving us an 
excellent view of the country, and as the Bronks had to 
pass along directly under us, it gave us such a view as 
even few Indian scouts have a chance to see. 

Just as the sun came up, here they came. Great 
droves of horses and mules were strung out for about 
a mile and a half. There must have been 5,000 head of 
them. Squaws and Indian children everywhere, driving 
the stock. Of course they had their camp outfits. The 
squaws were all yelling at the children, and the children 
all yelling at the loose stock. A small bunch of per 
haps twenty warriors was in front, and behind was the 
main band of warriors. 

Stirling had heard the outbreak just at daylight, as 1 
had. He was at the Agency. He jumped on his horse, 
and with one Indian policeman, a captive called Navajo 
Bill, he rode right into the Chiricahua camp. He "never 
smiled again," as he was killed just as he came up the 
bank of the San Carlos River. A squaw cut his head off. 
He was shot about seventy-five or one hundred times. 
Navajo Bill escaped, but how, one can scarcely tell, for he 
was right with Stirling. 

Navajo Bill swung back toward the Agency and the 
rest of the police came to him, and again they rode at the 
Chiricahuas, and one more policeman was killed. There 
were at least two hundred Chiricahua warriors, and 
these police, (there were only seven of them when they 
came up to where I was) kept right up with the Broncos, 


and killed one of them just below and in plain sight of 
myself and the party with me. 

After this Chiricahua was killed, the rest of them 
seemed to think that something must be done, so they 
threw out several little bunches of men, about five or 
six in a bunch, and they dropped into gulches and in the 
grass and willows. The police saw this and went to 
high ground and stopped. 

The Chiricahua w r ere about half an hour passing the 
point where I was located. Some of the warriors in the 
rear guard stopped and looked at us for a minute or two, 
but I could not hear what they were saying. They were 
not more than three hundred yards from us. We 
on our part made no attempt to fire on them, and for my 
part I was glad to see them leave us alone. They could 
not have hurt us much where we were, as we had a fine 
place, and there were fourteen men with me, all of whom 
said there w r as no danger of the Indians firing on us. 

As soon as the Bronks had all passed and gone, I 
went to the Agency and found a very confused state of 
affairs. There were no troops. Stirling, the Chief of 
Police and main-stay of the Agency, was killed. The 
Indians had cut the telegraph wire running into the 
Agency, and the chief clerk in charge of the Agency was 
only a tenderfoot, and he thought all the Indians on the 
Reservation had gone on the war path. There were lots 
of guns and ammunition at the Agency, and the chief 
clerk was giving a rifle and ammunition to every Indian 
buck who w T anted one. The Indians at the Agency and be 
low the Agency knew that it was only an outbreak of the 
Chiricahuas, but they were taking all the guns and 
ammunition they could get. The chief clerk kept no ac- 


count of the guns, and did not know to whom he had 
giv r en them, and very few of them did he ever get back. 

We could get no news from anywhere, and it was 
necessary to inform the troops as soon as possible, so I 
started up to Camp Thomas, thirty-two miles up the 
river and in the direction in which the Bronco Indians 
had gone. I got up there by 10:00 o clock, for I rode fast. 
The commanding officer at Camp Thomas had gotten the 
news that there was something wrong, but he could get 
no news from San Carlos, and when I got into Camp 
Thomas there was a squad of soldiers all ready to start 
toward San Carlos to see if they could learn what the 
trouble was. These men were at the Adjutant s office 
all ready to go when I rode into the Post. 

Sieber was there talking to some Indians, and all 
those Indians knew was that the Indians down the river 
had signalled that there was trouble from the Chirica- 
huas. Apaches can signal for a long ways when there is 
trouble, but they can not give details by their signals. 

There were only two troops of cavalry at Camp 
Thomas, but their telegraph was all right, and troops all 
over the Department were soon notified. The Gila River 
was swollen, and I had to swim it to get to Camp Thomas, 
but I swam it at San Carlos, (San Carlos and Fort 
Thomas now abandoned are both on the Gila river). 

It was a sure thing the renegades would have to keep 
east toward the upper Gila, as the river was so high they 
would not attempt to cross it unless forced to by the 

Sieber made arrangements for the troops to come 
toward Ash Creek, and he and I again swam the river, 
and struck out toward that part of the country he 


thought they would come through. We thought that T 
was before them, and so I proved to be. 

On Ash Flats, about twelve miles from Camp Thomas 
and about twenty-five miles from San Carlos, w r e could 
see the dust they raised. There were so many of them 
they could not travel fast. They were handicapped by 
the hundreds of extra horses they had. We got on top 
of what was called Green s Hill, and watched the big dust 
which was, maybe, two and a half miles away. Sieber 
said they would all scatter that night and go in small 
bunches toward Mexico and all come together again close 
to the line. 

While we were looking at the dust, (they were in a 
swale, so we could not see the Indians themselves) to our 
left, we saw six Indians coming straight toward us, about 
five hundred yards away. They were coming to get on 
Green s Hill themselves, apparantly, but they saw us 
just as we saw them. 

They turned around and rode into a gulch that led 
off toward the main band of Indians. They were vidett es, 
for a large body of renegades when they are traveling, 
keep out guards on all sides and before and behind. 

All that Sieber and I could do was to watch them. 
Sieber had told the troops at Thomas how to come on 
the Eagle Creek trail, and that we would find them that 
night. The way the troops were directed to go, they 
would be about twenty miles from where we were then 
some time during the night; so Sieber said we w r ould go 
and join the troops, but that we would have to wait 
till the Indians split up, for all the troops in Camp 
Thomas could not stop that bunch of Indians and that 


it would be several days before any more troops could 
join us. 

We pulled out for where our troops were to come. 
They were guided by Micky Free, and he was so reckless 
and loved to fight so well that he would have led those 
two troops right into any kind of a trap. Micky knew he 
could get the troops into any kind of a trap and come out 
all right himself, for the fellow seemed to bear a charmed 

We struck the troops as we expected, that night, and 
Sieber told the officer in command how things w r ere. 
Gatewood, (that was his name) said that if we could 
strike them the next day he would "try them a lick." He 
said, "We may not be able to lick them, but we will try 
it if we can find them." 

So we did. We struck them and got six men killed in 
a minute. Sieber told Gatewood that the warriors we 
were trying to whip w r ere better men than his soldiers 
in any place that we could strike them. We buried our 
dead men and made arrangements to send the wounded 
back to. Camp Thomas, and we had only thirty-six 
soldiers left. Gatewood was shot in the shoulder, but he 
would not go back. 

By the time we started again it was getting late in 
the day, so, as the Indians w r ere some distance ahead by 
this time, Sieber, Micky Free and I started on and left the 
troops to come more leisurely. We three got over on the 
head of Eagle Creek late that night, and the next morn 
ing we found that the Indians had broken up into small 
bands and they left about a thousand head of stock on 
the head of Eagle Creek. They did not abandon them be 
cause they had to do so, but because they did not care 


for them. I forgot to say that we got about two hundred 
head of horses where we struck them the day before. 
From that time on they left a string of horses behind 
them. Most of the animals were played out. 

Gatewood took these horses and turned back. It 
took all his men to handle the stock. Sieber, Micky and 
I went on after the Indians, knowing that more troops 
would come in to try to join us from Fort Baird and the 
New Mexico country. 

By the middle of the afternoon we were again in 
sight of the Indians as they crossed the divide onto Blue 
River. So we kept along and passed the Indians that 
night, at least, the bunch of them that we were following. 
We went over toward Clifton that night and next day 
rode into the town and found that they knew the Indians 
were out and that everybody in the country had come 
into the little towns around. We decided we would go 
on over to the Stein s Peak Mountains, as we knew the 
Indians were sure to come that way. We heard that 
some soldiers had gone toward Ash Springs, so Sieber 
told me to go and get them and camp them at Cotton- 
wood and Indian Springs, and at a place called Horse 

I started and found the troops at Ash Springs, but 
they were pretty well worn out and they wanted to rest 
their horses a while. I had gotten a couple of good horses 
at the Rail N. Ranch and was pretty well fixed for a 
mount. We did not leave Ash Springs till night, and it 
was morning as we pulled into Whitlock s. As we were 
watering our horses, I noticed that the cattle were 
running up above us, and there were the Indians. 


They were just coming around a point, and as I saw 
them they saw the soldiers. The soldiers started to 
deploy skirmishers on foot, and the Indians turned and 
ran up on a rocky point and gave us a good big stand-off. 

I had told this officer (I do not recollect his name) of 
how we got whipped over on the other side of the Gila, 
and he said all he wanted me to do was to show him 

This lieutenant had run behind the ruins of an old 
adobe house, and was directing his men to get the horses 
out of range of the Indians. I saw the Indians separat 
ing into bunches, and I heard one of them directing the 
other how to go and get a position on high ground, and 
drive us away, so their outfit could get into water. I 
told the officer what the Indians were saying, and what 
they were going to do, and he said: "Damn em! If 
they want this water they can have it, for it is strong 
alkali and warm to boot." So we all mounted and rode 
down into the flat and let the Indians come in to water. 
Had we not left, the Indians would have gotten the 
whole works of us. 

(This is just the commencing of the regular Indian 

The Indians, after about an hour, came down towards 
us for a ways with their entire outfit, and then swung 
up the San Simon Valley, and the bucks dropped behind 
so as to keep between us and the squaws. They were 
headed towards Doubtful Canon, and so I told the officer 
in charge of the troops. 

That poor fellow did not know what to do. The In 
dians outnumbered us and could whip us, and I told him 
so; and I had previously told him of the way Gatewood 


made his fight with no show to win, and got six men 
killed and eleven wounded. So, as we could not do 
anything to the Indians after they had gone, we struck 
out in the same direction, keeping them or their dust 
in sight. I knew that there were plenty of soldiers out 
after the Indians, and that there w r ould be one or more 
troops of cavalry after each band of Indians, and I 
thought all the rest of them would be in the same fix 
as ourselves. This I told the lieutenant; so we then 
wanted to find more soldiers. 

Things proved to be exactly as I had an idea they 
would be. When w r e got up to Indian Springs, in the 
Stem s Mountains, the Indians turned from the open val 
ley directly into the Stein s Mountains tow r ards the head 
of Doubtful Canon. 

Hostile Indians from the upper Gila country would 
nearly always come through that section of the country, 
as it was decidedly an Indian rendezvous, and from 
Stein s Mountains to the Mexico line there were neither 
settlements nor forts. 

As the Indians turned into the mountains we saw 
there was quite a commotion among them, and shortly 
after we heard firing over on the east side of the moun 

Our Indians had heard it first, as they were a couple 
of miles closer than we were to the firing. It proved to 
be Sieber and Micky Free, with three small bunches of 
soldiers they had picked up and got together, and they 
were on trail of, and had come up with, two more 
bunches of these Indians that had separated upon the 
head of Eagle Creek. 


The firing continued for about an hour. The Indians 
we were following went directly towards the firing and 
we did the same. We were not more than a mile from 
our band, and some of the guard for the Indians were 
not over half a mile from us. When we got to the top 
of the divide we could see there was a fight on between 
the troops and the Indians on the other side, so we 
went as fast as we could to join them. 

It was getting late, and was just about sundown when 
we got to the part of the troop where there were two 
dead soldiers and five wounded ones. The main com 
mand was just drawing off, and as it was night, and all 
of the cavalry horses were about played out, or at least 
well jaded, camp was made there in what was called 

We were all tired and hungry, and the first thing we 
did was to get something to eat. Micky Free and I lay 
down and went to sleep as soon as we got something to 



Wanted: More Soldiers. Sieber s "Growl" Apparent Mis 
management of Indian Affairs A Scout s Duty Ma 
jor Tupper Wants "to Get a Lick at the Indians" 
Forty Soldiers and Twenty-five Scouts Against Three 
Hundred Chiricahua Braves Over the Line Into 
Mexico Sieber Locates Hostile Camp. 

About 11 or 12 o clock Sieber came and woke us 
up, and told us to get our horses and be ready to go 
with him on after the Indians. I asked Sieber what was 
the use to go monkeying along after those Indians by 
ourselves when all the soldiers could not handle them. 
Sieber spoke to me in a language that was more liable to 
be called forcible than elegant, and told me that the ac 
tion or scarcity of soldiers was no concern of mine; that 
if they could not whip the Indians, that did not concern 
me or him; that I was a Government scout and he was 
my chief, and that he could not command the Depart 
ment and get sufficient troops on hand to whip the In 
dians. "But," said he, "I can and will keep up with the 
Indians, and you and Micky must come." Sieber was 
mad, and anyone that knew him and worked under him 
would soon come to do as he said and ask no questions. 
I was tired and sleepy, but here was this old, gray- 
headed, iron-hearted man who had been at work while 
I was asleep; for, during the time that we drew away 


and made camp and got something to eat, he had gone 
on foot and noted which way the Indians went. Then 
he had come back and gotten something to eat, and woke 
Micky and me to go on. Sieber at this time was fifty-five 
years old; but, as I said once before, in a case of this 
kind he never seemed to want to sleep, and he did not 
get a chance to eat afterward. 

We rode all night across and up the San Simon Val 
ley, and Sieber said the Indians would strike the Chiri- 
cahua Mountains at Turkey Creek, or maybe go on up 
as far as Cane Creek. 

At sun-up we were not more than ten miles behind the 
Indians, for they had gone just as Sieber said they would. 
Where the Turkey Creek comes out of the Chiricahua 
Mountains the ground is higher than it is out in the val 
ley where we were, and we could see the Indians going 
in on Turkey Creek. They made a terrific dust, and it 
was seen plainly by the soldiers we had left in the night, 
a distance of thirty-five or forty miles. 

The Indians went into camp on Turkey Creek and 
stayed there all day. They had out guards on all sides. 
We (Sieber, Micky Free and I) camped on a little gulch 
that ran into Turkey Creek. There was a spring at the 
head of this gulch on a mesa, and we could see for 
quite a good distance around us. The Indian camp was 
about two miles above us. Some of the Indian pickets 
were in sight of us most of the time. Sieber said they 
would not molest us if we did not go right up to their 
camp, and this we had no idea of doing. 

By 10 o clock that morning we could distinctly see 
the dust of our troops coming across the San Simon Val 
ley. The dust sprang into sight all at once, and the 


Broncos saw it at the same time that our party did. 
We heard a great yell up at the hostile camp when this 
big dust was first sighted. It was still about twenty- 
five miles off. After we" saw this dust, Sieber told Micky 
and me to keep awake and on the lookout, for he was 
going to take a little sleep. 

We did keep a good eye open, but we were not mo 
lested. Our horses were very tired, but each of us had 
two horses, and that gave us a great advantage over the 

Somewhere about four o clock in the evening the 
troops pulled in and went into camp about three miles 
below the Indians, on Turkey Creek. The cavalry horses 
were very tired and warm, and it took some time to get 
them watered. A consultation was held by all the offi 
cers and scouts. Pat Kehoe had come up with the sol 
diers, having overtaken them during the day. Pat said 
there were only bucks in the party, with the exception 
of a few squaws to tend camp. Sieber, Micky and I had 
not seen any of the camps made by them since they split 
up on Eagle Creek, and I saw only bucks at Whitlock s, 
and as the bunch that had come together did not have 
the least fear of us, we thought that we were following 
the warriors, and that they were making a play to keep 
all the troops after them; that the most of the women 
and children and a few of the best warriors had kept 
a little behind, and calculated to drop in behind the 
troops, and so get into Mexico unmolested. 

The Indians were swarming on the hills above us, 
but did not act as though they were going to attack. 
Sieber said they were breaking camp and pulling out 
again to travel all night, and that the Indians in sight 


just wanted to take a look at us before they left. By 
6 o clock they had all gone, and Sieber told Micky and 
me to get ready to follow them. 

After dark we pulled out for a place called Clover- 
dale, as Sieber said that would be the next stopping place 
of the Indians. Sieber was mad, and would not talk for 
a long time. We were crossing the head of the San 
Simon Valley and swinging well east again. 

Along about midnight we stopped to change horses. 
Sieber then commenced to talk to me, and Micky asked 
him to talk Spanish so he, too, could understand. Sieber 
had his roasting talk on. 

"What is the use," he said, "for us to be monkeying 
along here after these Indians. There never will be sol 
diers enough to catch up with us to whip them, for there 
are at least two hundred of them; this division of the 
party are no doubt led by Natchez and Chihuahua, and 
man for man in the rough country they can easily whip 
any troop in the world, for they will never come into an 
engagement unless they have far the best of the ground; 
and if it comes to a pinch they can abandon everything 
and go on foot, and then no one could do anything with 
them. I have reported to the Department Commander 
a half dozen times during the winter that these Indians 
would break out as soon as spring came, and I have 
pointed out to him that he had no transportation for 
his troops, and that there was no preparation made to 
pursue them when they did go. Now, you see how it is. 
There are those soldiers we just left. They have no 
grain for their horses, and very little or no rations for 
themselves. And here we are piking along after these 
fellows just as though we were doing some good. 


"Boys," went on Sieber, "this outbreak means a long 
war, and there will come a time when there w T ill be some 
kind of organization for the soldiers in the field. They 
must have transportation in the shape of wagons and 
pack trains, and camps must be established at Turkey 
Creek and Cane Creek and Cloverdale, where we are 
headed now, and at every other prominent place some 
where near here, or near the line of Mexico. Our present 
Department Commander doesn t understand these things, 
and he doesn t understand anything about Indians. Now, 
you boys can plainly see what I am explaining to you. 
We are perfectly harmless to the Indians, and they know 
it as well as w r e do. 

"There is always one thing a man can do under cir 
cumstances of this kind, and that is, just go on and keep 
in touch with both the soldiers and Broncos. We are 
merely scouts, and can only show r the soldiers how and 
where to go. After we get them up to the Indians, we 
can do no more, for it is the commissioned officer who 
commands the troops and not the scouts. You boys do 
as I tell you, and while the soldiers may be censured by 
the President and the people, if we do our part everyone 
will know it, and we w r ill never be blamed." 

Sieber felt better after he had had a good growl ; said 
he was a fool to expect anything else, and that was an 
end to his growl. 

Daylight found us on a hill overlooking Cloverdale, 
and the whole place seemed alive with Indians. Sieber 
said they had been joined by another big band, or had 
run into them there at Cloverdale. 

The Mexico line was about a mile south of Cloverdale. 
Sieber said we would stay and watch the Indians all day, 


and that in the evening the hostiles would cross over 
into Mexico. "And in a day or two after they are gone," 
he added, "there will be troops enough here to whip 
them, but they will be in Mexico and perfectly safe, as 
no army officer would think of crossing the line, as he 
would lose his commission if he did." 

We stayed close to the Indians to see all that there 
was to be seen, for that was all we could do. Sieber es 
timated that there were five hundred of them. We could 
see dozens of women and children who had joined our 
bunch during the night, or had been at Cloverdale when 
our band got there. 

Along about three o clock in the evening we saw they 
were getting ready to go, and as some of the advance 
guard started off in an easterly direction, we got ready 
and struck out that way, knowing the main band of In 
dians would cross still further east. We figured that 
there was still a big band that had not arrived yet; they 
were evidently waiting for the entire bunch before cross 
ing into Mexico. This advance guard showed us that 
they were all going towards a place on the line, or close 
to the line, called Aqua Blanco. We pulled out in the 
same direction, leaving the main bunch of Indians to 
come later, as we knew they would. 

They could all have crossed the line right where 
they were camped, at Cloverdale, but a short distance 
south in Mexico the country grew very rough, and was 
hard for a big band of Indians to get through and all of 
them keep together, and if -they went over by Aqua 
Blanco, they could cross over into Mexico and have good 
open country to travel in. Also, from Cloverdale, the 
San Luis Pass opened through the San Luis Mountains 


into a large open country or plain in Mexico called Llano 
de Janos, or Janos Plains. Any Indians that had kept 
farther up the Gila would naturally come in from the 
east and turn down this plain by the Aqua Blanco. 

Well, what they did do was this: The main bunch 
went through the San Luis Pass, and the picket or ad 
vance guard went over by Aqua Blanco, striking the trail 
of Indians who had come from farther east and gone 
into Mexico ahead of them. The pickets may have 
struck some of the Indians belonging to the eastern band, 
for at night everything in sight was in Mexico and all 
headed, so we calculated, towards the Sierra Media, in 
Mexico. From a spur of the San Luis Mountains we 
could distinctly see four bands crossing into Mexico at 

Sieber swore softly, and seemed, in a gratified, know 
ing way, not to care much. When it was dark we turned 
back and went towards Cloverdale again. 

At Cloverdale we struck some new soldiers, and they 
had a pack train and some grub and grain with them. 
Major Tupper was in command, and as scouts he had 
Sage and some twenty Apaches. His troop consisted 
of more than forty men, and Major Tupper was glad to 
see us. His Apache scouts had informed him that we 
were in the country, but that we were most likely on the 
flank of the Broncos. 

These scouts had seen our trail and followed it a short 
distance, and they could see by the route we took that 
we were on the lookout; that we were watching to the 
south towards where the hostiles would naturally be. 
All the elevations that we rode onto commanded a view 
south, and had our trail been made by the Bronco pick- 


ets, the elevations that we rode over would have been 
places that commanded a view to the north, whence 
troops were likely to come. On one high point, where 
these scouts of Tupper s turned back, they found a quid 
of chewing tobacco; they were then satisfied it was Sie- 
ber, and they knew Micky and I would be with him. 

Major Tupper was an old Civil War veteran and he 
wanted to "get a lick at the Indians." He had rations 
for twenty-five days more, and was not trying to get 
back to the Post by the easiest route. While the men 
got us up a really good meal, he made a good many in 
quiries about the country to the south, Mexico. Sieber 
thought at first the old man was just talking, but after 
we got through eating Tupper kept on talking. Sage 
said to Micky in Apache, that the old Captain, meaning 
Tupper, was not afraid to cross the Mexico line in pur 
suit of the Broncos. 

Sieber understood what Sage said and he turned to 
Major Tupper and inquired, "Is that so, Major?" 

Tupper asked him what was so. Then Sieber, seeing 
that Tupper could not have understood Sage and the 
Indians, asked him if he cared to cross the line after the 

Tupper did not want to talk before the soldiers and 
scouts, so he and Sieber went off out of camp and had a 
talk. In about half an hour they came back; Tupper 
gave command to "Get-a-going," and in about an hour 
we pulled out for Mexico. It was about three o clock in 
the morning. 

Sieber and Major Tupper seemed to have settled the 
thing between themselves. I finally ventured a word at 
Sieber, and asked him if that old man thought he could 



whip three hundred Chiricahua braves with forty soldiers 
and twenty-five scouts. 

"Why, the old man is crazy to get a chance," said 
Sieber, "We must be very careful and not let him get too 
many of his men killed." 

Before sunup we went into camp in the rough hills, 
but Sieber, and not Tupper, was running things then. 
Every horse was kept in the low places and not allowed 
to go on top of any ridge or hill. Soldiers were all made 
to keep under cover. Sieber put some of the Apache 
scouts to watch the soldiers and keep them out of sight, 
for if we were to strike the Broncos it must be a sur 
prise to them, for, as Sieber said: "If we try to surprise 
them and they surprise us, we are gone fawn skins." 

Sieber took Micky and me about 9 o clock in the 
morning and we went on to try to locate the Indians. 
W r e felt sure they were camped at the Sierra Media. 

This Sierra Media means "Middle Mountain," and is 
a very rough, small mountain in the middle of the Janos 

On the west side of this mountain was a fine, big 
spring. At that time of year there was bound to be lots 
of water there and it took lots of water for that bunch of 
Indians when they w r ere all together. There we felt sure 
the Indians would camp to rest up, for they were tired, 
and their stock was all tired, and the place was inside 
of the Mexican line, about twenty miles. The Indians 
knew we dared not cross the line, so they would feel 
perfectly safe, but it was necessary to use a great deal 
of caution in attacking them, for if we made a mistake 
they would kill all of us. 


When we got within six or seven miles of the place 
where we thought they would be, we went up on a big 
hill and, Sieber took out a telescope he had borrowed from 
Tupper, and as it was a long concern, two or three feet 
long, we built up a pile of rocks and threw some limbs 
on them to disguise the rocks. Then we strung out that 
old telescope and focused it on the point of the Sierra 
Media where the water was. We had to build this rest 
for the telescope so we could steady it to see well. Sieber 
lay down and looked a long time; then told me to take a 
look. I did so, and there were the Indians and horses as 
natural as could be. 

"Now," said Sieber, "all we ve got to do is to ketch 



A Daylight Surprise "And the Fight Was On" Horn 
Saves Sergeant Murray Under a Hot Fire Casualties 
and Booty Colonel Forsythe and Re-enforcements 
Indians Clash With Fifth Mexican Regiment, Chi 
huahua Cavalry, 167 Killed, 52 Captured Forsythe 
Versus Garcia Horn Interprets Armed Force of 
Americans on Mexican Territory Under Arrest. 
The Surprising Behavior of the Arrested Sieher s 
"General Big Kick" to Department Commander. 

This was about noon, and Sieber told me to go back 
to the command and move them up to the place where we 
were; that we would likely get there by sundown or be 
fore, and to wait there till he came, as he said he and 
Micky would go into the camp before he came back. He 
gave me more details, and cautions, not to shoot or make 
a fire, but to camp as soon as I got the soldiers up to this 

I went back and reported to Tupper, gave him Sieber s 
instructions, and we pulled out for the place where we 
were to meet Sieber. Major Tupper was "tickled" to get 
a chance to get at them, as he said, he wanted anyhow to 
have a scrap of some kind and to capture a pony for his 
little girl. 

We got to the appointed place quite a while before 
sundown, and camped, fed the stock, and prepared to 


make battle. The only question was, would the hostiles 
move camp again that night? Sieber felt sure they would 
not, as they were tired and as they thought, free from 

It was close to midnight when Sieber got back to 
where we were. He said he left the hostile camp about 
10 o clock and that they were singing and dancing, and 
Micky told me he heard the wedding drums beating and 
could plainly hear the chants they sing at weddings. 
Sieber said Micky wanted to get a few ponies and bring 
back to Tupper, as he seemed to want ponies worse than 
anything else. While Sieber and Micky got something 
to eat, I got their change of horses. We left six soldiers 
with the pack train, which remained there, and we 
started out for the hostile camp. 

We went up a swale that ran close to the camp and had 
to wait a good while for daylight to come. We were with 
in less than a thousand yards of the camp, but they had 
so many horses running around that they had not heard 

Sieber, Micky, Sage and I all knew every foot of the 
land, and we were each put to pilot some soldiers for a 
charge when we should be discovered at daylight. There 
were nine soldiers in the bunch I had to guide. Micky 
Free was assigned to go with Major Tupper. Tupper was 
spoiling for a fight, and any one that went where Micky 
would go in a scrimmage, was bound to see the biggest 
part of it. 

Just at daylight five Broncos came close up to 
where Sage and his squad were waiting. They saw the 
soldiers as soon as the soldiers saw them, and the fight 
was on. 


The soldiers with Sage made a run at those five In 
dians, and got every one of them, and they were the only 
Indians killed, that is, that we were sure of. 

The sergeant with Sage told me Sage killed three 
out of the five with his six shooter, as they ran. Sage 
rode his big, white war horse, and he could run right 
over the Indians. These five Indians were on horseback 
and were just starting out, evidently to round in their 
loose horses. 

As for my part of the fight, I did not get to see much 
of it. Murray, a sergeant, was in charge of the bunch of 
soldiers I was guiding, and as w r e charged toward the 
camp w r e saw about a dozen Indians in a little bunch of 
rocks, and we took a run at them. When we got up 
close to the rocks, we w r ere not forty yards from them 
when we saw them. Old Murray got a shot in the side, 
gave a big grunt and fell off his horse. I looked around 
and saw him get partly up so I stopped (for we were go 
ing at a run), went back and got off. I could see that he 
looked awfully white. He said he was shot in the side. 
His horse had gone on with the rest of the men in our 
squad, and I tried to get him on my horse, and I finally 
succeeded, but when I tried to start, I saw the horse had 
a hind leg broke. 

The Indians were firing terribly fast at us, so I pulled 
old Murray off the horse, took him on my back and car 
ried him about forty yards, then I gave out and had to put 
him down. Both of us had dropped our rifles, and he 
told me to go "back and get them. My horse was still 
standing there, both rifles lying on the ground; but the 
Indians that were in that little bunch of rocks had un 
doubtedly gone, as they did not shoot at me any more. 


I went back to Murray. He was sitting up swearing, 
and he said he felt better. "But listen," said he, "to that 
damned racket." 

Well, there were "things doin " all right just then. 
Indians were yelling and squaws were yelling. There 
must have been a thousand dogs barking, and horses 
were running every which way. There were probably 
three thousand horses there, and it was not very light 
yet. The soldiers had been ordered previously to get all 
the horses they could, but the horses would not leave 
the Indian camp, and the soldiers could not drive them 
away. At sunup we heard the bugler with Tupper 
sounding "Assembly," and as Murray could walk pretty 
well by this time, I headed off towards where I heard 
the bugle. 

There we found all the command except one soldier 
who had been killed. Micky and several of the soldiers 
had a big bunch of horses and mules. Tupper sent sev 
eral soldiers to get the dead man, and we pulled still 
farther away from where the hostiles had taken shelter 
in the rocks. After a little we stopped on a slight rise 
and waited for the men to come up with the dead soldier. 
When they came we laid him in a gulch, put a Govern 
ment blanket over him and piled rocks on the blanket. 
We put Murray on behind another soldier, Micky roped 
a horse for me out of the bunch they were holding, and 
we started back to our camp. The hostiles afterwards 
told me they thought there was a big bunch of soldiers 
concealed somewhere close, and that we were just trying 
to draw them out. It was lucky for us that they did 
think so, for they could have come out and cleaned us 
up in a minute. 


We had a big lot of horses, and I think there were 
eight different ones had saddles on them. We caught 
a big pinto mule with a saddle on, and I took that saddle 
and the horse Micky had roped for me as my share of 
the booty. Tupper took all the ponies himself; I think 
we counted 260 at that time. When we got back to 
the pack train and had something to eat, Major Tupper 
was the happiest man I ever saw. 

About an hour before sundown Murray and I saw a 
dust up towards the line and we thought it might be 
more Indians coming, but we soon saw they were fol 
lowing the trail of our cavalry, and we decided they 
must be soldiers, which they proved to be. It was a 
colonel named Forsythe, and his scouts had assured him 
that there were troops ahead of him, so he came on and 
went into camp where we were located. There were 
five troops in this command, and there were now men 
enough to make a good fight. It was the first time since 
the outbreak, ten days before, that we had seen soldiers 
enough at one time to make a good fight. Of course, our 
outfit was pretty well worn out, having been up all the 
previous night. Forsythe was not in very good shape 
himself, but the sight of the captured ponies made him 
want some ponies of his own. 

Forsythe sent for Sieber, and asked him if we could 
get him up to where he could get a lick at the Indians 
and get a few ponies. Sieber said he could, if we would 
go promptly. Then Sieber told him we would have to 
pull out at once. Sieber thereupon told Micky, two of 
the Apache scouts and myself to go back to the hostile 
camp, and if they had gone, or were getting ready to go, 
to send back the two Apache scouts to a place named by 


him, and that he would meet them with the soldiers. 
Micky and I were to keep on after the hostiles and join 
him and the command at a place called Panuela. Sieber 
said if he got there first he would wait for us, and if 
we got there first to wait for him. 

When Micky and I got back to the Sierra Media, 
where we had left the hostiles by the hundred in the 
morning, we found it as still as a graveyard. We looked 
around and found a trail, and it headed direct for the 
Panuela, and we sent the two Apaches back to Sieber. 
It was 10 o clock at night, but there were so many of 
the Indians they made a trail that even at night could 
be followed as easily as can Capitol Avenue in Cheyenne. 

At the Panuela were two or three horses dropped by 
the hostiles. Micky and I had just reached this water 
and got a drink when we heard the troops coming, and 
in a few minutes they arrived. We told Sieber we were 
on the trail. Forsythe was keen to keep on, and as it 
was about 1 o clock at night we had to travel pretty 
lively to get across the plains before sunup. 

We traveled on till just about daylight, and then 
left the Indian trail and turned into the hills at a place 
called Sousita. The soldiers and their mounts were 
all completely worn out, and Forsythe ordered camp. 
- While the soldiers were going into camp we scouts 
went up to the top of a peak near there, so we could look 
ahead. At sunup we could plainly see the dust of the 
hostiles, not more than eight or ten miles ahead of us, 
and instead of going towards the Ojitas, as we had sup 
posed they would, they were pulling into the Carretas 


While we were watching this dust, the sound of 
rifles was heard by all of us, and by the troops going into 
camp, also, and a great cloud of dust came up where 
the Indians were. We could not for a while understand 
what it meant. Finally we concluded the Indians had 
run into the Mexican troops and were fighting. We 
could not see anything but dust and smoke. 

After we had eaten breakfast, Forsythe was so anx 
ious to know what the row was where we could hear the 
firing, we again pulled out for Carretas to learn the exact 
cause of the trouble. About two hours march brought 
us to the place, and, sure enough, it was the Fifth Regi 
ment of . Chihuahua Cavalry, under Colonel Garcia. 
They were just returning from Sonora, where they had 
been fighting all winter with the Yaquis, and had been 
camped on Carretas Creek that night, and on this morn 
ing the guards reported a big dust coming across the 
plains headed for the point where the regiment was 

Colonel Garcia was an old Indian fighter, and knew 
in a minute that it was Indians. They were still a couple 
of miles away, and coming up parallel with where the 
Carretas Creek runs out and sinks into the plain. Gar 
cia threw his men out down this creek, and concealed in 
the brush on the creek and under the creek banks. He 
let all the bucks, who were mostly in the lead, pass on, 
then he struck the rear of the Indian column. The rear 
of the Indians consisted principally of squaws and chil 
dren, and any loose horses there might have been. Gar 
cia slew them all women and children. One hundred 
and sixty-seven were killed and all dragged close to 
gether by the time w r e got there. They were killed all 


around over the country for a distance of about a mile 
square, but Garcia had dragged all of them together. 
There were also fifty-two women and children captives. 

Garcia s command saw us coming when we were 
within half a mile of them. They did not know what to 
make of us at first, and then they recognized us as Ameri 
can troops. Colonel Garcia and about a dozen of his 
officers came to meet us, and his orderly was blowing his 
bugle for all he was worth. 

Forsythe halted his command, and several of his of 
ficers and all the scouts went forward to meet the Mexi 
cans. When we got within one hundred yards of them, 
they halted; we rode up to them and civilties were ex 
changed. Colonel Garcia did not have any one who could 
speak English and I was put in to do the interpreting. 

Colonel Garcia immediately told Colonel Forsythe 
that we were an armed force of Americans on Mexican 
t territory and that we must consider ourselves under ar 
rest. He said he was Justo Garcia, Colonel of the Fifth 
Chihuahua Cavalry, and asked Colonel Forsythe who he 
was. Forsythe told him who we were and that we were 
following the Indians whom he, Garcia, had just engaged. 
We saw the pile of dead Indians and Garcia told us of 
the prisoners. 

Colonel Forsythe was then informed that his com 
mand would be allowed to retain their arms for the 
present, and he and several of his officers were invited 
to go further up the creek where there was good water, 
and have breakfast with Colonel Garcia. Forsythe ac 
cepted the invitation. We all went further up the creek 
and made camp. Garcia and his command had not had 
breakfast, as the Indians came onto them too early in 


the morning to allow them time to get breakfast. That 
regiment of Garcia s, which he said was one of the best 
in the Mexican Army, had twelve burros for their trans 
portation. They had no grub and no clothes, and many 
of them did not have a cartridge after their fight with the 

Colonel Forsythe had five troops of cavalry and there 
were about thirty of us scouts, Indian and white to 
gether, and he had about fifty pack mules loaded with 
grub and ammunition. Forsythe soon saw that break 
fast with Garcia was nothing at all, so he asked Garcia 
to have breakfast with him, which he did. After break 
fast, which w r as about 10:00 o clock in the morning, Gar 
cia told Colonel Forsythe that he would have to go to 
El Valle, the head of the district and would have to re 
main a prisoner till such an invasion could be settled by 
their respective governments. 

Garcia asked Forsythe to be his guest during the time 
he would be detained, and said he hoped there would be 
no hard feeling between them. Garcia said he would 
have to dismount Forsythe s troops and confiscate the 
rations, and was going on at that rate when Forsythe 
interrupted him and said: 

"I know I am violating an international agreement 
and I knew what I was doing when I came in here, and 
I know what I am going to do now. I am going to mount 
my command and go back as I came down here, and that 
was without order or command. I will not submit to go 
anywhere with you and your command. I will now bid 
you good day." 

Forsythe ordered the troops to get ready for a row if 
it was necessary to have a row; he ordered the packers to 


pack up, which they did in a very few minutes, and we 
mounted and pulled back toward the United States line. 

Garcia did not attempt to stop us or to interfere at all. 
He had given the Indians a very severe blow. While he 
had killed only women and children, he had captured 
more than four hundred horses, and the Indians would 
not learn for a long time that it was an accident or a 
scratch that we ran them into the arms of the Mexicans. 

This was the thirteenth day since the outbreak at San 
Carlos. Sieber, Micky and I returned to San Carlos and 
the remainder of the troops went to their respective 

Sieber, as chief of scouts, had to make a written report 
of the whole trip to the Department Commander, and in 
that report he said that from the time the Indians broke 
out at San Carlos and killed Chief of Police Stirling, till 
w r e quit them on Carretas Creek in the State of Chihua 
hua, Mexico, that the scouts had been constantly on the 
flank of the hostiles, assisting and ready to give correct 
information to any one of the different troop command 
ers w r e came in contact with. He then gave the details 
very much as I have discribed them. He made a "general 
big kick" against the idea of sending detachments of 
from twenty men to forty men to chastise a bunch of from 
260 to 320 Chiricahua braves. He also got in a roar 
about the transportation and poor condition of the field 
organization and the lack of available troops for a pur 
suit such as we had just been on. He said, also, he had 
again employed me on his own responsibility and wanted 
me kept on regular; ajso predicted a big, general row all 
over the Reservation and on the Mexico line. He said 
that on our recent raid we had engaged the Indians three 


different times and all the Indians killed were five killed 
by a bunch of nine soldiers and one scout. Spoke also 
of the number of captured horses. 

The Department Commander sent this report on to 
the Secretary of War. He notified Sieber in a personal 
letter what he had done, and said he could do no more, 
as there was not sufficient money appropriated with 
which to do anything. 



Sieber, Horn and Micky Free Visit the White Mountain 
Indians Old Pedro s Advice and Prophecy The 
Three Scouts Report for Orders at Camp Apache 
"This Is a Trap, Men Will Leave This Post Who Will 
Never Return Alive. But We Must Make the Bluff." 
A Perilous Journey Betrayed By Dead Shot and 
Dandy Jim Ambush at Cibicu Canon Loss of 
Leader; Eleven Wounded; Deserted by Indian Scouts 
Horn Saves the Command. 

We stayed at San Carlos a while till I could get my 
affairs straightened out with the beef contractors, then 
we all went up into the White Mountain country. By 
"all," I mean Sieber, Micky Free and myself. 

Old Pedro, my friend, was very glad to see all of us, 
and the first night I got to his camp he kept me up all 
night long, telling him of the Chiricahua outbreak and 
raid. He made me go over the story again about how the 
Chiricahuas ran into the Mexican troops. He asked all the 
details of the raid and the exact route taken by each band 
of Indians after they parted and broke up into smaller 
bands. Of course he knew all the hostiles well, and as I 
would describe certain parts of the raid, the old chief 
would say: "Yes, that was Natchez," or "That was Chi- 
hauhau," or "That was old Loco, himself," 


After I had told him the whole story it was daylight 
and Sieber had got up and come to the fire where we were 
sitting, and then the old chief showed his wisdom. 

"Sibi," said Chief Pedro, "this Talking Boy and I 
have been up here all night talking of this raid of the 
Chiricahuas. This boy has told me the whole and I am 
sadly disappointed in one thing. I can t see the work 
of that chief of all devils, called Geronimo. He was not 
in the raid. Where was he? Things are bad now, but 
they would have been far worse had he been there." 

Afterwards we learned sure enough that during this 
raid Geronimo had been laid up with a shot through the 
shoulder. Chief Pedro could tell them all by their 
actions as described by me. He said he was very tired, 
as he was not used to being up all night, and for us to 
make ourselves at home and not to leave, as he wanted to 
talk to Sieber and me, both, on the following night. We 
did not calculate to go away anyhow, so we did as he 

That night Pedro sent for Sieber and me about 10 
o clock, and we again talked nearly all night about 
troubles we were going to have on Cibicu territory, or 
with the Cibicu Indians. Pedro told us they were all bad 
and that they were making lots of trouble for Indians 
who were actually trying to be good and peaceful. Sieber 
asked the old warrior what could be done. 

"I will give you 150 warriors, all good, picked men," 
said Pedro, "and you can go over there and kill a good 
many of them, and then come back and rest up a while, 
then go back and kill some more, and keep that up the 
rest of the summer. By winter time there will still 


be trouble, but there will not be so many mean Indians 
to help out with it." 

Sieber explained to the old man that we could not 
do that. Sieber asked me in English, so Pedro could 
not understand, if I thought it would do to tell Pedro 
how things stood in the Department, and how poorly 
equipped w r e were for a big Indian war, such as we 
thought there was going to be. 

"I know what you think, and maybe it was what you 
were saying," said Pedro, "and that is, that your soldiers 
are not prepared for so much war as you both know 
there is going to be. Both of you are well acquainted 
with both soldiers and renegade Indians, and you know 
that while your white soldiers are without fear, they 
can never meet the Apaches in battle where the white 
soldier will have a chance. Brave though your soldiers 
may be, you must remember that while the Indians are 
renegades and outlaws, they also are brave as any, and 
perfectly well acquainted with all the country, and can 
live like the wolf and evade the white soldier, who has 
never had such training as the Indians. A mad man, 
though his will be ever so good, can not overtake, in the 
mountains, a bad man who is trying to get away. I am 
an old man, now; I am very old, and am a chief. I have 
fought the white soldiers many a time, and I know just 
how they act in battle and on the trail, and I am better 
able to give you truth than any other man you can find, 
be he white or red. I can not read in books, and I can 
not write on paper, but I can look at the forest, and the 
mountains, and on the ground, and I can read every 
sign there. I can look at the action of a bad Indian, and 
can tell how he feels and what he will do. Sibi, you 


are a great hunter. You know what kind of a place to 
go to for deer and turkey. When you see a band of 
deer or turkey you know what they will do and how 
they will act. I am an old, broken down warrior, and 
many years of my life have been spent at war with 
Americans and Mexicans, and I know them as you know 
them, and as you know the deer and turkey; and now I 
am going to tell you what you know well, and you may 
think" I am a fool to tell you, but there is going to be a 
great lot of war, of which this last outbreak is the starter, 
and it will continue for many years. Apache soldiers you 
will have to use, for, as brave as your white soldiers are, 
they can not endure the hardships necessary to over 
come the bad Apaches. 

"Those Cibicu Indians will break out soon and they 
will have to go north to the Mogollons, as they are not 
Mexico Indians. So it will be war on the south from the 
Chiricahuas, and war in the north from the Cibicus, and 
many and many a white settler and traveler will be 
killed. Take my advice and my warriors and go at it 
at once. Now, good night, and think this over, and re 
member it is I, Pedro, a wise chief, who tells you this; 
remember, also, that I never talk two ways." 

After Pedro had gone to bed Sieber said to me: 

"Tom, that is exactly what you and I have said all 
the time, and it would be a great thing for the settlers 
of this territory if we could take the old man s advice 
and his warriors and go at these bad Indians; but the 
Government would never tolerate such a thing, and all 
we can do is to do as we are told." 

In a few days we went on to Camp Apache, and Sie 
ber reported to the commanding officer there, as was his 



custom when he went into a Government post. The com 
manding officer told him to come to the adjutant s office 
the next morning, as he wanted to have a talk with him. 

The next morning Sieber and I went to the adjutant s 
office at 9 o clock, and I was ordered out, as the adjutant 
said he had no business with me. Seiber told him I was 
the interpreter, and it would be necessary for me to 
know of anything that was going to be done. 

"My business," said the adjutant, "is not with an in 
terpreter; it is with you, who are the chief of scouts." 

I was turned out, and went and sat down and waited 
for Sieber to get through. When Sieber came out he 
looked so grave and solemn that I did not speak to him 
till he spoke to me. At last, when we got to our camp 
and sat down, he sent an Indian woman to find Micky, 
so we could talk. Then Sieber, Micky and I held a war 
council. Sieber had to talk in Spanish so that Micky 
could understand, and then he told us what we had to do. 

"I am ordered," said Sieber, "to take you two boys 
and go with a detachment of soldiers to Canon Creek, 
and from there to Cibicu, and see these Indians and 
arrest five of them who are making all of this trouble, 
as the adjutant says, and we are to take a lot of those 
same Indians with us to show us who these Indians are. 
We are to arrest them and confine them here in the guard 

Sieber then named several Apache scouts who were 
attached to the fort, and said we would go with them. 

"Dead Shot and Dandy Jim are both sergeants of the 
scouts," he continued, "and they will show us the men 
we are to arrest. There will be a detachment of about 


twenty men to go with us. Now, those are my instruc 

We were all paralyzed by such an order, for this rea 
son: Dead Shot and Dandy Jim were two of the worst 
of all the bad men, and they were capable of doing any 
thing bad and nothing good. They were both Cibicu In 
dians, and entirely in sympathy with anything the bad 
Indians on Cibicu wanted to do. Sieber, as Chief of 
Scouts, had made a strong protest against enlisting these 
two at the time they were enlisted, as he knew them well, 
and knew their reputation with the other Indians. They 
both, also, had considerable influence with all bad and 
turbulent Indians, and were sworn enemies of Sieber and 
Micky; but as for myself, I knew them by reputation 

"There will be men leave this post in the morning 
who will either be brought back dead, or else will be left 
dead in the mountains," said Micky, "for this is a trap 
that we are going into, and they will try hardest to kill 
us three, for they think we have no business to come up 
here and interfere with them. A rabbit trap will catch 
a wolf, but it won t hold him," added Micky; "so we will 
just act as though we suspected nothing. We won t be 
able to find the Indians that we are going after, but we 
must make the bluff." 

Micky suggested that after we got started he would 
look after Dead Shot, and for me to look after Dandy 
Jim; "and," said Micky, "we will civilize them." Sieber 
said that was his idea exactly, as he himself would have 
to be with the soldiers all the time. 

Such was the trip we started on the next morning. 
Luckily for the soldiers, there were about thirty men of 


them, but Dead Shot had told the adjutant a dozen 
would be enough. "Those Indians are not bad, and are 
not renegades," said Dead Shot; "they will all help the 
soldiers to arrest these bad men, and it is a good thing 
to send the white scouts, for they tell lies on all of us; 
and when they see how things are out there, they will 
have nothing to say." 

At Canon Creek we camped and found there a lot of 
Indians. Among them was a captive (Mexican). His 
name was Suneriano. Suneriano had been captured by 
these Indians when a small boy, and had never left them. 
At this time he was married ; had a couple of women and 
half a dozen children. 

Way long in the middle of the night one of his kids, 
a girl about nine or ten years old, came and woke me. 
She crawled down beside me, or rather was crouching 
there when she woke me. She told me she was sent by 
her father, who was Suneriano, to tell me that we would 
all be killed on Cibicu Creek; that there was a trap laid 
for us, and that Dead Shot was going to lead us into it. 
She said all the women and children were then up in the 
mountains, and we would find only warriors. "There are 
about sixty of the men," she said. She then went crawl 
ing away on her stomach and disappeared. I did not 
sleep any more that night, and so quietly did this little 
girl come and go that Micky, who slept within six feet 
of me, did not hear her. 

At daylight I told Sieber what this child had told me, 
and he in turn told Captain Hentig, the officer in com 
mand of the escort. Sieber did not tell Hentig how he 
got the information, but just told him the condition of 
things out there. Hentig told Sieber that if he was 


afraid he could take his two men, meaning Micky and 
me, and go back to Camp Apache. Sieber replied no; 
that we would go along to pilot the scattered soldiers 
back to Camp Apache! 

About noon we got to Cibicu Creek, and Sieber spoke 
to me and told me to w r atch my man, and to tell Micky 
to watch his. We could not see any Indians where there 
should have been lots of them camped, and Dead Shot 
said they had probably moved down the creek; and there 
it was that he came to understand that we understood 
what he was trying to do, for Micky said to him: "Dead 
Shot, w r e are onto your game, and I am going to stay 
close to you all the time, and if any thing goes wrong 
you will be stealing moccasins in the camp of the Great 
Spirit just as soon as the fight comes off." 

(Dead Shot was accused by the squaws of having once 
stolen a pair of moccasins from a woman of Pedro s band. 
This is the lowest crime an Apache brave can commit.) 

Dead Shot saw that Dandy Jim was in about the same 
fix that he himself was. He appealed to Captain Hentig, 
but had to do so through Sieber, as he and Hentig could 
not understand each other. Hentig ordered us to leave 
them, and we told him we were not doing as Dead Shot 
accused us of doing. Hentig then ordered Micky and me 
to get behind, which we did. 

Dead Shot wanted to go down the canon, but Sieber 
swung up the side of the canon, and then it was that the 
Indians in ambush opened up on us, for they saw that 
Sieber would not go into their trap. They were not pre 
pared for such a move as we made, and consequently did 
not do a great deal of damage. Dead Shot and Dandy 
Jim being in front of the soldiers while Micky and I were 


behind, they both made a run and got away as soon as 
the firing started. About ten minutes after the fight 
started, Captain Hentig was killed. There were eleven 
men wounded in the fight, but none badly. Our Indian 
scouts all left us. There were five of them. 

We saw the renegades running to get on a high point 
directly over us, and Sieber yelled to Micky and me to 
get up there first, which we did. We beat the renegades 
to the top by about forty yards and this saved the whole 
party. Had the renegades reached this point we never 
could have gotten out of Cibicu Canon. This point was 
the commanding place, and five soldiers came up and 
helped Micky and me to hold it. Sieber got Hentig s 
body on a pack mule, and when we were all ready they 
came up out of the canon. 

We turned off the trail and buried Hentig in the hills, 
and then started to make our way back to Camp Apache. 
W T e had to leave all trails and stick to the mountains, 
but were not bothered any more, for it got dark about the 
time we started, and we traveled all night, daylight find 
ing us at Camp Apache minus Captain Hentig and our 
Indian scouts. 



The Fort Fired Upon, "This Means War." Horn Sent 
to White Mountains and Returns With Sixty of 
Pedro s Picked Braves "Tom Horn and His War 
Dogs" on the Renegades Trail Indian Atrocities 
Chaffee, Sieber and Kehoe Join the Chase, "Tired, But 
Full of Fight." At Bay in Chevlon s Canon Block 
ing the Only Exit A Deadly Trap Heavy Storm 
Stops Fight "Major Chaffee Too Wet and Cold to 
Swear." A Bear Story. 

Sieber wanted to report to the commanding officer, 
but before he could find him and report, the Indians com 
menced to fire on the Fort. They commenced about sun 
up, and kept up their firing for about an hour. There 
were not more than one hundred of them, and the nearest 
of them were three hundred yards away. They did not 
hit anything except a pony belonging to one of the chil 
dren in the Fort. The pony was in a small shed, and the 
bullet passed through the shed. In about an hour the 
soldiers were ordered to go up on the hills and drive the 
Indians away, which they did. 

This meant war. Until this time the Indians were al 
lowed to do as they pleased. Now telegrams were sent 
to Camp Thomas, Camp Grant, Camp McDowell and 
Camp Verde, in response to which troops began to come 
in after a couple of days. 


Two hours after the renegades had been driven off the 
hills I was sent to Pedro s camp, about twenty miles 
away, and by 10:00 o clock that night I was back at 
Camp Apache with sixty volunters from Pedro, and they 
did sure look "fighty." All of them had rifles of their 
own, but that night I made all of them put their own 
guns in the Government storehouse, and gave each of 
them a Springfield carbine and belt and all the ammu 
nition they wanted. My object in this was to have them 
all armed with guns that used Government ammunition. 
Their own guns were good, but shot all kinds of ammu 

The second day, Colonel Eugene A. Carr came in from 
Camp Thomas with two troops of cavalry. He was the 
first to arrive, and he, as ranking officer, took command. 
Lots of the Indians from both Cibicu and Canon Creek 
were coming in. They camped close to the Post and said 
they did not want to be classed with the ones who had 
killed Hentig and fired on the Post. Many of them said 
that while they lived on Cibicu, they were under the in 
fluence of the renegades, who lived there, and that they 
had to do as the bad ones said. 

Well, we started out to find the bad Indians, and we 
knew from the information we got from the other In 
dians who had come in that there was a band of about 
sixty of the turbulent ones. We could not learn any 
thing from the rest of the Indians except where these 
sixty Indians were. 

"Horn, you take your war dogs and find them," said 
Colonel Carr to me. 


I had previously told him I could find them within 
a few days sure, for my volunteers knew the country so 
well that the renegades could not get away. 

"Find them," said Carr, "and go at them; then send 
me word and I will come, and come a-runnin ? , too." 

I started out and went right straight to the renegades. 
When I struck their trail I saw they were headed in the 
direction of Green Valley. I sent word back to Camp 
Apache to Carr, and kept on after them. In Green Val 
ley I found they had taken a lot of horses from old man 
Tweeksbury and a lot from Al Rose. About ten miles 
farther on I found they had killed Louie Huron and 
Charley Sigsbee. All of the settlers thereabout had 
joined me. I left them to bury the dead men and look 
after one of the Sigsbee boys who had ben wounded, and 
who had killed one of the renegades after he was shot. 

I was all alone with my "w r ar dogs" as Colonel Carr 
called them, and they were very anxious to strike the 
renegades, who were not more than six hours ahead of 
us. It was night, though, and we had to camp and get 
ready for a big ride on the next day. Our horses were 
a little tired and my main man of these Indian volunteers, 
whose name was Tul-pi, said we could start as late as 
daybreak and yet strike the renegades before night. We 
camped and Sigsbee let us turn our horses in his pasture 
where the feed was fine. Sigsbee gave us a sack of flour 
and we killed a yearling heifer belonging to Stimpson, 
and proceeded to "fill up." Tul-pi had put out guards 
around on the hills, and pretty soon they yelled that 
there w r as American cavalry coming. It was perfectly 
dark, but they could tell from the sound of the horses 
feet. I got on one of the guard s ponies and went to 


meet the cavalry; for my men were all Indians and I was 
afraid we might be taken for hostiles. 

It proved to be Major Chaffee, Al Sieber and Pat 
Kehoe. Chaffee had started from McDowell and had 
come through the Green Valley at a guess, and he had 
struck it right. Sieber and Pat Kehoe had been close to 
Camp Apache, and had met the courier I was sending 
back to let Colonel Carr know I was on the trail, so on 
they came after me. They had run into Major Chaffee 
in Green Valley. 

Well, we all camped, and as they had been traveling 
all day and it was now past 9 o clock at night, they were 
a tired lot, but they were all full of fight. 

After everybody got filled up we had a war talk, and 
I told Major Chaffee what my war chief had to say, and 
that was that we could strike the Indians next day. 
Sieber and Kehoe thought the same thing, but all of us 
knew we would have to make a long, hard drive to 
make it. 

At daylight, Major Chaffee cut loose from his pack 
trains, and away we went. About ten miles from where 
we camped, the Indians had camped and then we knew 
we would get them that day. How we did go. All my 
men were mounted on their very best war ponies, and all 
had had a good night s feed and rest, so everything was 
in shape for a big day s ride. The cavalry troop were in 
like condition and all extra traps had been left with the 
pack train. 

About 10 o clock we came to the Meadows Ranch, on 
the east fork of the Verde, and found old man Meadows 
killed, Hank shot all to pieces, and John also badly shot 
up. We left the doctor, a couple of soldiers and a 


couple of citizens who were following us to help them, 
and learned from the ranchers that the renegades had 
most likely seen us coming when they left the Meadows 
Ranch. Mrs. Meadows swore the Indians were not half 
a mile ahead of us. 

As soon as we left the Meadows Ranch we could see 
that there was a change in things, for the renegades be 
gan to go faster and to drop horses. About noon we 
struck them as we went up out of the basin on to the 
rim. We struck only a few, and that formed the rear 
guard they had thrown out. My men killed one and shot 
another so we caught him in about a mile. He soon died. 
He proved to be one of the men who had mutinied when 
Hentig was killed. We overtook him at a place called 
Crook s Springs. I was trying to hold some of my men 
out so as to keep us from running into a trap, but Major 
Chaffee said the renegades were traveling so fast they 
could not lay an ambush for us. Anyhow, we were trav 
eling so fast I could not keep my men out. Tul-pi said 
we would get the renegades w r hen they were crossing 
Chevlon s Fork, a very deep canon a short distance 
ahead. Sieber and Pat thought the same thing. Chev- 
lon s Canon was a canon that could be crossed in but a 
few places on account of its depth and the precipitous 
nature of its walls. We all knew this crossing we were 
coming to, and Sieber told Chaffee to send five men with 
Pat Kehoe to go below, and the Indians could never get 
up on the other side. 

As we came to the banks of the canon the renegades 
were just starting up on the opposite side. We opened 
fire on them, of course. About half way up the side of 
the canon, on the opposite side, the trail would have 


to run around on a wide bench for a ways to find an 
opening in the bench to allow them to pass through. 
Then there would be a place in the trail leading straight 
away from us. The distance was just about six hundred 
yards, and when they came to a place that led straight 
away from us it made fine shooting. Going up over the 
last rim was a place about sixty feet long, and no one 
could get out of the canon without going through this 
place. Sieber and the first sergeant of I Troop (Chaffee s), 
whose name was Woodall, and who was a famous shot, 
took up a position with me to command this last slide, 
to stop as many Indians and horses as possible. 

It was a deadly place for the renegades. We had 
been at them an hour, at least, before they got up to 
this place, and they were pretty badly demoralized. Pat 
Kehoe had gotten his five men down in the canon be 
low them, and they could not go that way. Up the canon 
it was impossible for them to go, so up the slide they had 
to go. Not a horse ever did jret up that place. There 
were three started up at first, and the one in the lead 
was a gray. I suppose we all thought the same thing, 
and that was if we could hit the lead horse he would 
fall back on the others and knock them down like ten 
pins. We all fired at the gray horse and down he came, 
struggling, and back he knocked the two behind him. 
We all felt good, for if Sieber and Woodall felt as I did, 
each of them thought his shot had done the work. 

"Good work, men!" cried Major Chaff ee; "keep that 
hole stopped and we have got em." He did not use just 
those words, for Chaffee, in a fight, can beat any man 
swearing I ever heard. He swears by ear, and by note in 
a common way, and by everything else in a general way. 


He would swear when his men would miss a good shot, 
and he would swear when they made a good shot. He 
swore at himself for not bringing more ammunition, and 
he would swear at his men for wasting their ammuni 
tion or shooting too often. Then an Indian would expose 
himself and he would swear and yell: "Shoot, you damned 
idiots! What do you suppose I give you ammunition for 
to eat?" 

The gray horse stuck in the trail and no other horse 
could get up till he was gotten out of the way. Several 
renegades tried to get him out of the way, but it was 
an awful place to work to much advantage, for we were 
all good shots, and while the distance was close to six 
hundred yards, we had the range down so fine, and we 
were perhaps fifty feet above them, so that for that dis 
tance the spot for us was ideal. After they saw they 
could not get the gray horse away from the place where 
he had fallen, another tried to lead his horse over the 
gray one, and down that horse went; not ontop of the 
gray, but nearly so, and that blocked the trail completely. 
No more horses tried to go through, but several Indians 
ran up on foot. 

About 4 o clock there came up the heaviest hail and 
rain storm that I ever saw in my life. There was heavy 
pine timber all over the country. The storm came up 
suddenly, and it got so very dark that we could not see 
across the canon. Then the hail and rain commenced. 
Wah! I feel cold and wet from it yet! That hail and 
rain punished us pretty well, I tell you. It was over in 
tw r enty minutes, and the fight was over, also. All of us 
were so cold and wet we could neither see nor shoot, and 


there was a regular torrent running in the bottom of the 

After the storm was over we went back a short dis 
tance and waited and wished for Chaffee s pack train. 
About 6 o clock we were all surprised to see the pack 
train come in, but in the meanwhile we had some fires 
started and were feeling better. We soon got something 
to eat, for there were many willing cooks that night. 
The pack train had seen no hail nor rain and was per 
fectly dry. Our horses were all doing well, for the grass 
was as fine and fresh as I ever saw anywhere. 

After dark Colonel Carr and a couple of troops of cav 
alry came in. He had made a very long march, having 
come from Canon Creek that day. He also went into 
camp, and considering how wet and cold we all had 
been at 4 o clock, we thought now we were in luck. 

A lieutenant in Chaffee s troop, who was afterwards 
killed on San Juan Hill (his name was West), in telling 
some of the officers of Carr s command how wet and 
cold we got, explained everything about it to his own 
satisfaction by saying: "Why, Major Chaff ee got so cold 
and wet he had to stop swearing." (Carr and his com 
mand had not seen any rain or hail, either.) 

On the following morning we were all thrown out to 
cross the canon and see what damage we had done the 
day before. We found a sad looking outfit up on the 
side of the canon. Out of more than a hundred horses, 
the renegades had only about twenty that were not killed 
or wounded. We found twenty-one dead Indians, and 
one wounded squaw. Some of the soldiers afterwards 
said that there were a couple of wounded bucks, but that 
Micky had stuck his knife into them. Micky had come 


up with Carr the night before. I don t know if Micky did 
this deed or not; but I am afraid he did. 

A squaw had been shot on the shin bone by a Spring 
field rifle ball, and the bone was of course shattered in 
a thousand pieces. The soldiers, some of them, ran 
onto her, and were getting ready to carry her back to 
camp, under the direction of the army surgeon; when 
they were all ready to start with her she began to scream 
and motion, and kept pointing to a pile of rocks and 
brush, and one of the soldiers looked to see what there 
was there that she was making so much fuss about, as 
they could not understand what she was saying. The 
soldier found a little old papoose, about ten months or 
a year old, concealed under that rubbish. One of the 
men carried it along over to camp. There the surgeons 
cut her leg off, and she was sent into Camp Verde along 
with a few wounded soldiers we had. 

All the rest of the troops, except Major Chaffee s, re 
turned to their respective posts, while Chaffee and his 
troop, my volunteers and I, started out to see if we could 
find which way the escaped Indians had gone. 

The wounded squaw told Tul-pi that there had been 
about forty-five warriors in the party, and she thought 
most of them were killed. She said they all knew that 
a lot of Pedro s warriors were with the soldiers, and they 
were all very mad because Pedro would send his men 
out after them. The woman said the Cibicus learned 
the morning of the day of the fight that these men of 
Pedro s were after them. 

We could not learn anything of the ones who had es 
caped, for most of them had gotten away before the hail 
of the day before. Nearly every evening a hail storm 


or a rain storm would come up, and as all the men we 
were after were on foot, the signs of them were soon ob 

We stayed around there on top of the mountain for 
about ten days. We even went as far down as Chane s 
Pass, where there was a sheep camp. We camped within 
about a mile of the Pass, and several of us went down to 
see if they had seen any sign of the scattered renegades, 
but found they had not. 

The foreman of the shearing pens, (they were shear 
ing), told us a big, long-winded story of a bear that was 
packing a sheep off every night, and how they had lain 
out by the shearing pens all night watching for him to 
come back so they could kill him. 

We w r ent back to camp, and about 1 o clock that night 
a sheep herder came to our camp to see if he could get 
our doctor to come down to the shearing pens. He told 
us that the bear they had been laying for for several 
nights had made his appearance. The bear, from what 
we could learn from the herder, had come along about 
midnight and the two men who were lying there fired 
at him. The bear grabbed one of the men and nearly 
ate him up before all of the men belonging to the camp 
could get the bear to let up on his victim. The com 
panion of the w T ounded man had gone for help as soon 
as the bear grabbed his partner, and in a couple of 
minutes nearly all the men in camp were there. The 
bear had been very busy in the meanwhile, and when all 
the camp got around him he had dropped his man and 
skipped out. Our doctor, or rather surgeon, went down 
with the herder, and I followed a few minutes later with 
Sieber. The man the bear had been doing business with 


was still alive, but he was the worst used up man I ever 
saw. He was crushed and bitten and broken in every 
bone and muscle, so our doctor said. He died before 
morning. Some of the men in the sheep camp said the 
bear had been eating sheep meat till he was tired of it, 
and when he met a hog he thought he would have a mess 
of it. 

Finally we got word to leave the top of the mountain 
and go back home. Chaffee went back by way of Camp 
Verde and I went back to Camp Apache and disbanded 
my volunteers. The scattered renegades had all returned 
to Cibicu and Canon Creek and were hiding among the 
other Indians. 



Horn "Gets" the Four Bad Indians Wanted at Camp 
Apache Horn Is "Threatened" With a Government 
Medal for Bravery "I Did Nothing Very Great." 
The Medal Still Waiting Sieber and Horn Before 
Investigating Committee Border Justice to Horse- 
Thieves Dealt Under Horn s Directions Unexpected 
Interruption by Department Commander and Depart 
ment Inspector A Row and Reconciliation A Clever 
Indian Trick. 

I had been working since early in the spring and had 
not received any pay and Sieber had had a good deal of 
correspondence about it. When we got back to Camp 
Apache I was informed by the Quartermaster that my 
pay was all straightened out and was at San Carlos, for 
me to go there without delay and get it. 

The commanding officer at Camp Apache wanted to 
get the rest of the Indians who had mutinied when Hentig 
was killed, and asked me to go and see if I could do any 
thing toward catching them. I sent a man to Jon Dazen, 
a bad man and a big chief on Canon Creek, to say that 
if he did not bring in these four Indians right away I 
would go to Pedro and get a lot of his warriors and go 
down there and look for them. 

Jon Dazen did not want me down there with Pedro s 
braves, so in four days after I sent him this word, he 
came into Camp Apache with the four men the com- 


manding officer wanted. They were Dead Shot, Dandy 
Jim, Loco and another man whose name I do not remem 
ber. (These bad Indians were later, in 1882, hanged at 
Camp Grant). 

I was not in Camp Apache when these Indians were 
brought in, as I had gone to Pedro s camp to see and 
council with him as to how to get these Indians. 

"Go back to Camp Apache," said the old warrior, 
"and in a few days they will be brought in. Those bad 
men down there have had enough of you and of my men, 
and to keep you from coming down there with my men 
they will surrender the men you want." 

And, sure enough, when I got back to Camp Apache, 
the men were all in the guard house, heavily ironed. 

I then proceeded to San Carlos to get my pay, now so 
long delayed. 

Everything was quite there, the only excitement they 
had had right at the Agency during the summer was the 
killing of Charley Culvig, who had been made Chief of 
the Agency Police after Stirling was killed. Colvig, or 
"Cibicu Charley," as he was called, had gone up the San 
Carlos River one day on some business or other, and at 
the place called the Ten Mile Pole, he was shot and killed. 

His killing had not created much trouble, as the In 
dian police with him had killed the man who shot him, 
and that was all there was to it. 

Sieber went to San Carlos and located for the winter, 
and I was left to look after things all over the Reserva 
tion. Sieber, after he located at San Carlos, sent and 
got Sage and made him Chief of Police. 

I received a long complimentary letter from the De 
partment Commander, General Wilcox, along in the fall 


or early winter, telling me that I was an excellent man, 
and that he had taken proper steps to have a medal pre 
sented to me for bringing old Sergeant Murray out of the 
fight after he was wounded on what was called in the 
letter, Tupper s Battle Ground at the Sierra Media in 
Mexico, and also for saving the balance of the command 
after Captain Hentig had been killed on Cibicu; describ 
ing how I, under heavy fire, took one man and gained a 
high commanding point over the troops and kept them 
from getting demoralized and annihilated, by yelling to 
the soldiers to keep cool and to send up another man or 
two; that with the assistance of tw r o more men I could 
whip all the Cibicus in the hills; also, for my excellent 
service with my volunteer force from Pedro s camp. 

That was the first time I learned I had done anything 
very great. 

On the famous Tupper s Battle Ground, (I had always 
considered that was no fight), I thought at that time, and 
I think so now, that we were bent not so much on fight 
ing as we were on getting a lot of ponies. I know there 
was no thought of whipping the Indians, for we knew 
we could not do that, and the only thing we could do was 
capture a lot of horses for Major Tupper to "show off." 
Of course I brought old Sergeant Murray out of the fight, 
but I had taken him in also, and I could not very well 
leave the old man alone; for he was an old Civil War 
veteran, had been soldiering for about twenty-five years, 
and after he was knocked off his horse he could not walk, 
and if I got him away from under the Indians fire I had 
to pack him. So, actually, that is all there was to that; 
but the way it was described on paper, it did look great. 


There at Cibicu I was afraid Sieber would get killed, 
for I could have run away myself easily enough, but 
Sieber kept with the soldiers and he and some of the men 
were carrying Hentig, who was dead. I could not run 
away and leave Sieber. He would not leave the soldiers, 
and when I saw that, I knew I would have to fight the 
Indians away till they all got out. I know I was not 
thinking at all of keeping the soldiers from getting killed 
nor demoralized, as this great letter said, but I knew 
Hentig was dead, and I was wondering all the time what 
they wanted to monkey with a dead man for. The reason 
I yelled to Sieber to send me a couple more men was be 
cause when Sieber started in to get them out I knew it 
would not be worth while to tell him to cut loose from 
the soldiers and run up to where I was, for I knew when 
he started to do anything he would do it. So I had to 
hold off the hostiles to let Sieber get out. I never 
thought of saving the rest of the command. 

As for my now famous volunteers, Pedro s warriors, 
had I not taken them with me Pedro would have thought 
I had no confidence in him nor his braves. So the whole 
letter, while highly complimentary, was simply based on 
some account of these affairs as reported to him by some 
army officer, and in reality there was nothing extra 
ordinary about any of it. 

By the way, that was the last I ever heard of that 

Along before Christmas there came to San Carlos a 
delegation of army officers to see Sieber and me about 
our raid into Mexican territory. "In violation of the in 
ternational agreement between the United States of 
America and the Republic of Mexico," I think this sum- 


mons read. There were eight officers in this investigating 
committee, and two of them were Mexicans, though they 
spoke English fluently. 

Sieber was sworn in and told his tale, and then I was 
sworn in and told mine. I don t remember now the 
names of these officers. I did not know their names at 
the time, except of one of the Mexican officers, which 
was E. Milo Kosterlitzki. He was a Polander by birth, 
a very gallant and courteous officer, whom I afterw r ards 
got to know intimately. 

All we had to do was to tell them what we knew, and 
I was asked who I got my orders from, and I told them 
I got them from Sieber, the chief of scouts. I was asked 
if Major Tupper gave me any commands, and I told them 
no; I was asked if Colonel Forsythe gave me any orders, 
and I told them no. I never heard of anything being 
done about the affair afterwards. Everything was done 
very quietly, and Sieber told me to keep my own council 
in this matter. 

Along early in 1881, while I was camped about twelve 
miles above San Carlos, Indians kept complaining to me 
about Mexicans stealing their horses, and several of them 
wanted me to do something about it. I rode down to 
the Agency and saw Sieber, and asked him what I 
could do. 

"Organize your Injins, and the next time any horses 
are stolen, go after them," said Sieber. 

I went back up to camp and called up all the sub- 
chiefs, and from them learned that Mexicans had come 
in on the Reservation on two different occasions, stolen 
horses (always taking the best war ponies), and headed, 
on both occasions, towards the source of Turkey Creek, 


keeping on to the Mexican settlements on the Little Colo 
rado River. 

I then made arrangements for six different Indians 
to keep up a good horse apiece each night, so they could 
be gotten early in the morning, and for them to keep 
that up until more horses were stolen, and to let me 
know as soon as possible after the horses were taken. 

Along in February word came in, about dawn one 
morning, that the Mexicans had stolen a bunch of horses 
and gone. In ten minutes after the word came in I was 
started with two men, the way the Mexicans had been seen 
going, about an hour before daylight, by some squaws 
that were camped up in the hills gathering muscal. By 
sunup there were six of us on the trail of the horses. We 
soon saw they were not more than a couple or three 
miles ahead of us, and then we concluded they would 
come up out of the canon close to Turkey Springs. One 
of my men said there was a trail we could get over that 
we could make a cut-off and either overtake them or get 
ahead of them. These Turkey Springs were on top of 
the mountains, and the Mexicans would have a down-hill 
swing from there, if they could make it. The Govern 
ment road also ran by the springs. 

We took the cut-off on the Mexicans and got in ahead 
of them all right, just at the Turkey Springs. The first 
the Mexicans knew, we were ahead of them. I yelled 
to one of them to surrender. He started to run, ran 
right up to one of my men and was killed. The other 
two Mexicans were killed also, but one of them ran about 
half a mile before the Indians got him. Finally, my men 
came back and said they had killed the last one over in 
the head of the gulch, and had his horse, saddle and gun. 


The horse, by the way, was a war horse belonging to one 
of the Indians. 

About this time, Indians who had started later than 
we did began to come in, and some of them had been 
close enough to hear the shooting. Half an hour after 
we got to Turkey Springs we had all the horses, and the 
three Mexicans w r ere dead. Everybody felt good, and 
as two of the dead Mexicans were close to the springs, 
and one of them was off some distance, one of the bucks 
said he did not get there in time to help kill them, but 
that he and his partner would go and drag the one up 
that was over in the head of the next gulch. So away 
they went. 

I wanted to bury the Mexicans, but the Indians said, 
"No, let them lie by the side of the road here at the 
springs, and any other Mexicans coming along will see 
them, and, as all Mexicans are horse-thieves, when they 
see these dead Mexicans they will decide that it is not 
good to steal Apache horses!" 

Just then we heard the tramp of cavalry horses, and, 
as they were on the Government road, I got on my horse 
and went to meet them, for by this time there was a 
large bunch of Indians at the springs. 

It proved to be the ambulance of General Wilcox and 
his escort. He was making a round of the Government 
posts with the department inspector. They were right 
on us, and came on up to the springs, as they were going 
to stop there for feed and lunch. Of course, the first 
things they saw were the two dead Mexicans, and, as 
I had never met General Wilcox personally, so that he 
knew me, I told him who I was, and he said, "Yes, yes." 


Then he saw the dead Mexicans and asked me what 
it meant, and asked me where the troops were, and I 
told or was telling him how it all came up, but I could 
see that he was mad. To make bad matters worse, just 
then up came the two Indians who had gone after the 
Mexican in the next gulch, and now they came, dragging 
him, with each of them a rope tied to the dead Mexican s 
feet. General Wilcox did not know at first what they 
were dragging, but as Indians and soldiers gathered 
around the newly arrived, the General saw what it was. 
I was trying to explain it all to him, but he did not want 
any explanation, and oh, what a raking he did give me! 

I can t remember all the things he said of me, but 
none of them were very complimentary, and perhaps 
that is the reason I can t remember them. 

Among other things, he said it was no wonder there 
was so much turbulence on the Reservation, when a 
white man of my position and influence with the Indians 
tolerated such things as this. "And not only do you tol 
erate it," he said, "but I believe you encourage it. I 
have a notion to have you arrested by my escort and 
take you to Camp Thomas and put you in irons." 

I wanted to explain it all to him, but he would not 
let me talk, and would keep telling me not to talk back 
to him, but he would not quit upbraiding me. I was 
getting pretty tired of it, so I thought as Sieber always 
swore and raised Cain when he got in trouble that I 
would try the same game on Wilcox. I tore loose at 
him, and I did my best to equal Sieber or Major Chaffee, 
but I was a novice in the art compared with such ac 
complished veterans. Still, I could see I was making 
an impression, so I kept on and "gave him the other 


barrel/ and really I guess I did pretty well. My Indians 
all came around, and, while they did not understand one 
word that was being spoken, they knew I was mad, or 
they thought I was, and they knew it must be the horse- 
thieves that had caused the trouble; at any rate, they 
were with me heart and soul. 

General Wilcox was a fine-looking soldier. An old 
man he was at this time; his hair was perfectly white. 
He was dressed in civilian s clothes, and the Indians 
knew he must be a man of importance, but it did not 
make any difference to them who he was, for they were 
with me, body and soul. 

I guess I swore and tore along at a pretty fair rate, 
for the old man seemed paralyzed for a while. Then he 
ordered the officer of the escort to drive me and the 
Indians out of camp. We started in a minute after we 
got the order, and then General Wilcox called me back 
and said: "What are you going to do with those dead 
Mexicans?" I told him I guessed we would leave them, 
as we had no use for them at camp. He ordered his 
escort to bury them, and then told me to skip, and said 
he would take my case up with Sieber, my Chief of 

Every time I would start off, he would call me back 
and have some more words with me, but he kept getting 
in a better humor all the time, and finally wound up by 
asking me to stay to lunch with them! This I could not 
do, as I had all my braves, who would have had to go 
hungry; and, though it was now noon, I explained to 
the General that we had all had to start before break 
fast, and were as hungry as wolves; that, though it was 


forty miles to camp, we did not think much of the 
return rider. 

General Wilcox then called the officer in charge of 
the escort and made some inquiries about the rations, 
and we were given a sack of flour and some bacon. This 
I told the Indians to cook and eat, and in a short time 
we were all eating. 

General Wilcox had his youngest son with him, and 
the boy was looking at a fancy buckskin bag one of the 
Indians had; was admiring it and wanted to buy it. I 
spoke to the Indian, telling him to give the bag to the 
boy, but to take nothing for it. The Indian then gave 
the boy the bag. Young Wilcox insisted on giving the 
donor a dollar, but the Indian spoke to the other 
Indians to get in a bunch. This they did, for they well 
understood the game proposed. The Indian who had 
given the bag then crowded into the bunch of Indians. 
The Indians immediately scattered out again, and young 
Wilcox did not know which of the Indians had given 
him the trinket. This caused a big laugh among the 
soldiers and Indians, and, as the whole outfit was now 
ready for the road again, after bidding us good-bye, and 
after being told by General Wilcox that may be I under 
stood the Indian question better than he did, and cau 
tioned me "not to do so any more," they pulled out, 
cheered to the echo by my outfit. 

Charley Wilcox, the boy who was with his father, 
General Wilcox, on that trip, is now the business man 
ager for William Cook Daniels, of the old firm of Daniels 
& Fisher, Denver, Colorado. He was for several years 
reporter on a Denver newspaper. 


We all got on our horses and struck out for camp 
as soon as the soldiers left, and it was late when we got 
back, as we rode slowly, having ridden very hard in the 
morning. Our ponies had gotten a couple of hours rest 
while we were at Turkey Springs, but we were forty 
miles from camp. 

The next day I went down to the Agency and told 
Sieber the whole thing just as it happened of the row 
and reconciliation with General Wilcox. Sieber said I 
was doing well for a boy! to get such a complimentary 
letter from the Department Commander one month, and 
to fall out with him the next was a good way to keep 
the Government in mind that there was, in their employ, 
such a man as Tom Horn! 

Nothing more was ever done or said about any of 
that affair so far as I ever heard, but we lost no more 
ponies by Mexican horse thieves. 



Orders to _ Report at Camp Apache, Camp Verde and 
Fort Whipple Sieber and "Sieber s Boy" Enjoy a 
Fine Trip General George A. Crook Supercedes 
General Wilcox as Department Commander More 
Depredations Sieber and Horn, "An Armed Force," 
Invade Mexico Red-taped, Long-drawn Elaborate 
Investigation Governmental "Censure" - General 
Crook Arrives Big Indian Council United States- 
Mexican Treaty Sieber and Horn Revisit Tombstone 
A Too Warm Welcome. 

There was nothing more doing until April, when 
Sieber was ordered to bring me, come around by Camp 
Apache, report to the commanding officer; to go from 
there to Camp Verde, report there, and then to come 
on to Fort Whipple and report to the commanding 
officer there. We were instructed to take all the time 
we wanted, and to look well over the Reservation, so 
as to be able to report the condition of affairs to the 
commanding officer at Fort Whipple on our arrival there. 

We took three horses apiece and struck out. It was 
a delightful trip, and we enjoyed it to the limit. 

When we got out of the White Mountains and out 
among the settlers in Pleasant Valley and Green Valley 
and Strawberry Valley, and on the Verde River, we were 
treated by the settlers to everything they had to give 


us, and we lived fat and enjoyed the trip as I never 
enjoyed a visit before nor since. Sieber was a great 
favorite with all the settlers, and I was called "Sieber s 
boy," so, for ourselves, on that trip all was lovely. 

At Camp Apache, when we reported there, we were 
just told to go on, but at Camp Verde we were told by 
the adjutant to wait there for further orders. We stayed 
at Camp Verde about six weeks, and were then ordered 
back to San Carlos, and to go in a leisurely manner and 
to keep a good lookout among the settlers of the Tonto 
Basin to see if any of them had been molested by the 
Indians during the spring and summer. 

Before we left Camp Verde we had heard that Gen 
eral George Crook was coming to take command of the 
Department of Arizona. Sieber was glad of it, as he 
said Crook was a good Indian man. 

We had been waiting for a long time to hear some 
news of the Chiricahuas, in Mexico, but, beyond a few 
reports that they had been raiding in Mexico, we did not 
know anything of them. We got back to San Carlos in 
July, and, for the first time since the Chiricahuas broke 
out, we heard of them. A bunch of raiders had come 
back up from Mexico, killed a man close to Stein Peak, 
crossed over within ten miles of Fort Bowie, killed a 
man and his son, and stolen a lot of horses at Theo 
White s Ranch, then had gone down through Rucker 
Mountains and into Mexico again. It was said there 
were about twenty or twenty-five bucks in the party. 

From San Carlos we were ordered to Fort Bowie as 
fast as possible. We got there two days afterward, and 
went over to Pinery Canon, struck the trail and followed 
it back to the Mexico line. The Indians crossed the line 



at the Guadaloupe Canon; Sieber and I were alone, but, 
as the Indian trail was three days old, we had no cause 
for alarm. 

The Sixth Cavalry were going to New Mexico, and 
the Third Cavalry were coming to Arizona, so rumor 
said; sure enough, that fall saw a great change in the 
Department. General Crook did not show up in person 
till the summer following, but he was running things, so 
it was said. 

Sieber and I were now kept at Fort Bowie, and were 
given to understand that Bowie would be our headquar 
ters from that time on. We got all our ponies together. 
We had about twenty-five between us, and we hired an 
old Mexican to herd and look after them for us when 
we would be away. 

There was no more raiding during the fall and winter 
of 1881, but we frequently saw where little bunches of 
Indians would come up into Arizona from Mexico, camp 
a few days, and, as there were no settlers down there, 
in these cases we were not bothered. 

Early in the spring of 1882 there was a bunch of rene 
gades from Mexico crossed the line at Dog Springs, and 
raided up within two miles of Deming, New Mexico; 
from there up on the Membres River and over within 
six miles of Silver City, then down toward the Gila 
settlements. The first man they killed was at the old 
Yorke Ranch, across from the Stein Mountains, and 
there they were run into by a bunch of cowboys and 
white men who were after them. 

These boys struck the Indians just at sundown. The 
Indians were led, some of them, by a white man named 
Jones, and the cowboys were led by a cowboy named 


Buck Tyson. They were trying to run up behind the In 
dians, as they <*ould not get ahead of them. They did 
finally overtake some of the rear Indians, and had a lit 
tle running scrap. One of the squaws had to drop her 
kid, which was eight or ten months old, and the white 
man, leader of one of the outfits, picked it up "captured 
it," the cowboys said. All of the other Indians escaped 
in the fast gathering darkness; and as the pursuers 
horses were completely worn out with the long chase 
they all turned back home. 

Sieber and I struck the trail of the renegades as they 
went back across the line. We ran upon them at the 
Hot Springs, just across the line. Sieber killed a buck, 
and I ran up and captured his squaw. We were alone, 
in Mexico, and as we decided we must hold our prisoner, 
we turned back, traveled all night and reached Camp 
Rucker, where we found a bunch of soldiers, and turned 
our catch over to them to take to the guard house at Fort 

Sieber and I both told the officers that we captured 
the squaw on the head of the Guadaloupe Canon, in Ari 
zona; but some of the Mexican guards found the body of 
the dead buck at Hot Springs, and found our trail lead 
ing back into the United States. Thereupon the Mexican 
Government again sent a protest to the American Gov 
ernment about "armed bodies of men" from the United 
States entering Mexico. We swore up and down when 
we were "jacked up" about it that it was in the United 
States where we got the squaw and killed the buck. 

By the time this thing came to a head, the squaw 
had been sent to San Carlos from Fort Bowie, and the 
agent there asked her where she was captured, and she 


said: "Eight at the Hot Spring/ Now, there is only 
one Hot Spring in that part of the country, and that is 
in Mexico. 

Sieber and I were certainly "in the soup!" 

Captain Smith was in command at Fort Bowie, and 
we were summoned from the southern part of the terri 
tory to report at Bowie immediately. The detachment 
of men who brought us the summons had been looking 
for us eight days, and had started back to Bowie, when 
we ran upon them, and they gave Sieber the dispatches 
from the commanding officer at Bowie. We questioned 
the officers who had the dispatch, as to what was wanted 
with us, and he said his orders were to scour the Mexican 
line till he found us and delivered those letters, and that 
was all he knew. We knew it was some more of that 
Hot Springs business, so we went on in with the sol 

When we got in and reported to. the commanding of 
ficer, he told us to go over and report to the adjutant. 
We went to the adjutant s office and sent an orderly to 
tell the adjutant to come to the office, which he did im 
mediately. We were called into his office, and he dis 
missed the clerk who was there. He then informed us 
that he had a very disagreeable duty to perform. I could 
tell Sieber was mad, for he knew it was some more of the 
Mexico business, and we were both tired of it. 

The adjutant got out a great elaborate report of a mil 
itary investigation that had been made by certain com 
missioned officers of the United States of America, or 
something about like that; that this investigation was 
instigated because of certain reports made by certain 
officers of the Mexican Government; that the Mexican 


Government claimed that an armed body of men from 
the United States of America had crossed the interna 
tional line between the United States of America and 
Mexico without authority; that this was done in viola 
tion of some treaty or other, and the Mexican Govern 
ment asked that such steps be taken by the proper au 
thorities of the United States to prevent such things in 
the future. 

"Now," said the adjutant, "the officers who are mak 
ing this investigation have found that you, Al. Sieber, 
chief of scouts, and you, Tom Horn, scout and inter 
preter for the Department of War of these United States, 
did, as an armed body of men, cross this so-called inter 
national line between the United States of America and 
the Republic of Mexico, and that you did this without the 
order or sanction of the military commander of this dis 
trict, of which Fort Bowie is headquarters. The order of 
the commission that made this investigation is, that you 
be censured for the violation. Gentlemen," continued 
the adjutant, "that is all. Now, let s go down to the 
sutler s and get a drink, and you will please do me the 
honor to dine with me this evening at 7 "o clock." 

We gladly accepted the invitation to dinner; went 
down to the sutler store and fixed up about the drink; 
then went and hunted up our greaser herder and turned 
our tired horses out. So ended the second invasion of 
Mexican territory by "armed bodies of men from the 
United States." 

"What a h 1 of a row those greasers keep kicking 
up!" was Sieber s comment. "We are in big luck, 
though, to get out of it so easily, because I told General 
Crook that we did not go into Mexico at all, and I guess 


he thought it was funny if I did not know where the line 
was, for I was at the head of the party that made the 
preliminary government survey through there." 

From Bowie, after our "reprimand," as we called it, 
we were ordered to report at San Carlos as soon as con 
venient. So, in a few days we went up there. General 
Crook was coming to San Carlos, and was going to reor 
ganize everything in the entire Department. 

We stayed at San Carlos a couple of weeks before 
General Crook came down. He came by way of Camp 
Apache, and there were about a couple of thousand In 
dians following him. We are going to have a big In 
dian talk. And we did have a big Indian talk, and it 
lasted for a week. 

Old Coaly and Suneriano did the interpreting. Sie- 
ber and General Crook would talk together all night, or 
a big part of it, and then General Crook would talk to 
the Indians all day. General Crook wanted to enlist 
Indian scouts to go after the Chiricahuas, and he wanted 
the support of the Indian chiefs to do so. The Indians, 
on their part, wanted to be started in the cattle business, 
and they knew that if they could get General Crook in 
terested he would do it for them, or take the proper steps 
to have it done. A whole week it lasted, and then Gen 
eral Crook went back to Whipple, and Sieber and I went 
back to Bowie. 

General Crook was at this time working to get a 
treaty fixed up between Mexico and the United States, 
so that we might cross the Mexican line in pursuit of 
the Indians. It seemed as though the matter had been 
referred by the Mexican Government to officers of the 
Mexican army in the states of Sonora and Chihuahua, in 


Mexico, and that Colonel Garcia had made a strong pro 
test to the Mexican Government against the treaty, say 
ing that, as military commander of the District of Galla- 
jano, in the State of Chihuahua, which was the only part 
of the state infested with renegade Indians, was entirely 
under his control, and cited as a fact that he had killed 
two hundred, as he said, and captured one hundred in 
one fight; that he had understood the American troops 
had made some slighting remarks about his engagements 
with the Indians on that occasion, to the effect that he 
had let the men all get away, killing only women and 
children. He said, so Sieber understood from General 
Crook, that fully one-half, or more than one-half, of the 
Indians killed by him were grown men with arms of 
warfare in their hands, and, therefore, he did not con 
sider there was any need for the Americans to come into 
Mexico. That report of Colonel Garcia had to be gotten 
over some way, and that way was being worked as fast 
as the red tape at Washington, D. C., would permit. 

Before we left San Carlos we took the squaw we had 
captured at the Hot Springs, in Mexico, out of the cala 
boose and gave her a pony, and took her to Fort Bowie, 
and told her to go and find the Indians in Mexico, and 
tell them to send up some one to talk to General Crook. 

We lay around on the border for several months wait 
ing for a messenger from the hostiles in Mexico, or from 
our treaty with Mexico. There was nothing doing, and 
those were dull days, indeed. 

Sieber and I went over to Tombstone and stayed a 
week to break the monotony, and we did sure break it 
to a finish! We knew a great many men in camp, and 
everybody knew of us as members of the pioneer party 


that located the camp. Well, that trip to Tombstone was 
worse than any campaign we had been on yet. Every 
one of the pioneer party that we met had done well. 
Some of them who were in the party did not do well, 
but we did not see any of them. Every one of them in 
sisted on buying us a new suit of clothes and hats and 
six shooters and champagne. Wow! but it was, as old 
Ed Clarke told us, "a brave struggle we made," but the 
combination was too strong and too swift for us. We 
left one morning about 3 o clock, so as to avoid the rush. 
We got the city marshal to bring our horses out behind 
a place they called the "Bird Cage;" he came in the cage 
and called us out "for a minute," and we got on our 
horses and "hit the pike." 

Well, I think I am safe in saying that we were drunk, 
and as we were not allowed to drink anything but cham 
pagne, for my part, I did not get steady for ten days. 



Indian Troubles Begin in Earnest "Peaches" and Horn 
As "Talk-Carriers" Geronimo Would Have a "Peace 
Talk" General Crook Goes to Meet Geronimo 
Smugglers Versus Custom Guards "Not Honest, 
But Honorable" Geronimo s Hostages and Camp 
Horn Must Interpret An Indian s Tribute to Horn s 
Tutor (Sieber), "The Old Mad White Man, a Man of 
War and a Man of Truth." 

The early part of 1883 began to start trouble. Pee- 
chee, a Chiricahua warrior, came in from the hostiles 
in Mexico, went to an Indian camp up on the San Carlos 
River, and told the Indians in camp that he wanted to 
be taken by them to the Agency, as he had a big talk to 

These Indians took him to the Agency as he requested, 
and there he said he wanted to see General Crook, to 
have a big long medicine talk with him. The agent put 
the Indian in the guardhouse and put a close watch over 
him, and wired General Crook that this man said he 
was from Geronimo s camp in the Sierra Madre in Mex 
ico and had come to see and have a talk with him (Gen 
eral Crook). 

The General wired from Fort Whipple, where he 
was, that he would start for San Carlos as soon as he 
could make arrangements to do so. He also wired to 


Fort Bowie for Sieber to meet him in San Carlos. Of 
course, Sieber and I had heard of this man s coming in, 
and we knew that the squaw had gotten to the hostiles 
camp in Mexico. I mean the squaw Sieber and I cap 
tured at the Hot Spring and over whom we got our, by 
this time, famous reprimand. The officers at Fort Bowie 
were forever joking us about our "invasion of Mexico 
with an armed body of men" and our consequent repri 
mand by the investigating commitee. 

We knew that this man who, in all Government dis 
patches, was called "Peaches" was a messenger of 
more "peace." Geronimo was one of the greatest and 
most eloquent talkers in the entire Indian tribe, and 
when he sent in word that he wanted to talk, he always 
said he wanted to talk "peace." When there was war to 
be made he never had anything to say, but just went 
to war; but he could stay on the war path only so long, 
and then he would get all filled up with talk, and he 
would send to the Government to get some one to talk 
to. This is what the rest of the Indians always said of 

We went to San Carlos, and in about a week General 
Crook reached there also. We got this Indian, Peaches, 
and took him to General Crook s camp, and the prelimi 
nary part of the big talk was on! 

Peaches said that his talk was all from Geronimo 
and no one else; meaning that such chiefs as Ju, Loco, 
Chihuahua and Natchez were not in the talk. He said 
Geronimo wanted to talk and wanted to surrender, and 
come back again to the Reservation and not go on the 
war-path any more. He wanted General Crook to come 
to Mexico with a good big body of troops and escort 


all the hostile Indians who wanted to come up to the 
San Carlos Reservation, in case terms could be agreed 
upon between Geronimo and General Crook. Geronimo 
said he knew that American soldiers could now come 
Into Mexico, for he told of the fight at Sierra Media and 
on Carretas Creek, where they ran upon Garcia, and he 
knew we followed that far, at that time. He also knew 
how Sieber and I alone struck the little bunch of Indians 
at the Hot Spring and knew that the Hot Spring was 
in Mexico. 

So he said we would not have as an excuse that we 
could not cross the line any more, as we had crossed it 
whenever we liked. He said that in the talk Sieber and 
I had with him in the Terras Mountains, three years 
before, that Sieber had told him it was only a question 
of time when arrangements would be made between the 
American and Mexican Governments so that we could 
cross, and he knew those arrangements had been made 
or we would never have crossed the line. Geronimo said 
he was tired of the war path, and, in fact, made the 
same old talk as in former times. 

We then turned the Indian loose, made arrangements 
for him to get his meals with the escort of General Crook 
and told him to be on hand again in the morning. 

Sieber and General Crook then held a long talk by 
themselves and they did not know what to do under the 
circumstances. Negotiations were on foot to bring about 
the treaty to allow us to enter Mexico, but General 
Crook had not heard anything concerning them and did 
not know what progress had been made in the matter. 
The General said he would wire Washington and see 
what he could learn. This he did, and the next day got 


a reply and an order to come to Washington imme 

We concluded to turn the Indian loose for good, give 
him a horse and some grub, and we made arrangements 
for me to meet him in two moons at a place in the San 
Luis Mountains, Mexico. General Crook said he would 
give Geronimo his answer at that time. 

The Indian was given a horse, and Sieber and I took 
him to the Mexico line and turned him loose; at least, 
there we left him, as he had been loose all the time. 
General Crook went to Washington, and when he re 
turned Sieber and I were again summoned to meet him, 
but this time he came to Fort Bowie. 

The General sent me to meet the Indian at the ap 
pointed time, and I found him with a squaw at the place 
where he said he would meet me. I told him General 
Crook wanted him to come with me to Fort Bowie to 
get his message from the General in person. 

Peaches then took his woman off to one side, and I 
guess he told her what to say to Geronimo. Anyhow, 
he soon came back to me; the squaw got on her pony 
and pulled out south. Peaches and I got on our horses 
and struck out for Fort Bowie. 

General Crook was waiting for us anxiously, and was 
greatly relieved when we came riding into the fort. We 
had a talk with him that same night. General Crook 
told him that he must go and tell Geronimo that he, 
the General, would get together an outfit big enough to 
furnish an escort for all the Indians who wanted to come 
to the Reservation, and for Peaches to go and tell Geron 
imo this, and that our command would go directly to 
a place in the Sierra Madre called Rio Viejo, and for 


a guide to meet us on the Rio Viejo to take us to Geron- 
imo, wherever he happened to be. Also sent word he 
wanted to take all the Chiricahuas. 

The Indian was again turned over to me to take back 
to the Mexican line, which I did. When this Indian, 
Peaches, and I were together he would tell me anything 
I asked him and we got to be great friends. We under 
stood that as far as we were personally concerned, that 
we did not amount to much, and at the same time we 
knew that we did amount to something as Talk car 
riers," as he called it. 

I left the Indian at the head of the Guadaloupe Canon 
and returned to Fort Bowie. There I found great prep 
arations being made for our expedition into Mexico, but 
no one knew where we were going to. Many soldiers and 
officers had seen the Indian and me going and coming, 
but they did not know who nor what he was. I think the 
general supposition was that the Indian and I were spy 
ing on the Chiricahuas, and that we were going to 
Mexico to surprise the Chiricahuas. I told all of them 
that I did not know where we were going and I did not 
know if I would go along or not, and gave them answers 
of all kinds except the truth. 

Some report had come out in the newspapers that 
there had been some kind of an agreement entered into 
between certain ministers of the United States and 
Mexico. The article said that negotiations were insti 
tuted to get a regular treaty, but that the treaty could 
not be brought about and that in place of a treaty this 
was simply an agreement. Putting together what they 
knew and what they could guess at, they knew we were 
going to Mexico, but that is all they did know, and they 


were not sure we were going there. All cavalry, of 
which I think there were three troops, were ordered to 
take rations for sixty days. All the mules in the Quar 
termaster s Department were turned into pack mules, 
and a couple of pack trains also came in from New 

All the scouts were brought from New Mexico and a 
good many Apache scouts were enlisted. After all the 
transportation had been put in shape, the packers weir 
laughing to think that they would not have scarcely any 

The evening before we were to pull out, the Quarter 
master sent down extra flour and sugar enough to load 
all the pack mules down to the guards. The extra flour 
and sugar were for the hostiles we were going to meet. 

At last we got under way and we headed direct for 
Mexico. It was amusing to hear the different surmises 
as to what we were going to do and as to where we were 
going. The troops we had were of the Third Cavalry. 
Lieutenant Gatewood of the Sixth Cavalry, was with us, 
and in command of the Apache scouts. Captain Emmet 
Crawford of the Third Cavalry, was in command of the 
cavalry escort. We had five pack trains and about fifty 
Apache scouts. 

We went down past what we now called Tupper s 
Battle Ground, at the Sierra Media, and on to where 
Colonel Garcia had his famous fight, and then we crossed 
the Sierra Madre to get on the Yaqui River slope and 
over through Bavispe, a good big town, kept up by the 
guards of the custom department. (This town, I will say 
now, was shaken down to its very foundation by earth 
quakes in 1887). 


On we went, past the town of Baserac, only two 
leagues from Bavispe, and the earthquake that razed Ba- 
vispe to the ground only cracked one adobe wall in Ba 
serac. All residents of this part of Mexico at that time 
who were not smugglers, belonged to the custom house 
guards in some capacity or other, and there was the 
hardest of feeling between the two classes. There was 
always more or less war between the guards and the 
civilians, (or smugglers, to use the correct term.) Smug 
gling was a great business in those times. All the smug 
gling to amount to anything was in the shape of over 
alls, women s shoes, buttons, needles, thread and little 
trinkets. The difference in the price of the things in the 
United States and Mexico was about as follows: Over 
alls costing 47 cents to 50 cents a pair in Deming. or 
Silver City, New Mexico, sold in Old Mexico for $2.50. 
Ladies shoes that cost f 1.50 a pair, sold for f 5.00. But 
tons costing 20 cents a gross sold for 25 cents per dozen. 

From this it will be seen that there was big money in 
the business. 

All smugglers were of necessity, brave, daring fellows, 
who had to bring their cargoes of smuggled goods right 
in under the very nose of the custom guard, and th^re 
was many a fierce fight between them; for a smuggler 
would as soon die as lose his cargo, and would sooner 
die than loose a mule. (All smuggling was done on pack 

Thus, the residents of Bavispe were all guards or else 
belonged to the custom service in some other capacity, 
and all of the residents of Beserac all said, when the 
earthquake shook down Bavispe that it was the wrath of 
God being inflicted upon the guards. And as only one 


house in Baserac was cracked, and that man was a 
brother-in-law to one of the guards, and supposed to be 
in sympathy with the guards, it made them all the surer 
that smuggling was far more legitimate than belonging 
to the guard service. 

These fellows were a good lot of citizens, so far r.s 
honorable conduct went. In fact, a common saying 
among them was: "We are not supposed to be honest, 
but we are honorable." 

From there we kept on down to Bacadebichi and over 
by Nacori, (where we buried Captain Crawford three 
years later, as I will relate later on.) There we left the 
Mexican settlements and turned into the Sierra Madre 
proper and crossed over to the Rio Viejo. There the 
command was camped for a couple of days till I could 
go up to the head of the river and see if I could find our 
man to guide us to the hostile camp. 

I looked two days for my man before I could run on 
him, and then I met him coming down the Rio Viejo. 
We returned to our camp and I found General Crook 
very uneasy for fear I had been taken in by the Indians. 

Next morning we started for the hostile camp, guided 
by Peaches, who said it would take us five days more 
to get there. We kept out a very careful line of guards 
for the pack trains and soldiers. General Crook said 
he had no fear of treachery, but it was well to be careful. 

It was a lovely country we were passing through. 
Limes grew wild most everywhere. On the second day 
from the camp on Rio Viejo we camped on a stream that 
our guide said was called "the stream with the old 
houses on it," and for miles up and down the creek were 
peach trees by the thousand, all of them loaded down 


with fruit. Some of the peaches were as ripe as could 
be without rotting, but more of them were very green. 
The guide said there were ripe peaches there five months 
in the year. General Crook said we would name this 
place "The Peach Orchard. " There were many more 
streams in that part of the country with peaches on 
them, but none where there were so many as here. There 
were lots of signs of Indians, and our guide said the 
whole outfit of hostiles had just left that part of the 

The night before we got to the camp of Geronimo we 
were joined by about twenty Indians; young men and 
young women. One of them, who was in command of 
them, apparently, said that they were sent by Geronimo 
as a hostage, and that they should remain with us till 
after our big talk. They requested to be put under 
guard, but they were told by General Crook just to stay 
where Captain Crawford ordered them to stay. 

We found Geronimo camped in one of the most lovely 
places one could imagine. He sent several men to show 
us where to camp, but we picked a camp to suit our 

Geronimo, Ju, and old Loco came during the evening 
and paid their respects to General Crook and arranged 
for a big talk on the following morning. 

A big talk it was, sure enough. General Crook had 
for his interpreters two Mexicans named Antonio Bias 
and Montoyo. Geronimo started the war talk by saying 
that these interpreters were of Mexican blood and that 
no Mexican was a man of word, meaning they could not 
speak true. He said that he wanted only peace and har 
mony in the big talk that was coming off, and that there 


would be many days of it, and that some of it would 
be of such a nature that only Geronimo and General 
Crook should know, and it would necessarily have to go 
through the mouth of an interpreter, and he much pre 
ferred that I should be the one to do the interpreting. 
He then went on and told of all the preliminary work 
that led up to this meeting, the part I had taken in all 
of it, and of the confidence the Government must have 
in me to have me attempt such an undertaking; that 
the "old mad white man" (meaning Sieber) had raised 
and trained me; that he knew Sieber to be a man of 
war and a man of truth, a man who could always be 
found in a peace council or leading a war party, and 
that I, as a pupil of such a man, must be a good man 
and a truthful one, and that I had come to his camp 
with Sieber on a former occasion to see and talk to him ; 
and he said Antonio Bias was of the Apaches who were 
not truthful, and he finally wound up his harangue by 
saying that I was the only one who could do the inter 

This was not what we had figured on, for General 
Crook had instructed me this way: When the talk got 
started, I was to circulate around among the women 
and warriors who were not in the council and use my 
influence to get all of them to go to the ^Reservation. We 
knew that old Geronimo would talk to General Crook all 
day and to his own people all night, and we knew also 
that Geronimo was popular as a chief, because, while 
he would make a big bluff of a talk, that he would wind 
up by doing as the majority of the most influential In 
dians should decide. 


In other words, some of the Indians did as they 
pleased, regardless of Geronimo or any one else, and on 
our side there were certain things that General Crook 
wanted the Indians to know, and he did not want to 
talk it to them or to promise it to them in council, and 
my duty was to let the Indians know these things. We 
talked these things over and our councillor, Sieber, said 
that old Geronimo was onto our job, and that he did 
not want me going around among the younger men and 
women to do any talking so as to influence them to go 
back with us; but as Geronimo had requested that I do 
the interpreting, the only thing that General Crook 
could then do was to say that Antonio was an old man 
in council and had been engaged in interpreting for 
twenty-five years; that I was a young man and not as 
experienced in such things as w r as Antonio and for that 
reason he had brought Antonio to do the interpreting. 
General Crook also told Geronimo that I was being 
raised by Sieber as a warrior and that a warrior was 
not supposed to be an interpreter. 

Geronimo replied that Sieber was the one white man 
he knew who always represented the Government. He 
said: "Sibi is always with a Government council or 
Government war party. White soldiers come and go, 
and I have seen many of them for many years come and 
go, but Sibi, the mad white man, is always here." He 
added that "Sibi" was not a good man to be with, as 
he was a man of iron and nothing would turn him, and 
that he did not care to talk, but that his words were all 
from his heart; that there was no room in his heart for 
anything that he did not think was right, that his words 
were as wise as those of any chief, white or red; that 


he was respected by the Indians, though as iron he was, 
and that being raised by him was of itself a guarantee 
of faithfulness in war or in council. 

I was all puffed up by the time Geronimo and General 
Crook got through discussing me. Antonio was then 
set aside and I took the interpreter s place. 



Synopsis of General Crook s Speech in Geronimo s Coun 
cil "It must be War or Peace!" Deep Impression 
Made by General Crook What Will Geronimo Do? 
Sieber and Horn Summoned as Advisers to the Tribe 
Council; the Only White Men Admitted "Take Your 
Knife, Tom; Stand While You Interpret; Forget That 
You May Not Live One Minute, and Think Only of 
the Talk" The War Chief Speaks Etiquette of an 
Indian Council The Eloquent Silence of the Red 
Man Sieber s Advice, "Words of Wisdom and 

General Crook was the first man to do any talking, 
as he had taken the first steps to bring about this talk. 

He told Geronimo that eleven years before, when he 
was in command of the Department, he had left all the 
Indians on the Reservation at peace, drawing their ra 
tions and seemingly content; that when he left he had 
no idea that any of the Indians would ever go on the war 
path again. Then he had been called away by his Gov 
ernment to go to another part of the country, and that 
from time to time he had heard of the Apache outbreaks 
as they occurred. He said he did not know what made 
men with as much sense and judgment as Geronimo do 
such things, and leave a place where everything was 
given them that was given to the white soldiers. He 
knew that they had a grievance of some kind, and that 


he wanted to hear what it was, and he wanted to adjust 
the grievance in any way that he could that would not 
hurt Geronimo or the people with him, and that before 
he left the Sierra Madres he wanted to get Geronimo and 
every Indian in the mountains to go back with him, and 
he wanted the influence of Geronimo to help him do this; 
that the time for war was past, and it was now time to 
leave the war path and its hardships and go and settle 
down on the Reservation. He told Geronimo that the 
Chiricahuas had committed many depredations which 
laid them liable to arrest and prosecution by the Govern 
ment, but that if they all went back that he would see 
that none of them were taken away and tried by the 
civil courts, and that if they would go back to the Reser 
vation and be counted regularly and draw their rations 
he would locate them on any part of the Reservation 
(that was not occupied by any other Indians) that Geron 
imo might choose. 

"There is always more or less trouble in a big Indian 
camp," continued General Crook, "and I will make sol 
diers of your men to keep peace in the camp. I will keep 
a company of twenty-five men all the time, that may be 
selected by the long-nosed, ugly soldier." (Lieutenant 
Gatewood was so called. Gatewood was, perhaps, the 
homliest man in the service). "This officer will have no 
other duty than to look after you and your interests, and 
to adjust your troubles. He will see that you get your 
rations and clothing, and everything that you are en 
titled to by the Government. Now, you know what it 
is that the Government has done, and will do, and all 
that it can do I promise to do for you. 


"I have just came back from the place called Wash 
ington, which, you know, is the head of our Government, 
and there I met officers high in rank belonging to the 
Mexican Government, and I made arrangements with 
them to permit of my crossing the line in pursuit of Indi 
ans committing depredations in the United States. I 
have come to you as a brother and as a personal friend, 
to tell you all this and to conduct any and all who want 
to go back in safety. When I leave here, I must be in 
formed by you if you want war or if you want peace. 

"Formerly conditions were such that we could only 
pursue renegade Indians as far as the Mexico line. Now 
I can follow them to the end of the earth. If you do not 
go back now, and if I can not persuade you to go back, 
then must I say War! I am an old man, and would be 
at peace with all the world, but my people living in New 
Mexico and Arizona must have protection, and I am 
there to protect them. I could not do so while our laws 
would not allow me to cross the Mexico line with my 
soldiers. Your young men could live here in the Sierra 
Madres and raid up into our country, and it was seldom 
we could run onto them while up there. 

"The Chiricahuas are very clever, and can easily 
dodge the cavalry when they have only to dodge them 
long enough to get back across the line of Mexico; but 
from now on, Mexico will not protect you. I am telling 
you all this so that you will know how we are fixed, and 
so you will know what a refusal to go with me means. 
It means war, and if you do not go with me now peace 
ably, I will return as I came to this country, but I will 
go with a heavy heart. I will then organize a war 
party and send it to this country and will make several 


divisions of it, so as to be able to operate all over the 
mountains at once. Then will the Chiricahuas be 
doomed, and I, an old man, will go with a heavy heart 
to my grave, for the war will be long and bitter, and my 
days will be passed in restlessness, and my nights with 
out sleep. I can not go out myself, for the hardships 
will be too great for me, so I will have to remain at 
home; but, as I said, without rest or sleep. Geronimo, 
you will go from this council to a council of your own 
people, and you may think that I have spoken too se 
verely to you. I can talk to you only as I have, for 
about this talk there must be no misunderstanding. This 
is a council of great importance to me, as I could not be 
gin a war on you without giving you a chance for peace. 
I will listen to what you have to say, to-morrow." 

That ended the big talk for this day. Of course there 
was a great deal more talk than I have written down 
here, but this was all there was said of much importance. 

There must have been two hundred warriors in the 
council, and every one of them got up and went back to 
their camp as silent as shadows. General Crook s talk 
had made a deep impression on them. General Crook 
himself was very grave, and went to his tent and stayed 
out of sight of every one. All the officers that heard 
the talk went back to their camps and began to make 
preparations for a fight. They thought that Geronimo 
would resent such talk as the general made to them. 
Sieber also went off to one side of a hill and sat by him 
self. Anyone who knew Sieber knew that he wanted 
to be alone. 

We had started the talk very early in the morning, 
and it was now close to noon. The whole camp looked 


more like a funeral party than it did like a war party or 
peace commission. 

Micky Free came up to me and said: "Tom, what do 
you think Geronimo will do?" Of course, I could only 
guess, and I guessed that we would take a big lot of ren 
egades to the Reservation, but I knew there were war 
riors with Geronimo that Geronimo himself could not 
control, and 1 did not think they would return with us 
to live in peace on the Reservation, for they were not 
men of peace. I asked Micky how some of the bad ones, 
whom each of us knew personally, could go and live iu 
peace. "There," said I, "is Mas-say. How can you ex 
pect a man like him to give a serious thought to peace? 
Mas-say loves the war path, and many of the more rest 
less ones will follow him. They are, every one of them 
who follows such a devil as Mas-say, men who want the 
excitement of the war path, and for peace they care not." 

Micky asked me if I had known beforehand that 
General Crook w r as going to make such a talk to the ren 
egades as he had just made. I told him I certainly did 
not know what General Crook intended to say until he 
said it. "Then why did you go and put on your big 
white-handled six-shooter before you went into the coun 
cil?" asked Micky. I told him I did so because Sieber 
had told me to. 

"I saw r Sieber had his pistol, too," continued Micky, 
"I could see it where it pushed up his hunting shirt. And 
when it came around to the part of the talk where Gen 
eral Crook said: War or peace, I will have/ I saw Sieber 
slip his hand up under his shirt and put it on his pistol. 
It would have been a sad day for Geronimo if he had 
made any kick at that point, for it would have meant a 


general row right there. I could see Sieber was watching 
Geronimo like a hawk. Look up there. Do you see him 
now?" asked Micky, "When Sieber goes off by himself 
like that he knows that there may be serious trouble, and 
Sieber can tell when trouble is liable to come. He can 
smell it as easy as I can smell smoke. Well, we will just 
watch him, and do as he does. He is never wrong and he 
won t be wrong this time." 

Micky could not keep still, and I did not feel very 
easy myself. 

All the soldiers were close to camp and close to their 
guns. All the renegades were as silent as mutes. Not 
a dog nor a child in the entire camp was making any 
noise. We could not visit any one for every one seemed 
to want to tend to his own business. 

Presently Sieber called to us to come up to where he 
was and we got our rifles and went up there. Sieber be 
gan to langh at us, and said we were standing around 
like a couple of lost squaws. He said we need not look 
so solemn as the talk the General made was all right, and 
he felt sure that the worst of the campaign was over; 
that when the renegades did nothing in the first twenty 
minutes after the council was over there would be no 
danger from them afterward. 

W r e could see many Indians gathering around Ge 
ronimo and he stood talking to them. We could see his 
gestures, and could hear the hum of his voice, but could 
not distinguish a word he said. None of our party were 
allowed in Geronimo s council. We watched them for a 
long time and finally saw him turn and point at us. 
Sieber said to me that he and I would be sent for by Ge 
ronimo before night. "And if you are not with me when 


he sends, you must come and leave your pistol and take 
only your knife," said Sieber. 

Along in the middle of the afternoon, after I had had 
something to eat, a small girl came to me and said Sieber 
would talk with me. I went up to his camp, and he said : 
"Well, Tom, the summons has come. We are to go to Ge- 
ronimo. Now you watch me all the time, and that will 
keep your nerves steady. You tell Geronimo for me, 
exactly as I tell you to tell him, when I am asked to talk. 
Stand while you are talking, forget that you may not live 
one more minute and think only of the talk. No one but 
Geronimo knows what he will say to us for this is a very 
critical period, and anything of the least importance may 
start the war or may prevent it. So don t you say any 
thing at all except as I tell you to say it." 

We then went over to Geronimo s council. I had felt 
a little nervous ever since General Crook s council broke 
up, but now that we were stepping right into the lion s 
jaws, I did not feel near so shaky. As we were getting 
up close to the council Sieber looked at me and smiled, 
asked me how I felt. I told him I was not much scared. 

The first time Sieber and I had gone into Geronimo s 
ramp, entirely alone in the Terras Mountains, I was not 
scared or shaky at all, and the Indians all seemed not to 
pay much attention to us, but it was the actions of the 
Indians here that made one feel the gravity of the situa 
tion. Not a smile on the face of any one, and, in place 
of not being noticed as in the Terras Mountains, here 
every Indian of the two hundred was looking at us and 
watching our eyes and faces as though they would read 
our very thoughts. 


A place was made for Sieber on a blanket and he was 
motioned to sit down. Then everybody sat but me. I was 
left standing as was my place to be, for there is etiquette 
in a hostile Indian camp just as there is in a ball room 
of the "Four Hundred" in New York. 

Who was it that said the silence of an Indian chief 
is eloquent? It might have been on this occasion, but if 
it was I did not appreciate the eloquence of it. I am 
sure as I stood there amid that silent eloquence I was the 
most uncomfortable man in Mexico. Oh, how I did want 
some one to say something. At last, Sieber said to Ge- 

"You would talk with me?" 

"Yes," said Geroniino, "I would talk with you and I 
have asked you into my council to give me advice and to 
talk with you, not as a warrior of one nation talks to a 
warrior of another nation, but as two warriors talk as 
friends and brothers when a question of gravest im 
portance confronts them in their respective positions. 
You heard the words of General Crook. You may have 
known what he would say before he came here. They 
were words that make a man feel sad to hear and I know 
that it made General Crook feel bad to say them. I had 
no idea he would speak so straight, and I can not now 
realize that such words have been spoken. General 
Crook said that I must say if it is to be peace or if it is 
to be war. 

"When a man like General Crook says that to a man 
like me, it does not leave anything for me to do but say 
"war" or "peace." 

"General Crook knows what war is, and he is a man 
of peace. I, Geroniino, the war chief of the Chiricahua 


Apaches, for the first time in my life feel that I am get 
ting cornered. True, only the men belonging to my tribe 
know these mountains well, but with a man like you, a 
man of iron, as war chief of the white scouts, you will 
soon know these mountains as does the wolf. Yours is 
an Indian s knowledge, with the brains of the white man. 
You are without fear, and, although an old man you have 
never felt yourself tired. Sieber, man of war, man of 
peace, man of council, tell me what you think of my po 

Sieber rose and said : 

"Geronimo, I can not answer the questions you have 
asked me in one minute. I will go to my camp and think 
well over them and will come again to-night and you and 
I will talk this over. It will not be well for these men 
to be present when I talk to you and when I do talk it 
will not be General Crook nor the Government that talks, 
it will be myself and my advice will be from no mouth 
but my own. Send some one for me to-night when you 
get ready and I will come." 

Sieber did not wait for an answer, but went back to 
his camp alone. 

After Sieber had gone, Geronimo said to me, "What 
do you say, boy? Do you like peace or do you like 

"I can say only," replied I, "that I can merely act as 
interpreter for men who have grown old in war. I am 
a young man yet and have not had experience enough to 
act as councilor." 

"Ah," said Geronimo, "you are cautious. You are 
being well fitted. Your teacher, the iron man, is raising 
you to suit himself. He has an apt pupil, and you a chief 


for a teacher. You are in good hands, but you were 
nervous when you came with Sieber a while ago. Were 
you afraid of Geronimo?" 

Yes, I told him I had felt nervous. That I was em 
barrassed also to have to translate the words of such 
great men as himself and General Crook and Sieber in a 
case of this kind. 

"Well, talk and visit with my men here. You will 
always be safe in my camp," said he, "though if we meet 
in battle, then every one must look out for himself." 

I did not feel much like visiting and soon returned 
to camp. I was going to Sieber s tent, but he told me 
not to stop, but to go on to my own tent. "Geronimo s 
people are watching us, and we will not talk together 
until after we talk to him to-night." 

An Indian council, I will say here, is not a regular 
discussion of any question, but only by one side at a 
time. If General Crook talked no one else was permitted 
to talk at that meeting. So it was when Geronimo sent 
for Sieber; only Geronimo could talk then; and, accord 
ing to the custom of the Indians, one must deliberate 
before speaking. Consequently Sieber, instead of an 
swering Geronimo at the time he was in the camp to 
listen to what he had to say, could not make an answer 
only by appointing a meeting with Geronimo so he could 
answer him. 

It was close to 10 o clock at night when an Indian kid 
came and told me to get Sieber and to go to Geronimo, 
which I did. 

Geronimo was alone, with the exception of one 
woman who w r as there to build the council fire and keep 
it going. (Such work as building up a council fire was 


beneath the dignity of such men as Geronimo and 

All three of us sat down in a circle on some skins and 
Sieber said to Geronimo: "Now we will not be in coun 
cil, but will just talk to each other as brothers and war 
riors, as you said in council this evening." 

Sieber then began : "Geronimo, you asked me for my 
advice. You must have known what it was when you 
asked me to give it. I am for peace all the time when 
peace can be made to answer. I am in favor of war only 
when I know there can be no peace. You, Geronimo, do 
not like peace, else you would never have left the Reser 
vation years ago when you were there. The last time 
I talked to you in the Terras Mountains I told you that 
the time was not far off when the Americans could come 
into Mexico in pursuit of you and your men. You see 
that I knew how things w r ere bound to come out, for we 
are here. Now I say to you in all faith and honor that 
the Chiricahuas can not resist the white man success 
fully since we can come to this country. If you continue 
to war with the white man now and under these cir 
cumstances, you and all your people will be extermi 
nated. It takes you ten years to make a warrior out of 
a 10-year-old boy. General Crook can make many hun 
dreds of soldiers in a single day. The white man can not 
be exterminated. You and I have se^n this country 
when it was an Indian country. We have seen it when 
there was no business here except getting in rations for 
the soldier and his horse. We have seen it from that day 
to this when there are towns everywhere, and ranches 
and settlements where once there were only Indians. 
Now we see the railroad and the telegraph and with this 


command is a corps of men who can signal words with a 
sun glass as the Indian can send a signal. Here I see you 
Geronimo, the proud and able war chief of the Chirica- 
huas, surrounded by the last of your tribe and they num 
ber about six hundred souls. You are driven to these 
mountains as the last place of refuge. Here now are two 
hundred men or more in the very heart of the country you 
have come to as a place of refuge and these two hundred 
men are Americans and can find their way here again. I 
ask of you now what can you do? 

"You must go to the Reservation now or else make 
up your mind to die on the war path and see the last 
remnant of your tribe die with you. Your men are brave 
and fearless, and your influence with them is as you want 
to make it. Not one of them is afraid to die, but all men 
who are used to facing death every day of their lives like 
to get the best of any fight that they are compelled to 
make. I have fought and know what the feeling is when 
I know that I can not win the fight. My heart gets heavy 
when I know that I have to lie close in the rocks all day 
and creep away when the darkness comes and can only 
take my rifle with me and can not tell when I may get 
something to eat and at times something to bind up 
my wounds. I can not tell you how I feel then, but this 
I can say: that it is not well for any man to be so, be he 
white or red. 

"I never walk into a trap that I can see and still I 
have walked into more than one trap. Among all the 
warriors in the Chiricahua tribe not one knows more of 
the mountains or of war than I. While you have been 
growing weaker in men day by day and week by week, 
my position has become stronger and stronger, until now. 


I know that the white man w r ill rule. Can I make you 
believe that? Yes, I will answer that question. I can 
make you believe it, for you know I speak only the truth. 
I am an old man. You know when I was a young man. 
Twenty-five years of my life have been spent with the 
Government, and during all of that time my one business 
has been to hunt down the Indians who were marauders 
and enemies to my people. Some men never get killed, 
and I must be one of them. You know if my words have 
ever been words of wisdom and truth. I always do my 
best. Sometimes I have made mistakes, but never have 
I told an Indian a deliberate lie. Geronimo, I say to you, 
take my advice and tell General Crook to-morrow that you 
and your people will go with him to San Carlos. Now 
you know that you can not hold out and from here there 
is no further place for you to go. How can I say more?" 
. Geronimo sat for a long time and did not say a word. 
At last, after a long sigh, he said : 

"Sibi, your words have touched me. They have 
struck deep into my heart. I will consider well what 
you have said, for I know it is the truth; but I am and 
always have been a proud man, and such words from you 
make my heart heavier than even the words of General 
Crook. I talk to the General in the morning, you, of 
course, will be there. I will not forget what advice you 
have given me." 

It was past midnight and we all started to our camps. 
The woman who was to keep up our fire had gone to 
sleep; our fire had nearly gone out. Geronimo gave her 
a slight kick and told her to go to her tent. So ended 
our first day in the Chiricahua camp. 



Geronimo Answers General Crook The Red Commander 
Outwits the White Commander, and the Government 
Is Made Accessory to Theft Horn Becomes Chief of 
Scouts to Succeed Sieber Tribute to Sieber Twenty- 
five Apache Scouts Enlisted; Micky Free as First Ser 
geant Their "Military" Appearance An Apache s 
"Outfit" Christmas Dinner at Camp Apache Gate- 
wood s Troubles With Geronimo s People Horn Or 
ders Chiricahuas Counted at Sunrise and Sunset- 
Joins His Scouts at Camp Thomas. 

The following morning, bright and early, we went to 
the council of General Crook. Only a few of the Chir 
icahuas were present. By that, we, who were acquainted 
with their ways, knew that Geronimo was going to prom 
ise to go back with General Crook to the Reservation. 

Geronimo commenced his talk to General Crook, and 
if ever an old horse thief did try to make a squaring talk 
for himself and his people, that man was Geronimo. 
What a great confidence man he would have made! 

"I listened to your talk yesterday," said Geronimo, 
"and it made me feel that I had done some great wrong. 
Perhaps I have done wrong, as a white man looks at my 
actions. I know that a white man does not see as an 
Apache sees, and I know that what is life to a white 
man is death to an Apache. My influence with my peo- 


pie is great, as you have said, but there are warriors here 
whom no one can control. Within the last year some 
men of my tribe have raided into the American s country. 
This I am not going to deny. It would be idle for me 
to attempt to deny it, for this young man who does your 
translating, and this old man who always leads your war 
parties (meaning Sieber and myself), have met my peo 
ple raiding up in your country. This old man here, Sie 
ber, killed one of my young men, and this interpreter 
ran up to one of my women and caught her by the hair 
and dragged her from her horse and took her captive, 
and took her to San Carlos, and she was the means of 
bringing about this talk. 

"You complain of my people raiding and killing up 
in the American s country. Do you not think I should 
complain of your war chief killing my warriors? Well, 
I make no complaint of that kind, for so, and in that fash 
ion, do many of my young men w r ant to die. I know, and 
my men know, that sooner or later all will get killed 
who keep up such a life; and now 1 am going to tell you 
that a life of this kind no longer pleases me. I have 
grown old on the war path, and what have I accom 
plished? Only this: to-day I stand before you as a sup 
plicant. To-day I am going to ask of you what I, the 
proud war chief of the Chiricahua tribe, never thought 
to ask of any white man. I ask you to take me to the 
Reservation, and there to do with me as you see fit, and 
as your judgment says is right for you to do. I will go 
with you to-morrow, or when you say. 

"There are a good many of my people who are not 
here now. They are scattered through these mountains, 
and I will summons them as soon as my runners can get 


the news to them, that they must come. It will take 
several days to reach them, for I know not where they 
are. I now only wait for you to say: Gerpnimo, sum 
mons your people and come with me. I am under your 
orders from now on. I will have my family move my 
camp up here to your camp, and here I will remain till 
we are all ready to start to the United States. Give me 
the order to bring my camp here, and to send and gather 
my people to go with you. No one could say or do more 
than this." 

"I will do as you say," said General Crook. 

Lieutenant Gatewood was then called and told to ar 
range to issue rations to all the renegades each day, and 
to arrange to count them each day, and to take entire 
charge of them. 

He told Geronimo that Gatewood would attend to 
all of that. He told Geronimo to bring his camp up to 
the soldiers camp, and that his family would also draw 
their rations, and then he told Geronimo he would talk 
to him again in the evening. "For," said General Crook, 
"Lieutenant Gatewood will be busy with you most of the 

Geronimo and Gatewood then went about the ration 
business, for that is the joy of every renegade s heart, 
when he wants to make peace. Flour and sugar cut a 
big figure in all they do when once they conclude to ac 
cept it. 

General Crook asked Sieber to go with him to his 
tent, as he wanted to talk to him. Sieber said he might 
want me, and for me to come with them. 

When we got to General Crook s tent, Crook asked 
Sieber what to do next. 


Sieber said: "That talk was all right, and Geronimo 
will do as he said he would; but the old wolf has some 
thing up his sleeve, and I think this is what he intends 
to do. I think his men have gone now that they left 
last night to raid and rob out in the Mexican settlements, 
so as to get stock such as mules and horses, to take up 
with them, and to save my life I can t think of anything 
to do to stop them. We could call Geronimo up and tell 
him not to do this, and he would say that he would not 
think of doing such a thing; but he was cute enough to 
send these men away before he made his talk to you. 
Now, when they come in with their stolen stock, he will 
say they were not here when we first came here. If he 
gets cornered still more closely he will say that he or 
no other can control some of his men. I think we will 
have to take hundreds of head of stolen horses and mules 
to the Reservation with us. There is some consolation 
in knowing that they think of staying, or they would 
not take that trouble." 

Sieber then told General Crook how he and I had 
taken them, or a good many of them, up out of the Ter 
ras Mountains three years before, when General Wilcox 
was Department Commander, and that while many of 
them did not go at that itme, the ones who went did this 
very same thing; that the Mexicans raised a big row, 
and were upheld by the newspapers; that Sieber and 1 
were accused by "El Fronterizo" (a Mexican newspaper 
published in Tucson, Arizona) of standing in with the 
Indians and encouraging them to do this thing, and then 
protecting them after they got to San Carlos with their 
stolen stock. 


"Now, that same thing is going to occur again," said 
Sieber, "and you will be blamed in place of Tom and me. 
Xow, I can not think of any way to stop this can you? 
We can send and tell Gatewood to make a good count 
on the bucks and find how many there are here. When 
they came to the council yesterday I counted 193 war 
riors. In my opinion there won t be ninety-three for 
Lieutenant Gatewood to count to-day." 

General Crook called his orderly and sent word to 
Gatewood to count the bucks and report to him the num 
ber after he had given them rations. 

Late that evening Lieutenant Gatewood reported 
forty-one bucks and 362 squaws and children. General 
Crook sent for Sieber, after Gatewood made his report, 
and told him of the count. "We can not do a thing to 
help ourselves," was what we all concluded. 

At least 150 warriors had gone in the night to steal 
horses from the Mexicans, and the American troops, 
with General Crook personally in command, were to pro 
tect them in it, and give safe transportation to the In 
dians and their booty to the United States. 

"We must stop it at any sacrifice!" cried General 
Crook. "Call Geronimo immediately," said he to me. 
"I can not and will not tolerate such a thing as this. I 
should be court-martialed for it." 

I went and brought Geronimo to the general alone. 
Geronimo no longer looked down hearted and broken in 
spirit, as at our previous talks. He was smiling, and 
looked as happy as a king. W T hen he had taken a seat, 
General Crook said to him: 

"Where are all your warriors who were here at the 
talk yesterday morning?" 


"They are gone into the mountains to find and bring 
back the scattered Apaches," replied Geronimo. "I want 
to take all of them to the Keservation and some of them 
don t know that I am going. I have just sent them word 
by the men who have gone from this camp. Last night 
I spoke with them, and told them to go, and most of 
them, or maybe all of them, left last night." 

General Crook said to him: "You have sent them off 
to rob and steal stock to take to the Keservation. Why 
did you do this? I can not allow you to get stock in such 
a manner to take up there." 

"I don t think they will rob or steal," said Geronimo, 
"they have only gone for the rest of my people and will 
soon return. Maybe we had better all go up to the line 
and let my young men come and join us there. Many of 
my people are between here and the line, and we can 
pick them up on our way. No one can tell where they 
are and no one can call back the men who have gone after 
them. We will have to wait here till they come back, or 
better still, we can go slowly north and wait for them 
in the San Luis Mountains." 

"But I won t allow them to take stolen horses to the 
Reservation," said the General. 

"Oh," said Geronimo, "you need not pay any atten 
tion to a lot of howling Mexicans. They are only good 
to raise horses for the Chiricahuas. My men won t steal. 
They have a good many horses cached in the mountains 
and they will likely pick them up, but they won t raid 
and steal now." 

"I may send for you again shortly," said the General, 
and Geronimo went off smiling. 


"He has got all the best of us and he knows it," said 
Sieber. "We had as well pull out for the line, for so long 
as we camp here so long will we see no more Apaches." 

Nothing else could be done, so next morning we set 
out for the line. General Crook said he felt like a horse 
thief himself, and Sieber went along swearing softly to 

"I knew that old wolf was cute, but I was going to do 
something to prevent this very thing," said Sieber, "and 
now he has got the best of us on the one point we were 
going to guard against. No wonder to me now that he 
came up and offered to go with us without any more 
talk. Do you know that Geronimo knew we would try 
every way in the world to prevent this very thing, and 
that was the way he took to get the best of our talk. He 
knew we thought he would want to talk several days 
and that he would then consent to go. But instead of 
three or four days talk he says, All right, I am ready. 
There will not be a Mexican in Mexico, or a newspaper 
in the United States that won t swear we allowed them 
to do this, and that we just shut the other eye while they 
did it. Of course we may be mistaken and the bucks that 
have gone may not raid the Mexicans, but one who 
knows the Apaches can only think that is what they are 
going to do." 

The next day, as I said, we pulled out toward the 
United States and the renegades with us, but there 
seemed to be no one but women and children. Slowly 
we kept on and not an Indian joined us. 

Gatewood counted them morning and night, but they 
were always the same number. We were twelve days 
getting back up on the San Bernardino. We did not 


come back the route we took going down, for old Ge- 
ronirno had said we might find more of the renegades in 
the Terras Mountains. We did not find an Indian. From 
the San Bernardino we pulled over onto the Cajon Bo- 
nito to catch any that might come in that way. 

We had been on the Bonito about three days and cal 
culated to start toward Fort Bowie the following morn 
ing. After night, twelve Indians came in and reported 
to Gatewood for rations. Gatewood gave them rations 
and reported to General Crook. He sent for Geronimo 
and asked about the men who had just come in. Ge 
ronimo told him there were twelve. Crook then asked if 
they had brought in any extra horses, and Geronimo 
said they brought in fifty head. General Crook told 
Geronimo that he w r ould make them turn all of those 
fifty loose in the morning. Geronimo told him that 
would make all the Indians go back on the war path 

General Crook then said he would pull out of Mexico, 
so on the following morning we did so. The General 
told Geronimo that he would leave soldiers on the line 
to escort any Indians that came in, back to Fort Bowie, 
and there he would wait for them. Rations were getting 
scarce. We no sooner got to Fort Bowie than the rene 
gades began to come in in a stream. Every bunch of 
them had a great drove of horses, and soon after the 
Indians commenced to come in, Mexicans also began to 
come. All wanted their stock, and the Indians refused 
to give it up. 

I guess there were more than a thousand head of the 
stolen horses and there were several Mexican lawyers 
on the ground, and things began to look interesting. 


Arrangements were finally made to pay the Mexicans 
for their stock as they could prove it. And on that 
basis that part of the trouble was finally settled, though 
even until now I do not know where the money came 
from to pay them. 

About this time Sieber was taken down with the 
rheumatism, and some of his old wounds broke out, so 
he was sent to the hospital. General Crook went to 
Fort Whipple, and Captain Crawford, Gatewood and I 
were left with the Indian problem on our hands. 

We were ordered to take the Indians to San Carlos, 
which we did. Geronimo then wanted to move up on 
Turkey Creek, close to Camp Apache, and in the fall we 
moved them all up there. 

Sieber got no better, and he sent for me to come to 
Fort Bowie in November. There he told me he had made 
all arrangements for me to be Chief of Scouts, for he 
said he would never go on another trip. He said he was 
old and worn out. That was the last time he ever did 
go on a trip. He was still kept at Whipple and San 
Carlos by turns and drew 7 $100.00 a month, but the only 
thing he ever did after that trip was to sit around and 
give advice regarding the Indians. 

No white man ever knew Indians as Sieber knew the 
Apaches. The Apaches in turn, had the greatest respect 
for him. His courage was only matched by his regular 
bull-dog hang-on-and-stay-a-long-time qualities. All 
quartermaster s men told of how he, one time, lifted a 
pack mule up and set it on a ledge from which it had 
fallen. This was an example of his strength. 

For myself, personally, I always thought he was the 
greatest and best man I ever knew. Some said Sieber 


was no fit company for man or beast. That was because 
he would go for days at a time and never speak to any 
one. No one knew where he came from originally. A 
few people in Arizona had known him in California, but 
before that he was a blank. I don t think any one ever 
did ask him where he was born or raised, for he was not 
the kind of a man that one cared to ask such a question. 
His face always looked stern, and perhaps savage, to one 
who did not know him, but to me he was always good 
and kind and never, unless in the heat of battle, did he 
speak loud or cross. He was spoken of by the Indians 
as the "man of iron," and of iron he must have been. He 
was shot in Indian battles twenty-eight times with 
bullets and arrows, and the twenty-ninth time he was 
crippled for life. That was when the Apache Kid broke 
out, as I will describe when I get to it. 

Capt. Crawford was now stationed at San Carlos with 
his troop of cavalry. I also put in a big portion of my 
time there. All the Cibicus were as good and quiet as 
mean Indians could be. The hanging of Dead Shot, 
Dandy Jim and Loco had a good effect on them. 

About Christmas time, Gatewood sent word for me to 
come up and see him, as he was having some trouble. He 
did not say what it was. I mentioned to Captain Craw 
ford that I was going up to the Chiricahua camp and 
asked him if he wanted to send any word up to Gate- 

Captain Crawford said he would go with me and we 
would stay and have Christmas dinner with Gatewood. 

I had enlisted twenty-five Apache scouts and Micky 
Free was my first sergeant, so I told him to detail a 
scout to take some messages from Captain Crawford and 


myself to Lieutenant Gatewood, also for him to get ready 
five of his men as an escort for the Captain and myself 
to go up to Gatewood s camp. 

We started a couple of days before Christmas and 
got there on Christmas eve. Gatewood complimented 
us very highly on our military appearance. 

Crawford said w r e looked a good deal more like a band 
of border outlaws than we did like the military com 
mander of San Carlos and the Chief of Scouts. The only 
thing military in the whole outfit was our rifles. We all 
had Springfield rifles, but our clothes, and horses and 
equipments were of every kind from buckskin to calico 
shirts, and from corduroy pants to no pants at all. There 
was not a soldier s uniform in the whole outfit. Crawford 
and I both had Mexican saddles, as did Micky, but the 
rest of our escort had no saddles at all. 

Usually the Apache just puts a raw-hide or hair-rope 
in a horse s mouth and that is a complete outfit for him. 
The Apaches said that the Americans were always leav 
ing something in camp; but an Apache never. With an 
Indian rig (a horse-hair rope), you had all that was 
needed. When you went into camp the rope was used 
to stake out the horse, and when you wanted to move, 
all you had to do was to tie it around his under jaw and 
you had a bridle and no traps or parts of your equipment 
were left in camp. 

We had a big Christmas dinner with Gatewood. 
The Chiricahuas were also given ten head of steers for a 
Christmas treat. Gatewood waited till after dinner and 
then he told Crawford and me his trouble. He said he 
could not keep his count of the Indians any ways near 
the same. One count day there would be six hundred, 


and the next count day there would be from five to fifteen 
short, and he could not get any satisfaction out of 
Geronimo about where these people were. Geronimo 
said he did not know. Noche was in charge of the 
Chiricahua police and he said he did not know where 
these people were when they were missing. Gatewood 
had counted them the day we got to camp and they were 
twenty-two short. 

I concluded that it was now up to me, for as chief of 
the scouts, it was my business to see to such things. I 
called Micky, who was having a good time in the Chirica 
hua camp, and told him that we would count the Chirica- 
huas at sunup next morning and for him to tell 
Geronimo that I would expect to find every Indian there, 
as none had permits to be absent. 

Micky said: "Well, I have learned that there are 
about fifteen bucks gone back to Mexico to steal horses, 
and if my information is right you won t find them here." 

A correct count next morning revealed the fact that 
there were twenty Indians missing. As Chief of Scouts, 
I asked Geronimo, Chief of the Camp, where they were. 
He said he did not know. I told him then, that his 
people would have to be counted at sunup and sundown 
every day. Geronimo did make a strong kick at this, 
but he had to come to it. He said his people did not 
want to be herded like goats and that they were not 
molesting anyone and counting them so often was an 

While we were listening to Geronimo, trying to square 
himself and his people, the soldier who carried the mail 
up to Turkey Creek from Camp Apache, came in. Cap 
tain Crawford was looking over the latest San Francisco 


Examiner and found an article copied from a Mexico 
paper, saying that the Apaches were still raiding in 
Mexico. Told of the place and the number of Indians 
supposed to be in the band. Geronimo was still talking 
when Captain Crawford called to Gatew T ood that he had 
found his missing Indians. He brought the paper over 
and read the article and I translated it to Geronimo. He 
swore that the paper lied, but as some of his people were 
missing, he could not make a very good showing in a 

I sent Micky to San Carlos for the balance of the 
company of scouts and made arrangements for them to 
go to Camp Thomas, where I would meet them. I made 
arrangements to have the Indians in Geronimo s camp 
counted twice a day and then I went to Camp Thomas 
to meet my scouts. 



After the Raiders Apache Smoke Signals Apache 
Humor Horn Gathers His Scattered Scouts and Is 
Joined by Twenty Troopers (Lieutenant Wilder) and 
a Dozen Cowboys In Ambush for the Raiders "You 
Must Obey Me; I Will Cut the Throat of the Man Who 
Does Not Do as I Say!" The Five Minutes Fight, 
Not a Foe to Tell the Story! 

I met my men and they were all in good shape. Each 
had two war horses, and an extra one to carry a little grub 
and to herd on. I struck out for Fort Bowie and there 
made arrangements with the quartermaster to bring me 
grub and grain to old Camp Rucker. I then went on 
towards the Mexican line to try to intercept the rene 
gades as they came in. I scattered out my scouts and 
gave each sergeant in charge of his four men a district 
to work in, so I could cover well all the country that 
these renegades would have to pass through coming back 
to Arizona. 

My scouts were enlisted men and could not again go 
into Mexico, but I was a civilian and could go alone any 
where. I went into the Terras Mountains in Mexico. I 
felt sure the renegades would come through that way. 

I was making camp on the very top of the Terras 
Mountains and, as it was quite a bit after night, I was 
thinking of building a fire, and I knew, also, that it was 


not the proper thing to do, because if the renegades did 
come through there, they could see or smell my fire. I 
was on the side of the mountain, where I could plainly 
see a place on the Bavispe River called Los Pillares. I 
was hobbling one of my horses that I called "Pilgrim." 
When I got him hobbled, I saw he was looking intently 
at something in the distance, so I glanced down towards 
the Pillares and on one of the Pillares (Pillares in Mexi 
can is pillars, or buttes), I saw an Indian signal fire. Of 
course I knew what the Indian was trying to do. He 
was trying to signal some Indians and he did not know 
where they were. I knew the signal was not there when 
I started to hobble my horse, and was sure I would learn 
something before morning. Presently the signals were 
repeated, and they plainly said to me: "Answer!" After 
an hour they were repeated, "Answer!" Of course I 
did not build any fire, but wrapped myself up in my 
blankets, for it was cold (it was the first half of January), 
and set me down to wait and see if the signal was an 

About 10 o clock the man doing the signal act had re 
ceived an answer, but I could not see the point his an 
swer came from. He signaled, one long flash and four 
or five small or short ones, then two flashes and two 
again. The signals meant to me that they "were all 
right and would wait there two days." I knew that the 
rest of the Indians had asked them from some distance 
to wait for them two days. 

I knew now that it was time for me to be moving to 
get my scouts together and try to intercept the renegades 
in Arizona. I was not going to bring my men into Mex 
ico, for I had had enough of that. I traveled all night, 


and after sunup next morning rode into Slaughter s 
Kanch, on the line at the head of the San Bernardino 
Creek. I saw John Slaughter and told him I wanted the 
best horse he could let me have. I then told him where 
I had been and what I had been doing. He gave me a 
good breakfast and told one of his Mexicans to saddle 
up one of the best horses on the ranch while I ate. I 
told Slaughter I wanted to leave my two horses there that 
day and night, for I had ridden very hard, and wanted a 
Mexican to bring them on to Camp Rucker the next day. 

This he promised to do (and did do), and then I got 
on my fresh horse and was ready to pull out. Slaughter 
came out and said: "Tom, that is the best horse on 
this ranch, but I have got three thousand more, so you 
can keep that one. I know you never spare your own 
horses, and I am going to give you that one, so you will 
have no excuse to spare him." 

I pulled out for Rucker, about forty miles away, but 
I was on a good fresh horse, and I let him go. I was 
within about fifteen miles of Rucker and I saw some one 
coming down out of the hills to intercept me, and I saw, 
also, that it was an Indian, in a very great hurry. 

It proved to be one of my scouts on the look out for 
anything he could see. He saw me at a distance and 
recognized me, but he could not make out my mount, as 
I was riding a horse strange to him. 

I learned that the squad he was with was only a short 
distance away, so we went to where it was. I wanted all 
of the scouts, and I wanted them that night. They were 
on the head of the Guadaloupe and up at Skeleton Canon, 
and on the southern point of the Chiricahua Mountains. 
I started a scout for each of the squads of scouts, and 


told them I wanted every man of them by daylight next 
morning. I then went to a place called Tex Spring and 
waited for them, for that was the place we were to meet. 

1 kept one of the scouts with me, and when he and I got 
to the spring I told him to keep an eye open and look 
after my horse, as I was going to sleep. It was about 

2 o clock when I lay down and pulled my blanket over 
me, and, as I had not slept a wink the night before, I 
was soon dead to the world. 

It was after dark when some one touched me, and I 
woke and found Micky standing there. "May we build 
a fire?" he asked. I told him, yes, all the fire he wanted. 
He said all the scouts were there but six, and these 
would be in soon, sure. He said: "We are hungry, and 
some of our horses are tired." I told him to send all the 
horses to herd and make ready to stay there all night, 
and as soon as they could get something to eat I would 
talk to them. And I told him to tell the rest of the men 
that I saw the signal fire of the Chiricahuas the night 
before on one of the Pillares. Micky said: "Now, where 
were you when you saw them?" I told him on the top 
of the Terras Mountains, and that I left the top of the 
mountains about midnight. He went and gave orders 
to send out the herd and w r e soon had something to eat. 
We had just got through eating when up came the rest 
of my scouts. 

A strong sense of humor runs all through the Apache 
race. When these last Indian scouts reached camp the 
sergeant with them came up to me and saluted me, as 
he had seen the American soldiers do, in a very business 
like way. Micky said to him : "Why do you salute your 
chief? He is no soldier. He is a citizen. I am the 


ranking soldier of this outfit, and if you want to salute, 
I am the one to be saluted." "I can t salute you," re 
torted the scout; "there is too much mixture in you for 
me to attempt it. You are part Mexican and part some 
thing else, and I don t know what that part is. I know 
I never saw anyone else like you. I know only Ameri 
cans, Mexicans and Apaches. You are none of these 
and you are all of them, and as I am only Apache I will 
have to balk." This is the kind of talk and josh that 
you could always find in the Apache scouts camp. 

Micky made them eat, turn out their horses, and then 
we had a talk to see how we could get a lick at the rene 
gades. I told them all I had seen, and Micky said the 
same as did all the rest that the signals I saw sent from 
the Pillares were to the effect that the ones at the Pil- 
lares would be joined by the others in two days. I told 
them that it was just about the same time the nightie- 
fore that I saw the last of the signals. It was seventy- 
five miles to that place, so going there was out of the 
question for two reasons. We would not have time, and 
we could not go into Mexico. Now, the question was, 
what would we do and how would we be able to get a 
lick at them? 

Just then one of the scouts on herd came in and said 
there were soldiers coming. I got on the scout s pony 
and went to meet them. This was always customary, 
as wild Indians and tame scouts all look alike in the 

The soldiers proved to be Lieutenant Wilder and 
twenty troopers of the Third, and he was glad to find 
me. General Crook had learned that I had gone towards 
the line with my scouts, and he was afraid I would in- 


vade Mexico again. Wilder had dispatches to that effect 
for me from General Crook. Wilder, of course, went into 
camp there with me. General Crook s dispatches to me 
said that Lieutenant Wilder would remain with me in 
command of the outfit, as it was necessary to have a 
commissioned officer in command of enlisted men, and 
that my scouts were all enlisted men. 

Wilder came over to my fire after he got his camp 
straightened out, and I told him what my dispatches 
contained. That I had an order from the adjutant gen 
eral for him to take command. I then reported to him 
what I knew and what I had seen from the top of the 
Terras Mountains, and that I was sure the renegades 
would come up in tw r o days, or three at most, and I 
wanted to try to get a lick at them. 

Wilder was a trump. He called me Chief, and said 
he would do anything in the world I told him to. "Now, 
you want those Indians," said he, "and nothing was said 
to me about Indians; but we will give them a little chase 
just for luck." 

We all concluded to go to bed and wait till morning. 
Wilder was all right, for he had two blankets, and he 
offered me one of them, as he said he had a piece of can 
vas besides his blankets. I would not take his blanket, 
and the next morning I saw his good piece of canvas it 
was about four feet square! 

Next morning we started to go to the southern end 
of the Chiricahua Mountains to pick out a place to take 
up a good position, that we might cover all the ground to 
the Mexican line. W T e were joined by six San Simon 
cowboys. Micky had met one of them the night before 
and told him that I was at Tex Spring; that I had just 


coine up from Mexico, and was sure to have some knowl 
edge of the renegades, as I had twenty-five scouts there 
on the line, and had just sent word for all of them to 
join me at Tex Spring, to get there before daylight, sure. 

The cowboys were always ready for anything, and so 
they came to help us out if they could. They were all 
well armed and well mounted. Our force was all right 
now, if we could just make the correct guess and inter 
cept the Indians. The boss of the cowboys said for me 
only to tell him what to do and he would do it. 

One of my scouts reported a band of men of some 
kind coming across the flat. They proved to be John 
Slaughter s men, and I sent one of the cowboys to head 
them off and bring them directly to us. When they came 
up I found they had my two saddle horses that I had 
left at Slaughter s Ranch. The Slaughter men were five 
in number, and all were Mexicans except the boss, who 
was a Texan. They wanted some of the row if we could 
get them into it. They were armed, as Wilder said, like 
pirates and well mounted. I knew there were only 
twenty or twenty-one Indians in the bunch, and at least 
three and maybe five of those were women. So we all 
knew that if we could strike them, they were ours. 

The San Simon cattle boss wanted to get at them so 
bad that he could hardly be controlled. He said he 
wanted to get in a place where he could get right up on 
the edge of them. I just wanted a man or two like him, 
so I put him with Micky. We could not figure that the 
renegades could or would come any other way than by 
and mouth of the big open canon called Dry Creek. They 
would come from the Pillares, where they would all get 
together, and Micky and I figured that they would come 


up in the Wild Bull Hills, as the Indians called them. 
We calculated they would then try to make the southern 
point of the Chiricahuas Mountains from there in one 
night. It would be forty miles, but it was open country, 
and they would be bound to cross the Mexican line from 
where they were in the night. Then I knew they would 
have a good big lot of horses, and by crossing in the 
night, and in the neighborhood of the San Bernardino 
Ranch, the horses they had would not make so conspicu 
ous a trail to be seen and followed by anyone, as there 
were hundreds of head of horses on the San Bernardino 
Ranch. I knew, also, that the renegades would figure 
on this same thing. It would also make the best route 
to the Reservation. 

Well, we camped there, and I put in the day figuring 
out the exact way the Indians would come. If we could 
make the right guess on the exact place they would 
come through, then we could get them easily. I took 
only Micky with me, as he and I were the only ones 
among the scouts that knew every foot of the country. 
We finally decided that the place the Indians would 
come would necessarily be the mouth of Dry Creek. 
That settled it, and we went to camp. We kept a good 
watch during the day, thinking we might see something, 
but nothing showed up. 

That evening I placed all the men just where I 
wanted them and we waited and watched the best we 
could during the night, but not a sign did we see of the 
renegades. We put in the day eating and sleeping, and 
of course kept a good lookout. In the evening I took 
more precautions than on the previous evening, as I fig- 


ured we would strike them about daylight next morn 

Next morning, when it got light, there were no In 
dians on hand, but we saw a big dust off to the south, 
and we knew it was the renegades with their stolen 
horses. They were fully ten miles away. At first we 
could only see the dust, and it was quite a while after 
sunup before we could distinguish the Indians. The herd 
of horses kicked up a great cloud of dust, and the In 
dians were enveloped in the cloud of dust, so we could 
only make out one once in a while. 

Instead of coming up into the mouth of the Dry Gulch, 
where we thought they would, they kept on around the 
foot of the mountains in the open. As soon as I could 
determine for sure which way they were going, I ar 
ranged my men, and a fine opportunity we had. 

The renegades had no idea we were near, and as they 
got close to us, I could plainly hear them singing. 

I arranged for Lieutenant Wilder and his troops to 
strike them in the lead, and the cowboys, led by Micky, 
were to take them in the rear. I would keep my Indian 
scouts with me, as I had misgivings about the wild sol 
diers and about the cowboys, wilder still; and as it was 
to be a fight on horseback, I knew everybody would be 
more or less excited. The San Simon cowboys were led 
by a wild kind of fellow, and he asked me if the man I 
was putting with him was anyways timid. "If he is," 
said he, "you keep him and let us cowboys go it alone." 
I told him that if Micky acted timid, to come back and 
tell me, and I would shoot him. I told him to follow 
Micky and he would be in the fight. 1 had told Micky 
how to do, and not to start the fight, but to wait and let 


me start it. I told him that I would expect him to con 
trol the cowboys till he heard my yell and shots from my 

Now we were ready and the Indians were still half a 
mile away. We were waiting for them to get behind a 
hill, then my men would get in position. Micky ranged 
up his cow boys and addressed them in Mexican, which 
they all understood. (Micky could not talk English.) 
He said to them: 

"Friends, I will take you into this fight, and then each 
of you do as you please after the fight gets started. You 
w r ant to do as I tell you until the chief says to start, and 
then we will go. Till that time, you must obey me and I 
will cut the throat of the man who does not do as I say. 
That is all. Come on." 

A more recklessly brave man than Micky never did 
live at any time, and as the cow boys wanted to fight so 
bad, I knew that if they followed Micky they would be 
in it. 

I got down as close to where the Indians would come, 
as I could get. They were coming slowly and we had 
plenty of time. The herd would come within two hun 
dred yards of where my party were concealed. Just 
when they got to where I wanted to strike them, one of 
the renegades gave a yell. "Un-Dah!" he yelled. (That 
meant "White men.") I was going to start the fight by 
firing and this renegade that gave the yell was looking 
towards w r here I knew Wilder was. I w r as on the ground 
and was going to shoot at this Indian. He checked up 
his horse an instant and I blazed away at him. That was 
the signal, and few men ever saw such a sight as I saw 
there. Soldiers rode at them from the front, Wilder at 


their head. Cow boys charged them from the rear, and 
as I saw them come over the hill I looked to see where 
Micky was. He was all right and leading the cow-boy 

I wanted to turn the renegades out into the flat coun 
try, so I took a run at them myself, enough to make them 
think that I had the main body of men with me. Sure 
enough they turned for a minute towards the flat. In a 
good deal less than a minute after I fired the first shot, 
soldiers, and cow boys and renegades were all mixed up 
and most of my scouts went away and left me. I had 
got soldier blouses from Wilder s men and put them on 
my scouts, so that if they did all get mixed up, my scouts 
would be easy to distinguish from the renegades. 

If any hostiles got away from that fight I never saw 
nor heard of them, and I do think that not one escaped. 
A squaw turned towards where I was and there was no 
one after her and she was coming nearly directly toward 
me. I stopped her, and I think she was the only one of 
the entire party that was not killed. After the fight 
was over she told me there had been fourteen in the 
party. Eleven men and three women. We found and 
counted ten dead men and two dead women, and I had 
one woman alive, which accounted for all the women, 
but there was one man shy, and we could not and did 
not find him. He never returned to the Reservation, and 
I do not know what ever became of that one Indian. My 
opinion always was that he escaped in some way, and 
was wounded so that he must have died in the mountains. 

I don t think the fight lasted five minutes. We, on 
our side, had one dead cow boy, a Mexican from San 
Bernardino ranch, and two wounded cow boys. Micky 


Free had a big slash in his left arm and one soldier was 
shot in the neck, and one in the stomach. We were in 
big luck to get off so easy. The cow boys and Micky did 
most of the killing, as they had the best show and all of 
them were riding their picked horses, and as the San 
Simon boss said, they did go right up to the edge of 

There were 118 head of stolen horses and I did not 
know what to do with them. I would not touch them, 
and Lieutenant Wilder w r ould not have anything to do 
with them. The San Simon boss would not have anything 
to do with them, so I got the Slaughter boss from San 
Bernardino to take them back and turn them loose at the 
Slaughter ranch. 

We buried the San Bernardino Mexican. He had 
tried to rope an Indian and did rope him and pulled him 
off his horse; then the Indian got up and killed him. 

Some of the cow boys wanted to scalp the dead In 
dians, but the San Simon boss would not let them. We 
stayed around there till close to noon and then we all 
went our different ways. 

Wilder and I both wrote out our reports of the fight, 
and Wilder sent a couple of soldiers on in to Bowie with 
them. I tried to get Wilder to take charge of my pris 
oner, but he respectfully declined. Wilder was going 
back by the Tex Spring and I was going up over the 
Chiricahua Mountains and I made arrangements to meet 
Wilder at old Camp Rucker, in two days and we would 
go from there to Bowie together. 




Horn Wins the Approval of Both Burke and Sieber A 
Breathing Spell Visiting the Big Ranches Back to 
Camp Apache The Chiricahuas Becoming Restless 
The Verge of Another Outbreak Intercepting More 
Apache Raiders A Surprise and a Scatterment A 
"Big, Healthy, Greasy Squaw Treed." Brandy as a 
Persuader to Telling Tales Geronimo and the Entire 
Tribe Break Out Again The Mexican Rendezvous 
Planning to Thwart the Renegades. 

Five days after the fight we got into Bowie. All this 
happened in the month of January, 1884, and it was the 
last day of January when we got into Bowie. Major 
John G. Burke met us there, or at least he came in the 
first day of February. 

Major Burke and Captain Roberts, both of whom were 
on General Crook s staff, had a long talk with my pris 
oner. I was not present at the talk. Major Burke spoke 
Mexican, or Spanish as he called it, and he used Micky 
as interpreter. Burke came, after he got through his 
talk, and asked me what I was going to do with the 
squaw. I told him it was up to him. He said I might 
send her up to Turkey Creek with the rest of the Chiri- 
cahuas, so she could tell them that the renegades that 
were missing would not come back. I sent Micky and a 
half dozen scouts with him to take the woman up to 


Turkey Creek, and to come back by San Carlos and get 
all their traps and horses that they wanted and coine 
back to Bowie, as Burke said I must make Bowie my 

Major Burke was very much pleased with the way 
things were going, so he told me. 

When Micky and the rest of the scouts came back, I 
had a long letter from Sieber and he told me I was 
doing fine, to keep it up and do just as I saw fit all the 
time and never to wait for orders from headquarters, but 
when^ anything was to be done, to put out and do it and 
let the orders follow me up, as they had on this occasion. 
He said Major Burke and Captain Roberts were both old 
Indian fighters, and whenever it became necessary for 
me to do as I had just done, (that was to go on my own 
hook, without orders); that Burke or Roberts would 
always send out a good young man to find me and take 
charge of my command, but that the young man would 
always do as I advised, just as Wilder had done, and 
any officer who would not do so w r ould never be sent for 
me. Sieber said Burke and Roberts did not want to tell 
me this, but they wanted me to do so without being told. 

After Micky got back from San Carlos we lay around 
Bowie till w r e were tired of it, and I took Micky and a 
couple more men and went out to look around the coun 
try a little and visit. The San Simon cow boss had 
pressed me to make him a visit, so we took in the San 
Simon Ranch for a starter. 

We reached there the next day after we left Bowie, 
and at the ranch we stayed for six days, "hunting In 
dians." Well, it was certainly amusing to hear those 
cow boys tell of the fight we had out at the south end of 


the Chiricahuas. There were ladies, there, also, and one 
of them asked me if I did not think it a very dangerous 
life to lead, being chief of scouts. She asked me how I 
knew the Indians would come the way they did come, 
and a great many more questions with about the same 
amount of sense in them. She asked me if I was not 
afraid my own scouts would revolt and kill me. She 
said they could do so any time out in the mountains. She 
said : "All the cow boys say that your man Micky is one 
of the greatest scouts alive and one of the bravest men, 
but I am sure he looks like a villain." 

I told her that Micky was a gentleman and a scholar, 
and that I also considered him a judge of beauty, as he 
had told me that the white lady with blue eyes and 
blonde hair was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. 
Next day I noticed she had Micky in her house feeding 
him sweet cakes and giving him lemonade to drink! 

We knocked around the big ranch and visited for 
about three weeks, and then went back to the Post. 

Along in the summer we went up to Camp Apache 
and to the Chiricahua Camp on Turkey Creek. I was 
going to discharge my scouts in a short time, as they had 
enlisted for only six months at a time, and I wanted to 
see Gatewood, so as to know if it would be necessary to 
enlist any more. 

Gatewood told me he was having an awful time. The 
Chiricahuas were unusually mean; were trading off all 
their horses for ammunition and whiskey, and that they 
were raising Cain with all the other Indians; in fact, that 
he could do nothing with them. 


"They will not stay much longer," said he, adding 
that he was going to leave the camp and go and live in 
Camp Apache, twelve miles away. 

I went over to Geronimo s camp and asked him why 
he could not behave himself. He asked me what he had 
done, and I told him that his people were not doing right. 
He said he could not do anything with them. I asked him 
if he was tired of life on the Reservation, and he said all 
his people were dissatisfied. I wanted to know why. He 
replied: "It will do no good to lie to you; they want to 
go back to Mexico." I told him if he ever left again, that 
General Crook would keep his word and go down to Mex 
ico with a w r ar party and that many Indians would have 
to die. He said that they all wanted to go, and that only 
his counsel held them. I learned from his talk that Gate- 
wood had good cause to feel uneasy, for when Geronimo 
said that only his voice for peace was heard in the entire 
Chiricahua Camp, that the matter of peace hung by a 
very slim thread, for Geronimo never had favored peace. 
He would talk peace, and talk it day and night, but he 
was in reality the war chief of the Chiricahuas, and was 
still looked upon as such by all the tribe, and the balance 
of peace, when left to him, was surely a slim hold on 

I went down to San Carlos, saw Sieber and told him 
of my talk with Geronimo. I told him that the other 
chiefs would not talk to me at all. Sieber said: "That 
means war, and bitter war it will be now. I have just 
learned what Geronimo came up here for. He calculated 
to live here on the Reservation and keep sending raiding 
parties into Mexico to steal horses and bring them up 
here and sell them and start up a regular business, think- 


ing we would be compelled to help him out with it. You 
and Wilder and the cow boys knocked it out of the first 
gang that he sent down, and now that he sees that he 
can not do that kind of business in a successful way he 
wants to go back on the war path, so he can keep up 
the devilment he loves so well. We will go to Bowie 
and see Burke, and we may be able to do something. At 
least we can not let this go without putting it to him 

Sieber could not ride on horseback, as an old wound 
in his hip was giving him a lot of trouble, so he got an 
ambulance from the Quartermaster and we struck out for 
Bowie, which was now the Department Headquarters. 
Sieber had to go around by Thomas with the ambulance, 
so I went straight across the country and got to Bowie 
one day ahead of him. 

When he came in we saw Major Burke and told him 
that we thought Geronirno was going to break out again, 
and soon at that. We then went over the whole busi 
ness with him and told him our reasons for what we 
thought. Major Burke told us that General Crook was 
in Washington and that he would write him a full ac 
count of what we had reported, and see what General 
Crook had to say. Burke wanted to know what we had 
to suggest to stop the outbreak. We wanted to take up 
the cavalry regiment and put all the bucks in irons and 
the women and children under guard and send them 
away. Burke wanted to know where we could send them 
to. I suggested that they be sent to Missouri, and Sieber 
said: "Yes, send them to Missouri or to h 1 or some 
such place. That is all we can do." 


I asked Burke if I should enlist another company of 
scouts, and he said I could not, as no arrangements had 
been made for them. He told me that I could hire nine 
Apache scouts for $30.00 a month and them furnish their 
own horses, and one man for $50.00 and furnish his own 
horses and that the Quartermaster Department would 
give me forage for two horses for each man. Told me 
to go to San Carlos and get them and report back at 
Bowie as soon as convenient, as he thought General 
Crook would soon be there. I went back with Sieber in 
the ambulance and took my saddle, as I had some horses 
at San Carlos I wanted to bring down. 

I got my scouts as soon as my old company was dis 
charged. I made Micky my head man, of course, and we 
were soon back at Fort Bowie. 

There Burke told me that General Crook would be 
delayed some time in Washington, and hinted that now, 
as my men were all civilians, I could cross the Mexico 
line, and that we would not be an armed body of 
American troops. 1 then told him how Sieber and I once 
crossed the line and that our own government rounded 
us up for it, and he laughed and said, yes, he knew all 
about our having been "reprimanded by the investigating 
committee," and said that he guessed it did not do much 
good, as the following January I had gone into Mexico 
alone, anyhow, as far as the Terras Mountains, when I 
located the Indians that we cleaned up so well down on 
the south end of the Chiricahua Mountains. I told him 
one man was not an armed body of men. He gave me to 
understand that if I did violate the orders of our War 
Department and invade Mexico with civilian scouts, that 
our Government would stand bv us if we were arrested 


down there. And that if we made an invasion and were 
not arrested in Mexico, that he did not think the federal 
courts would handle us very roughly here in the United 

Of course we would not be arrested in Mexico, for 
there was no one there to arrest us. Burke told me to 
take my men and go make Camp Rucker my head 
quarters, and that he would send down rations and for 
age for us. He told me always to leave two or three men 
in camp so they could go and find me if I were away from 
camp when any message came from headquarters. 

We pulled out. We had about twenty-five extra 
horses and every one of them a picked horse. We were 
well fixed to do lots of scouting, but there were no rene 
gades out that we knew of. I alw r ays left three men in 
camp to feed and look after our extra horses. Now, when 
we would go out, we never had to take an extra with us, 
for we would make only such trips as took us from four 
to six days. I never got any further orders regarding 
anything. Every month the Quartermaster s chief clerk 
from Fort Bowie, would come down in his ambulance 
and pay us off. There was a troop of cavalry stationed 
there also, and with the troop and in command of it was 
my friend. Lieutenant Wilder. He put in his leisure 
time in wishing I could find some more renegades, and 
in drinking smuggled muscal. I always left word at 
camp with the men there as to about where I would be if 
we were needed. I w r as looking for General Crook to 
come, but did not hear a word more of him. 

Along about the middle of November the long ex 
pected happened. At the head of Skeleton Canon we 
heard some shots fired and a big bunch of "Diamond 


A" cattle came running through the hills. There were 
300 or 400 head of them, and we were sure it must be 
Indians. It was either Indians or outlaws, sure, and so 
we guessed Indians. Whichever it was, if we met them 
it meant war. There were eight of us, and we were all 
right to look out for ourselves. 

Micky and I got off our horses and ran up to the top 
of a little butte and there we saw about twenty-five In 
dians gathered around the carcass of a cow they had shot. 
There were squaws, and bucks and children, and they 
were all gathered or were gathering around the cow so 
we could not get a count on them. They were coming 
from the north, toward the Keservation, as we saw sev 
eral of the hindmost ones still coming up. There was 
water close to them, but if they camped at the water we 
could not get at them, as there was too much open 
country. They were about 600 yards from us, but we 
could get a great deal nearer by going on foot. The only 
thing to do was to try and get a lick at them as they 
were butchering. 

We tode as close as we dared go on horseback and 
then left one man with our horses and ran up on a little 
hill that had a kind of a rough stony top and also a few 
scrub trees on it. We were only a couple of hundred 
yards away, so we tore loose at them. Well, I am telling 
the truth when I say there was no more butchering done 
there. The women and kids commenced to yell and their 
horses were some that had been stolen in Mexico, and 
they most all of them got scared at the racket and 
started to run and we kept on shooting for a minute, and 
then I sent four of the scouts to bring the horses. The 
man we left with them was coming, but he was slow. 


In a couple of minutes the horses were brought up. 
Micky and I remained and were shooting as well as we 
could, but we were not doing any good. When our 
horses came up, we mounted and went at the Indians. 
We did not have very good success, as they were well 
scattered now, and running, most of them on foot, and 
they were hard to do anything with, so we went back up 
the hill the way the rest of the scouts had gone. 

We found Micky w r ith tw r o squaws and five children; 
we also got six horses and tw r o mules with their equip 
ments. We went down to where we had done the first 
shooting, at the beef, and there we found two dead bucks. 
I was afoot, my horse having been killed, and we had 
a bunch of prisoners. We did not notice for a while 
that we were one man shy, and then we heard a big 
racket up on the top of the hill. Micky rode up there 
and one of the scouts had a big, healthy, greasy squaw 
treed. The scout did not want to shoot her, and she had 
out her knife and swore she would cut his heart out if 
he put his hand on her. I did not see it, but Micky said 
it was a great battle. The woman said she would not 
be a prisoner, so Micky said: "Well, we have got too 
many prisoners, any way." He drew up his gun as 
though he were going to shoot her in the eye, and she 
said: "Well, I will go with you." That made three 
women and five kids that we had and the worst of it 
was we did not have the women the kids belonged to. 

We loaded them all on the horses we had cap 
tured, after I picked out the best animal (and a very 
good one he proved to be after he got rested up a month 
or so), and for Camp Rucker we headed. It was getting 
late and we wanted to get out into the San Simon Valley 



before night. We were thirty miles from Rucker and we 
wanted to get there that night. The San Simon Cattle 
Company were boring a well out in the flat and I wanted 
to go by there and tell the men the Indians were out, as 
one of our captives said all the Chiricahuas had broken 

At the well I found one of my men from Rucker com 
ing to look for me to tell me of the outbreak. He had 
also come by the well to let the boys there know that the 
country was full of Indians. This outfit of mine settled 
the whole thing with the men at the well. They wanted 
to get away from where they were and they wanted to do 
it quick. They had a good team of horses and a wagon, 
and a double-barreled shot gun. They could not go to 
the San Simon ranch, as they would be going towards 
the Indians. When I suggested that they hitch up and 
go w r ith me, they were very willing. I put all my pris 
oners and the traps that were on the captured horses in 
the wagon, as the Indian s horses were very tired. I put 
Micky in the wagon also, and we again started to Camp 
Rucker, where we arrived about sunup. 

Lieutenant Wilder had a full report of the outbreak 
from Bowie, and he was ordered to co-operate with me 
and see if we could intercept any of the renegades that 
were coining toward the line. I told him that we were 
too late to do any more good, but that I would get some 
thing to eat and then have a talk with the captives. The 
women had refused to talk much and were as sullen as 
mules in a mud hole. 

I got a big drink of brandy from the surgeon and gave 
to one of the women, and then all of them said they 
would talk if I would give them a dram. This I did, and 


a big one, and they then told me all about the outbreak. 
How every one was made to leave all extra horses and 
camp traps and to make for Mexico in small bunches of 
about twenty in a bunch, and not to stop from the time 
they started till they got to the San Luis and Terras 
Mountains. They were all warned to be very careful on 
the Mexican line, as Geronimo knew that Micky and I 
were on the line somewhere. There is a mountain in 
Sonora, Mexico, called El Durasnillo. The Indians call 
it Cu, and there all the Indians were to rendezvous. 

This was pretty good to know, so I sent a scout in to 
Major Burke and told him what I had learned as to the 
place the Indians would all come together, and suggested 
to him that he immediately notify Colonel Tores, at Her- 
mosillo, Mexico, to that effect, so as to give him a chance 
to go gunning for them. 

After I started my messenger to Major Burke I tried 
to get Wilder to take my prisoners on to Ft. Bowie, but 
he would not do it, as he wanted to go on down towards 
the line and try and find some more Indians. So I had 
to go myself to Bowie. I did not like to leave the line. 
I knew, also, that all the renegades were in the moun 
tains safe across the line, but I had only ten men and I 
could not divide them and do any good. 

I dared not send Micky in charge of the prisoners, for 
he would have killed all of them; so I sent Micky and 
another with Wilder and I loaded my squaws and kids 
into a Government wagon and pulled out for Bowie. 



No More Bluff, but Real Old Business Civilizing Geron- 
imo a Hopeless Task General Crook Arrives Prep 
arations for War A Side-Trip Scrimmage Danger 
and Irish Wit, Guns and Tongues Sergeant Nolan 
and the Indian "Ladies" Plan of Campaign Chir- 
icahua Band, Bent on Vengeance, Raid up to White 
Mountain Camp Hal-Zay "Loses His Head" Horn 
and Ten Scouts "Hit the Trail" The Language of a 
Cold Trail: Tracks, Side Trails, Smell of Roasting 
Muscal, Shadows of Camp-Fires Ten Miles Ahead 
"We had Located the Main Camp at Last!" Sending 
for Captain Crawford and the Troops. 

When I got there I found Burke had wired Colonel 
Tores, the Mexican commandante of Sonora, Mexico, and 
I learned also, that to the best of Burke s knowledge all 
the rest of the Indians had gotten to Mexico in safety. 
Now, it was no more bluff and no more talk for there 
would have to be a great deal of campaigning to get rid 
of the Indians. Major Burke actually told me he did not 
think Geronimo could be made to stay on the Reserva 
tion. Every advice that the Government had ever had 
was that Geronimo would not stay on the Reservation, 
and nowhere else but on the war path. Every Depart 
ment Commander wanted to have the reputation of civi 
lizing Geronimo. I had helped, and in fact been mainly 


instrumental in bringing him to the Keservation twice, 
and he had been brought up and put there a couple of 
times before, and now Major Burke said he did not think 
it was worth while to try to keep him there. 

Sieber knew that a dozen years before, and had al 
ways maintained that the wily chief would have to be 
sent away if the Government wanted to stop his raiding, 
and now Major Burke, Chief of Staff for General Crook, 
admitted as much. 

I got ready to start toward the line again, but I knew 
it was too late to do any good, so Burke told me to wait 
for reports to come in from the pursuing parties, as he 
said there w r ere several out, and all of them specially in 
structed not to cross the line. One of my captive kids 
died in a day or two. It did not belong to any of the 
women we had and the women would not look after it. 
It was only about three years old and did not take kindly 
to Government rations and the guard house, so it went 
to the Happy Hunting Ground. The rest were put in the 
guard house. 

Keports commenced to come in that the troops pursu 
ing the renegades had followed to the Mexican line and 
there abandoned the trail as per instructions from the 
Department Commander. That was the report of every 
one of the commands that were in the pursuit of the rene 

General Crook wired that he was coming from Wash 
ington, and for Sieber and me to meet him there at Fort 
Bowie. It was two months before he did come, and that 
threw us out into 1885. But General Crook was fixed 
for war when he did come. He had had a regular treaty 


made with the Mexican Government, so we could cam 
paign in Mexico the same as in the United States. 

He ordered Sieber and me to San Carlos to enlist 
Apache scouts to go to Mexico, for we had long before 
decided that only Apache scouts could ever be effective 
on a campaign in the Sierra Madres. We enlisted one 
hundred scouts of the San Carlos and White Mountain 
tribes for a six months campaign in Mexico, and all to 
go on foot. Under the new treaty we were to have any 
and all stock that we captured from the renegades. 

General Crook went to work to establish heliograph 
stations and started a school in Bowie to teach men the 
art of heliography. He ordered cavalry stationed at all 
the principal watering places anywhere near the line, 
and started out just as though he intended to make good 
his word with Geronimo in the Sierra Madres. Three 
pack trains and a good many team mules were sent to 
Bowie from Camp Carlin, Wyoming. Ed Delaney was 
boss of one pack train, and John Patrick was in charge 
of another, and Ben Groves had the third. Harvey Car- 
lyle was master of transportation. 

Things did sure look like war, and in June we pulled 
into Mexico. 

Sieber had to stay at home, as he was crippled up, 
and too old for such hard work as we had before us. 

We calculated to have a field headquarters and supply 
depot at Nacori, and we went there. I was busy all sum 
mer getting stations located for the heliograph. We 
made several little side trips while getting everything 
in order. 

On one of these we ran onto a bunch of Indians in 
camp. There was a detachment of troops with us, or 


rather I was with them. I was looking for a place to 
put in a connecting station for the heliograph we were lo 
cating. The men who were going to do the work at 
the station (there were about twenty of them) met a 
bunch of Chiricahuas in a canon. There was no com 
missioned officer with them, but they made a run at the 
Indians and caught thirty women and children. There 
were only about seven or eight bucks with the gang, and 
the bucks all got away. One of the Squaws was run over 
by a soldier and hurt so that she died before a doctor 
could get his medicine to work on her. Excepting this 
squaw (and a crippled pack mule) there were none 

I got my mountain located where I wanted to put 
a station, but could not find my men to put up the glass. 
I started out the way I had told the soldiers to come 
and meet me, and I was coming to the conclusion they 
had made a mistake and got lost, and was thinking to 
myself that they had overruled my scout and gone to 
suit themselves, when I began to see all kinds of tracks 
on the ground. 

There were Indian tracks on foot large and small 
cavalry horse tracks, pack mule tracks, and lower down 
a dead pack mule. The tracks showed me plainly 
enough that there had been a fight, and soon I saw where 
the soldiers had turned back, and could see they were 
guarding prisoners. Then I knew I would find them at 
Nacori, so I pulled out for there. 

It was past midnight when I got to Nacori, and Nolan 
had not come in yet. I told Major Davis, who was in 
command, what had become of his "shadow men," and 
that they had no doubt camped, and that I had missed 


them in the night, but that they would be along in the 

At daylight I was on my way back to meet them. I 
had a whole lot of soldiers and Apache scouts with me. 
About 9 o clock we saw them coming. There were a 
good many more prisoners than there were guards. Ser 
geant Nolan had seen my Apache scouts, and thinking 
we might be renegades, he was trying to get the pris 
oners in position so he could hold them and make a fight, 

I had with him two Apache scouts, and they were 
trying to make Nolan understand that we were of his 
own party. Nolan thought the scouts were frightened, 
but, as he was not very proficient in the Apache tongue 
(for he said there were no Apaches in Ireland!), and as 
the scouts did not know any English, they could not 
get him to understand. Finally one of the prisoners 
said to Nolan: "You fool! He white man soldier!" No 
lan then saw that we were all right, and he slacked up 
and put up his pistol. 

One of the men in his detachment used to tell after 
ward what Nolan said to the prisoners when he was try 
ing to get them behind a reef of rocks, so he could guard 
them and make a fight at the same time. Martin re 
ported that Nolan said : 

"Ladies, there are people approaching that are your 
friends and are enemies of mine and the United States 
Government. Now, I, Sergeant Nolan, do order you to 
get behind that reef of rocks, and I want you to be 
d d quick about it, and not stand there gaping like a 
lot of low-down shanty Irish! Here, you little black-haired 
imp of the devil, let that pack horse go and come along 


here! To h 1 wid yer d n talk, and do ye moind! You 
think that you will be rescued, do ye? Not while Nolan 
is at the wheel; you won t lose your course. I will order 
a court-martial and hang every mother s son of ye to the 

By this time Martin said Nolan was getting so ex 
cited he did not know what to do. He yelled to Martin 
to shoot those two d n d Apache scouts. "They have 
led us into this ambush!" Martin then got Nolan to 
understand that we were from Nacori. When Nolan 
did finally see that we were all right, he said: "God be 
praised! I was afraid I would have to take a life, and 
I was using my best judgment to act and conduct myself 
as a gentleman before ladies." 

This soldier, Martin, never did get through telling 
what Nolan did and said there in two minutes. Nolan 
was very much worried as to what he should do with the 
ladies when they camped for the night, and he finally 
went over and told them in the choicest Conemara Irish 
that he had never read anything in any article of war 
that would seem to fit this peculiar case, and they would 
have to excuse him, but he could not offer them any bed 
steads to sleep upon. "In fact, we don t have any with 
us, because we did not expect the honor or pleasure of 
your company." 

Nolan never did hear the last of what he did and said 
on that trip; but he "got the grapes," just the same. 

Nolan was all right! 

We were very busy all the summer of 1885, getting 
transportation into proper condition, getting camps of 
soldiers established at all the principal water holes and 
getting the heliograph in working order. 


When we got the heliograph to working properly, we 
could send a message to Fort Bowie from Nacori in about 
an hour. It had to pass through seven stations; had to 
be received and sent again from one to the other, but 
such was the excellence of the management that seldom 
was a mistake made. 

I was hastily called to Fort Bowie after we had all 
the stations established and working, and there met Gen 
eral Crook, who was having a battalion of Apache scouts 
enlisted to go to Mexico under Captain Emmet Crawford. 
With Crawford was Lieutenant Marion P. Maus, now on 
General Miles s staff, and Second Lieutenant Shipp, who 
was killed at San Juan Hill, in Cuba, in 1898, July 2d. 

The scouts were on the road to Bowie from San 
Carlos when I got to Bowie. General Crook said he 
would send for me as soon as Crawford arrived. 

When Crawford did get t,o Bowie, we were all sum 
moned to meet and talk to General Crook. He invited us 
to dinner and after dinner he told us his idea, which was 
to have us go to Mexico and stay there six months, and 
when we got on an Indian trail never to leave it so long 
as we could find one track to follow; to strike the rene 
gades as hard as we could on every occasion; to kill all 
bucks and take all women and children prisoners; but 
that we must keep after them all the time. He then told 
us all the details of arrangements in Arizona, and he gave 
Captain Crawford a map of all the country where troops 
were stationed and where there were heliograph stations. 

It was about December 1st when we finally left 
Bowie.. We had heard, by heliograph, that a band of 
renegades had crossed the line close to Aqua Azul, and 
that they were coming up the country. We thought they 


would come through the Dragoon Mountains, as that 
would be their best route up from where they crossed 
the line. I was now the one who, as chief of scouts, had 
to decide about such things, and how I did miss Sieber, 
for he knew everything! 

I put out men in the Dragoons and men as far west 
as the Whetstone Mountains, to try to get them as they 
came up, and in that way to keep them from raiding in 
the settlements. Always before we had been compelled 
to wait until they had done their raiding, and then follow 
their trail back. 

Our helio was doing its work well. All the settlers 
were requested to notify the helio stations as soon as any 
Indian sign was seen. This was the first bunch of In 
dians we had ever heard of as they came up from Mexico ; 
and this information came, thanks to the helio. 

Well, they were a war party bent on revenge, and not 
on robbing. They were not seen again until they got to 
the Reservation and there they ran into old Nad-is-ki s 
band in the White Mountains. The men were nearly all 
away, so they struck a camp mostly of women and chil 
dren and killed twenty-one of them. One of the raiders 
was also killed, and they cut his head off and took it into 
Camp Apache. It proved to be Hal-zay, the Indian 
Sieber and I met on the Bavispe River, when I first went 
with Sieber to the Chiricahua camp. A party of men had 
gotten after them there the next day, and they had come 
back south and crossed the line way up by Alamo Hueco. 

We headed then for the Car-Cai, in Mexico, knowing 
they would cross in there. Now, one thing we knew, and 
that was that they were going to try to do so much dam 
age to the Indians on the Reservation that the Indian 


men on the Reservation would not go to Mexico to hunt 
them. They made remarkable rides while up in Arizona, 
and the troops were within sight of them several times; 
but as there were only eleven came up in the first place 
and one of them was killed, only ten of them got back. 
They did not steal any horses except what they had to 
have to make good time, nor kill any one except one 
Mormon at Ash- Canon. 

Well, I struck their trail in the Sierra Madres, and as 
it was ten days old when I struck it I knew we would 
have to be very careful or we would not get up to them. 
I left the command and took ten men and pulled out on 
the trail on foot. I made arrangements for Crawford 
to wait two days where we were camped and then follow 
on down by Nacori; then on to the crossing of the Rio 

I kept on trail of the ten knowing they would go to 
the main band to tell of their raid on the Reservation. 
I soon saw that they did not know exactly where the 
main band was, and there had been rain enough in the 
mountains to wash out any very old trail. 

After we got across the Arras I struck more Indian 
signs, and saw where quite a bunch of Indians had come 
in from Saguaripo in that part of the country; then I 
sent a man back to tell Crawford that we w r ere coming 
upon more Indians, and wrote him what I knew. I also 
told the man I sent back to bring the command to the 
mouth of a big canon we could see in the mountains 
ahead of us. 

In a few days I found more tracks coming in, and 
knew then that the reason the Indians we were following 
did not know exactlv where to find the main band was 


because the main band, or anyhow, all the bucks, had 
been raiding in Sonora. All that were coming in had 
lots of horses. 

Pretty well up the Arras we found where a bunch of 
cattle had been brought in on the trail and also found 
where a big lot of Indians had been camped but had 
Amoved on south into the mountains. 

Here also all the trails leading away had been made 
at the same time, and then I knew that we had struck 
the main bunch. (There were many beef carcasses, show 
ing they had killed all the cattle and jerked the meat.) 
There were about four hundred of the Indians, but many 
of them, as I knew, were w r omen and children. Here I 
sent two men back to Crawford, and told him all I had 
learned and asked him to come with the outfit and camp 
till he heard from me again. 

I left the trail and took up a course parallel with that 
of the renegades, for I well knew their custom of leav 
ing a few men behind the main party to give warning 
if any one was in the track of them. I traveled all day, 
and then at evening began to cut across to see if I could 
strike their trail. I sent a couple of men to two different 
mountain tops to see if they could see any sign or shadows 
of camp fires. Two of the scouts who went up on one of 
the hills came back about midnight and said they had 
seen the shadow of camp fires reflected on the clouds in 
the sky and that the Indians must be camped a long way 
up the river. 

I sent two more men back now to bring the outfit on 
up to the point where we were and to wait there for 
further orders. We went on the next day, and about 
noon we could smell the smoke from pits where the rone- 


gades were roasting muscal. Then we knew that we were 
getting very close to the main Indian camp, as they have 
to take a week generally to roast muscal and they would 
not be doing it unless they felt very safe. 

We lay off and slept the rest of the day after we be 
gan to smell Indians, and we calculated to do the most 
of our work from that on, after night. When night came 
we were all on the highest point around there, and as it 
began to get dark w r e began to see shadows of fires and 
they were not ten miles from us. W r e had located the 
camp at last. 

NOW T the main thing to do was to get at them in good 
shape. I had only four scouts with me now, but I sent 
two more back to bring the command up to where we 
first smelled the muscal smoke. 

I did not know anything about where the command 
was, as I had been sending w T ord back to Captain Craw 
ford all the time, but had had no w r ord from him. I was 
afraid now that he was several days travel behind me. 

I did not know Crawford, but he had a great reputa 
tion as a "go-to- em" kind of a fellow, and no man would 
look at him and call him afraid or negligent. He looked 
good to me; he had a regular wolf snap to his jaw. 
Really the only thing I was afriad of was that the coun 
try would be too rough. W^hen I was leaving him fifteen 
days before, he said: "Now, Chief, you show me the 
way, and I will be there on Hank Monk time." 

Well, I was showing him the way, but I had not had 
a chance to hear from him and now that I wanted him 
I began to be afraid he w r ould be slow. 

I took my last two men and struck out to get close to 
the Indians camp and see what we could learn about it, 


by the time daylight came. We were all night getting 
to a place that suited me, and so when we did get where 
we thought we would be all right we all sat down and 
went to sleep. 

I woke as day was breaking and was plenty cold, as 
we had no blankets and we had not had anything to 
eat except meat, for ten days. As it began to get 
light, we could see some fifty camp fires, and some of 
them were not a mile away from us. We saw the In 
dians going around in their own way, driving in horses, 
and they did have lots of them. At first I thought they 
were going to move camp, but I soon saw that they were 
merely getting in their horses to accustom them to the 
camp, as many of the animals had just been stolen and 
were not yet used to an Indian camp. 

About 9 o clock I had learned all I could learn about 
them and the lay of the land, so we started back to get 
our own command. If Crawford was keeping up with 
me, he would not be more than twelve miles away, and if 
he was not, it was not my fault. About noon, or a little 
after, we were called by one of my scouts and he said 
the outfit was very close there, and so it was. My two 
men and I were very hungry; Crawford had a dozen pack 
mules with him, and we soon had something to eat. 
Everybody was pleased at the news we brought, for the 
command had had a hard time keeping up with my 

I told Crawford all I knew, and he told me to go on 
and finish the job. "You have made a fine hunt of it so 
far, and you must take command now, and do your best, 
is all I can say." 



I had everybody get ready for a whole night s work, 
and then I lay down and went to sleep and was wakened 
at sundown; one of the packers gave me some grub, and 
we pulled out. 



Forces Divided Into Four Groups Under Crawford, Maus, 
Shipp and Horn Attack Upon Geronimo s Camp 
Complete Rout A "Sieber Bluff" Horn Captures 
Nana The Old Chief s "Growl!" Geronimo Sends 
Messenger; He Would Talk Chiricahua Squaws as 
Mourners Much Needed Rest. 

We got to the camp all right, and I broke the com 
mand up into four bunches. I took the east side, and 
sent Shipp to the west side. The east side was next to 
the mountains and the west side was about a mile from 
the Arras River. I placed Maus to go to the south side, 
and left Captain Crawford on the north side. We were 
approaching the camp from the north. I wanted Lieu 
tenant Shipp to start the fight on his side, next the river, 
and make the Indians come towards me, if he could make 
it work that way; but at the same time I knew that any 
one of our parties might run into the Indians, and then 
the row would be on. Naturally I knew that the way 
the Indians would break would be towards the rough 
country, and the rough country was on my side. 

We were all in position before daylight, and all we 
had to do was to wait; the longer we could wait the more 
light we would have and the better would be the shoot 


One thing that was against me was the eagerness of 
my scouts. I talked to them, and warned them to try 
to keep from starting the fight as long as possible, to 
give us better light, but they were all mad because of 
the raid that the renegades had made on the Reservation, 
and the killing of the women and children. They all 
knew that we would capture some women and children, 
and I had instructed them that they must not kill any 
women or children, but to go at the bucks and kill all 
the bucks they could. 

There were dozens of horses scattered around every 
where, and just as it was getting light we could begin 
to see the women and children working around among 
the horses, and others beginning to build fires. Minutes 
were worlds to me just then, as it was still too dark to 
do any good shooting. 

It was just getting light enough so we could begin to 
see everything quite clearly, when two big bucks came 
directly towards where I lay. There were four or five 
scouts right with me, but I knew that every one of my 
twenty-five scouts had a bead on those two renegades. 
They got up within twenty yards of where I was, and 
had not yet seen one of my men. No one spoke, but 
everybody seemed to fire at once, and those two bucks 
never smiled again. 

Well, there were big doin s in that camp for the next 
half hour! Geronimo jumped up on a rock and yelled: 
"Look out for the horses!" And a minute afterwards he 
yelled: "Let the horses go and break towards the river 
on foot! There are soldiers and Apache scouts on both 
sides and above us. Let the women and children break 
for the river and the men stay behind!" 


Towards the river they all ran, and I was thinking 
that Lieutenant Shipp had not got into the place I had 
assigned him, but had got in the wrong place. I could 
hear old Geronimo giving his orders as plainly as though 
he had been by my side. 

I kneW that my scouts could hear and understand, 
also. Geronimo kept on yelling to his people: "Towards 
the river! towards the river!" I began to think I had 
been a fool to put Shipp on the river side, and that I 
should have put Captain Crawford there. The time was 
very short, but it seemed ages to me. I knew that a 
scared Indian could outrun a mad one; that my long, 
hard work was about at a close, and I was thinking it 
was too bad; I was just saying to myself: "If Sieber 
were here what a scientific lot of swearing there would 
be!" Then my thoughts came to a close, for I found 
Shipp, and he was the "rightest" man in the world. 

Shipp had a boy with him that could speak English. 
I don t know how much he could speak, but I don t think 
it was much. I think it was the opposite of much that 
he could speak. Anyhow, this boy, Charley, could, of 
course, understand the renegades, and when the fight 
started, and Geronimo commenced to yell to his people 
to go towards the river, Charley made Shipp understand 
it some way or other, and Shipp and his men lay still 
till the renegades got up within ten feet of them before 
they opened fire. Then they did good work and lots of it. 

Instructions to the scouts did not amount to anything. 
They shot everything in sight. Women and children and 
everything else! When I saw the renegades were all 
going directly away from me, I told my men to go round- 


ing in the horses, and to yell to all the scouts to look 
out for the horses. 

I ran down the way the renegades had gone. With 
me was the boy, Chi-kis-in, the son of old Pedro, and my 
first friend among the Apaches. He was a man now, and 
was called a good warrior. 

Shipp and his men coming up in front of the rene 
gades, as they did, stopped them short, for the renegades 
did not know how many scouts there were in front of 
them. They checked up a few minutes, but Maus and 
Crawford were still giving them a good, heavy fire from 
both sides. Then Chi-kis-in and I ran right into them 
all, and that did settle it! They scattered like quails. 
"Scatter and go as you can!" yelled Geronimo. 

I lost some good shooting by running over a little 
ridge to where I heard him, to try to get a shot at him. 
I could not tell one Indian from another they were so 
thick, and all running, and it was sure enough run, too! 
So I could not distinguish Geronimo. Captain Crawford 
had told me to try to kill him if I possibly could, and I 
knew him so well that I thought I could recognize him 
at any distance; but there I was, convinced that all naked 
Indians looked alike to a man at some distance, and be 
fore sunup at that. 

When I saw that I could not pick out Geronimo, I 
followed along, shooting wherever I could see a buck to 
shoot at, but I was getting down to where the women 
and children were, and things were pretty badly mixed 
up. Shipp was right in front of a big lot of women and 
children, and could have gotten all of them, but they 
could not surrender, as the scouts kept killing them so 


fast, and when that was stopped they were beginning to 

Then I tried old Sieber s way. 1 ran down to my 
scouts and yelled and cursed and swore, and said some 
awful things, so Shipp said; but I was not on exhibition. 
I don t know what I did say. Shipp said I would yell 
in Apache and then swear in English, then more Apache 
and then more swear! I guess I was the central figure 
for a while, for Shipp said he quit looking at the rene 
gades and began to watch me. 

Well, whatever I did do, it had the desired effect. I 
got the scouts to stop shooting the women and children, 
and I got a lot of the women and children to surrender. 
I think we got only sixteen to surrender; the rest of them 
wanted to but were stampeded by my scouts. 

Just as we were getting them rounded up I saw a 
renegade trying to cross a little open swale about one 
hundred yards away, and he was going a little lame. He 
was in sight for a distance of about ten. feet only. 1 
ran and gained on him, but he was on one side of 
a little ridge and I was on the other, yet the gulch he 
was in was open and ran right into the gulch I was in a 
couple of hundred yards below. I beat him to the forks, 
or met him there. We were both running and not more 
than twenty-five yards apart. When I came in sight of 
him I threw up my gun; he stopped dead still and turned 
towards me. He was old Nana, a formerly noted chief 
in war and council, but at this time about ninety 
years old. He said to me as calmly as though he were 
going to draw his rations: "I surrender." Then he com 
menced to talk Spanish, which he spoke with as much 
fluonrv as the ordinarv Mexican. 


"I am old," he said, "and no more fit for war as it is 
waged now. At this time of my life all is changed. 
Now the best warriors are the ones who start to run first, 
and their ability as warriors depends on the length of 
time they can run after they do get started. You have 
no men; I know you, you are Sibi s boy, son of the man 
of iron, and he has taught you to fight anyhow, no 
matter which is the superior body of men, the ones you 
are with or the ones you are fighting. Once the Apaches 
were so, but now they sit around the fires and tell what 
they will do and what they can do, and they won t do, 
and can t do anything. We had men enough to make 
you a good fight, and we could get away in the dark after 
we did fight you, but no, these braves must run, run, 

The old chief then commenced to laugh. I had been 
grinning at him, for when I had headed him off he was 
certainly making a gallant play at a run himself, but he 
just could not keep it up, as he had been lame for twenty 
years from a wound in the hip. 

"Yes," he said, "now you think I was running, too, 
and so I was, but I will run no more and I will fight no 

I had not made him drop his gun, so he still had it 
in his hands. He swung it over his head and struck it 
on a rock and broke off the stock, then kept on and bent 
the barrel, threw it down and said: "Para sirvir usted" 
("At your service"). I told him to come on to camp, and 
as several of the scouts had come around, we started 
back toward where the camp was when we jumped it. 

Shipp and his prisoners were ready and we all went 
back. Nana kept up his roast on his own people, telling 


the squaws how brave were the warriors under Ge- 
roniino. "Look," said he, "here are about twenty or 
twenty-five scouts who have taken you prisoners. Where 
are your braves?" 

"They are all gone," said one of the women. 

"Yes," said the old chief, "they have gone, and they 
now have not got the best of anything. They are only 
even with the world. Not one of them has even a blanket. 
They have neither camp nor comfort; yet, up at Turkey 
Creek on the Reservation, when it was left to you women 
to go on the war path or stay on the Reservation, you all 
said: Mexico, Mexico, Mexico. I now say, San Carlos, 
San Carlos, San Carlos! and there I will stay and die, 
and not be trying to keep up with your strong young 
braves in this great Mexican and American foot race. 
Did you hear your great chief, Geronimo? He said, To 
the river, to the river! run to the river! Why did he 
not say: Fight, make the scouts go to the river! " 

Well, this was only a small part of the cranky, roast 
ing talk of the old chief. He said to me: "You think the 
Chiricahuas always run, but I will tell you there was 
once a Chiricahua chief who said, Fight! and his name 
was Nana." 

Nana asked who was the Captain, and I told him. 
When we got up to where Crawford and Maus and the 
scouts had all the horses rounded up, I left Maus and 
Crawford to talk to Nana. Maus could talk some 
Spanish, and I told Crawford who the distinguished 
prisoner was; as I was leaving, I heard Nana say to 
Maus: "My people have just had a big foot race here, 
and the fact of my being old and crippled and unschooled 
in the art of winning a cause by racing for it, the for- 


tunes of a war of this kind have made me your prisoner. 
I am at your service, sir, and only ask as a favor that 
you will allow me to growl as much as I want to. I ask 
also, that you will not ask me anything regarding the 
people that I have passed nearly ninety years of my life 
with, for, while I don t admire their peculiar tactics in 
battle, they are still my people." 

I loved to hear Naiia growl, for he was quite an in 
genious kicker, but I had to look after my men and the 
captured property, and try to get something to eat. 

We had a great many captured horses, but I never 
counted them, as my orders were to kill most of them so 
that the renegades could not get them to live on. We, 
of course, got all the camp equipage of the renegades 
and there was a big lot of plunder of one kind and 
another. Of course, there was a good deal of quarreling 
about the division of the spoils, and to get everything 
straightened out I had to make another Sieber s bluff; 
so I arose in my wrath and made the scouts pile up all 
the stuff and then I set it on fire. I rounded up the 
horses and put a herd guard to look after them, and that 
about squared everything. I then went to look for 
something to eat. I found the packers had come in, and 
I got a good meal, and as it had began to rain by this 
time, I got under a piece of canvas stretched up by the 
packers, and went to sleep. 

I told Crawford to take some men and count the dead 
Indians, but he said he did not want them counted, and as 
I did not care for it myself, they were never counted by 
our party. 

It was a damp, cloudy, dismal day, and was drizzling 
along in a small way all day. The stuff we found in the 


Indians camp was burning and sent up a terrible smoke, 
that went straight up, and I thought at the time that it 
could be seen many miles. There were old blankets, 
quilts, clothes, and raw-hide sacks, such as the Apaches 
used for packing, and everything else that one could 
think of, stolen on different raids. 

Along in the middle of the afternoon, Crawford woke 
me, and told me there was a woman in camp from the 
renegades who had crossed the Arras Eiver and were 
only a few miles away. She said the Chiricahuas wanted 
to talk to Captain Crawford and me. I told her we 
would start away from there on the next day very early, 
and if Chihuahua wanted to talk, he had better come in 
and do so. We were out of rations and would have to 
go to the camp at Nacori to get more, and it would be 
five or six days travel the nearest way we could go to 
get to Nacori, but I did not want to tell them we were 
about out of rations. 

I sent her back, and told her I would talk to any or 
all of them next day. Nana said to the woman to tell the 
rest of the renegades that he was a captive and was go 
ing to San Carlos. I told him, not to San Carlos, but to 
the guard house in Fort Bowie. Any place, he replied, 
where he would not have to run foot races. 

We had, I think, sixteen prisoners, and some of them 
were cutting up a good deal on account of having seen 
their people killed, and an old squaw can always make 
her share of noise when she is doing the weeping act. 
They don t cry, they just pitch out one long screeching 
yell after another, all the time lying flat on their stom 
achs. A dozen of them in camp is no treat. 


We were all tired and worn out, more especially the 
scouts who had been with me, and I, myself, was worn 
completely out. I always tried to carry a hundred 
rounds of cartridges on a trip where we were working as 
we had to w r ork there, for we always calculated that if 
we got cornered in the day time, we could make a stand 
off fight till night and then get away. I never did make 
any calculations on getting killed. Well, a hundred 
rounds of 45-70 cartridges weighs eleven pounds when 
you first put them on, and at the end of twenty days, they 
weigh about as much as a small sized locomotive. 

It kept raining all night, and was still raining at 



Unwarranted Attack by Mexicans Under Corredor "For 
God s Sake, Chief, Can t You Stop Them?" The 
Death of Captain Emmet Crawford Lieutenant 
Maus in Command Thirty-seven Killed, Fifteen 
Wounded Horn as Truce-Bearer "If I am Harmed, 
My Apache Scouts Will Kill Every Mother s Son of 
You!" A Mexican Trick Coming to Terms Chi 
huahua Would Talk Dissatisfaction Among Ge- 
ronimo s Followers Burial of Crawford Horn s 
Reputation Increased Lieutenant Maus Lauds His 
Chief of Scouts. 

All of us began to stir at daylight, and very shortly 
after we saw Mexican soldiers coming toward us. I saw 
they were getting ready to make a fight, and I could 
hear their orders as plainly as I could hear Captain 
Crawford s, who stood beside me. I told the scouts to 
get ready for a scrap, and to listen to me and do as I 
said, and not fire one shot if they could keep from it. 

I heard the Mexican commander say to his men to 
throw out flankers on each side of us, and for some of 
them to get ready to charge. I got Shipp out on one 
side to stop their flankers, and Maus on the other side 
to do the same, and told each of them to start the game 
when they were compelled to for their own protection. I 
yelled to the Mexicans many times, that we were Ameri- 


can troops from the line, but that did not stop them. 
They must have heard me, for Captain Crawford and I 
could hear them plainly. They had formed for a fight 
about three hundred yards from us. We had ample time 
to get into position, and we were in a strong natural 
fortification. I knew a thousand Mexicans could not 
move us. 

Finally, I heard the commander ask if the men were 
all in position for the flank move, and the answer came 
back that they were all waiting. 

"Follow me, valientes!" cried the Mexican Captain, 
and at us they came on a run across a little basin, 
directly toward us. 

Crawford said, "My God, Chief, can t you stop them? 
These scouts will kill them all !" 

I ran out towards them, and Crawford jumped up 
higher still, on a big prominent rock, and had a white 
handkerchief in his hands. He could not speak Spanish, 
but he could swear in a moderately clever way, not like 
Sieber or Chaffee, but still he was doing very well. I 
kept on talking to the Mexicans all the time, and was 
also talking to the scouts and telling them not to fire. 

When they reached the middle of the basin the Mexi 
cans began to shoot. Some would stop and shoot, and 
then come on towards us on a trot, and others would 
do the same, so that some were coming on a trot and 
some were firing all the time. 

One of my scouts yelled to me to come back, that 
Crawford was killed. I was half-way down meeting the 
Mexicans, and was out in the opening. I was w r ondering 
why it was that they did not hit me, and then all at 


once I wondered no more, for I was struck in the arm. 
My scouts saw I was hit, and they yelled, "Come back!" 

I did not start right away, although the Mexicans 
were within fifty feet of me, but I yelled to my scouts 
to give it to them! All my scouts seemed to shoot at 
once, and how it did paralyze those Greasers! They went 
down in groups and bunches! Their advance was 
stopped as though they had come to the end. Some of 
my scouts wanted to be down where I was; and, Chi-kis-in 
and about a dozen came down and kept on shooting at 
some of the wounded Mexicans who were trying to crawl 

I believe the Mexicans afterwards said there were 
thirty-six killed and thirteen badly wounded. There were 
one hundred and fifty-four Mexicans, so they said later. 
After all the Mexicans had gotten out of sight, one of 
them yelled over to us: 

"O, you white man that talks Mexican, I want to talk 
to you." 

I said, "What do you want? I spoke to you many 
times and you would not answer." 

They replied, "Now we want to talk." 

I had gone over to where I had left Captain Craw 
ford standing on a rock. Some of the Indians had said 
that he had been killed, and I wanted to see if it were 

The scouts told me he was lying out in front of a 
big pile of boulders. I ran around there, and sure 
enough, there he lay. Shot in the center of the forehead, 
a glancing shot, but it had torn out a whole lot of his 
brains I should say as much as a handful. 


When I stepped around to where he lay I guess I 
was in plain view of the Mexicans, as they commenced 
to shoot at me again, and I tried to get Crawford back, 
but I had only one arm that I could use, and I could not 
lift him. I could not get the scouts to help me, as they 
do not like to do anything with a wounded man. So 1 
had to drag him with one hand. It was about fifty feet 
from there to the sheltering rocks, but I finally got him 
around there. He was unconscious. I poured a little 
water down his throat, but he did not revive any. 

The fight was going on again quite briskly, and it was 
not worth my while to try to stop it! Chi-kis-in came to 
me and wanted to scatter out our men and go after the 
Mexicans and kill all of them, but I talked to them and 
told them not to do so until I ordered them. 

Old Nana came crippling up to me and said: 

"Captain, though I am a prisoner and an old man, 1 
would like to take the rifle and ammunition of the dead 
Captain and help to entertain the Mexicans." 

I gave him the gun and belt and told him to do as I 
told him, or rather as I told the rest of the scouts. He 
said, "I will do so. If this is a fight to the death, here I 
will die, for I will never be shamed by running, as I did 

I went around among my scouts and told them not 
to waste their ammunition too freely, as we were in the 
Mexicans country, and two weeks travel from the line, 
and may be the Mexicans had taken in all our command. 
I did not know, and could not guess, why we had been 
attacked. I thought Mexico and the United States were 
at war, and that we were in it. I was sure the Mexicans 
did not want to do anything but fight, and I knew, also, 


that my men were wanting to advance awfully bad, and 
I knew, also, that if I did let my scouts go they would 
kill all of the Mexicans, or nearly all, as an Apache has 
no fear of Mexicans. 

I went and saw Lieutenant Maus, and had a talk with 
him, and told him how things were. 

We could not make out why we were attacked by the 
Mexicans, unless Mexico had declared war against our 
country, and, as we had left Bowie on December 1, 1885, 
and it was now January 11, 1886, we had not had any 
word for a long time from the line. 

Maus was now in command, as Crawford was dying, 
and I asked him if I should turn the Indians loose and 
make a ramp on the Mexicans. Maus said to speak to 
them again, and if they did not answer, to do as I wanted 
to, which, I tell you, meant go to em! 

Just then I caught sight of Lieutenant Shipp and his 
bunch of scouts, right around over where the Mexicans 
were, and in a splendid commanding position. I could 
see that the Mexicans were getting excited, also, and so 
I spoke to them and asked them how they liked the 
entertainment. One of the Mexicans asked me who we 
were, and I told him we were a bunch of sports down 
from the United States, looking for some game, and 
thanked him for the nice little time we were having, and 
invited him to get his "valientes" together again, and try 
another charge. 

He asked me what those Apaches were doing, get 
ting up over them, and I told him that if they did not 
charge or run soon, my men were going to try it, and see 
how charging went; but as we were now on three sides 


of them, and a steep ledge in front of them, that they had 
better act as though they had some sense. 

"What do you want?" asked the Mexicans. 

"Everything you have," replied I. 

They talked awhile among themselves, and then they 
asked what the soldier they saw (meaning Crawford) and 
I were doing with the Apaches. I told them that our 
business originally had been to hunt down renegade 
Chiricahuas, but that we were attacked by their outfit 
and that we had to defend ourselves, which we were per 
fectly able and willing to do. 

Just here a loud yell broke out on the side of the Mex 
icans that we did not have guarded, and old Geronimo 
bobbed up and began to call to me. He shouted to me 
to give the word, and we would all strike the Mexicans 
at once and kill them all and get their pinole. Mexi 
cans, when they go upon a campaign or trip, take only 
pinole, a kind of parched meal, and the Indians all like 
it would do anything to get it. Some of Geronimo s 
men began to talk to the Mexicans in Spanish. I could 
easily distinguish old Jose Maria among them. 

The Mexicans were getting pretty badly worked up by 
this time and they asked me to come over there to their 
camp. I went and saw Maus and told him I was going 
over, and then I told the scouts that I was going and to 
be sure to kill all the Mexicans if they killed me. I told 
Geronimo, also, that I was going into the Mexican camp, 
and I heard Jose Maria tell the Mexicans that if they 
harmed me that the scouts and renegades would combine 
and kill every mother s son of them! 

Then I walked over. I went in among them and asked 
where their commander was, and they said that he lay 


dead on the field of battle. I told them we had not had 
a battle yet, only a skirmish; that if their commander 
had been killed they had better go back home and get a 
new one; that we were the same as Mexican troops, as 
we were; and were allowed all the rights and privileges 
of Mexican troops within certain limits and that we were 
within those limits, and that on this occasion, by our 
treaty, our rights and privileges were equal to their own. 
I told them that they had come and attacked us, and that 
we had merely defended ourselves. 

One of them then asked me who I was, and I told him. 
"Well," he said, "we don t know anything of this treaty 
you are talking about, but we think it is all right, and we 
will let it go, though we have had many men killed and 
among them is Don Maurice Corredor, the bravest man 
that ever lived. We will have to take you with us to 
the city of Chihuahua to settle this thing." 

I told them that I would have to decline the order or 
invitation, whichever it was, and they said they would 
take me anyhow, and that I was their prisoner! 

Geronimo was closer to me than my own men and I 
spoke to him and told him what these Mexicans were 
talking of doing, and he yelled to my scouts what I had 
told him, and in a minute every scout and renegade com 
menced to yell and get ready for an advance. The Mex 
icans asked me what the Indians were doing, and I told 
them that I was chief of the Indians, and they did not 
propose to see me taken away. 

"What did you say to the Indians?" asked the Mexi 
cans. I informed them that I had told the Indians I 
was a prisoner. The Mexicans could see that they were 


surrounded and that they would be exterminated in a 
few minutes more 

"We will kill you," said one of them, "if the Apaches 
fire upon us." 

"I know you will," replied I, "and I know, also, that 
you will never smile again after you do kill me, for no 
one but myself can handle or control those Indians, and 
when they know I am killed you will all be killed. Not 
one of you will escape." 

All the Indians were closing in now, and one Mexican 
said to me: "Go quick and stop them, and then come 
back and see if we can not fix this thing up." 

I called to Geronimo not to fire till I told them, or 
till they saw me fall. I was in plain sight of the Chiri- 
cahuas and of most of the scouts, and I stepped up where 
I could be more plainly seen by all of them. I then asked 
the Mexicans if they did not think it unnecessary to take 
me to the city of Chihuahua, as my presence was very 
necessary there with my scouts. 

"Have you not got a commissioned officer with your 
outfit?" asked one, and I told him that there were two 
of them with the scouts. 

"You go over and take care of the scouts, and send 
one of the officers over and let us talk to him." 

"Neither of them can talk Mexican," said I. 

"Well, if you can control the Indians, go on back to 
them," said one of the Mexicans. 

I went back and told Maus all about the whole busi 
ness; also that the Mexicans, such as were there, were 
a very uncertain lot and would not do to trust. Maus 
asked me to go and get one of the prominent Mexicans 
to come over and talk to him. I went back to the Mex- 



lean camp and asked them to send over a man or two, 
or a dozen if they liked, to talk to our officer. 

Two of them concluded to go. Jose Maria, of the 
Chiricahuas, asked me what we were going to do, and I 
told him. "May I come over, too, and hear what they 
have to say?" And I told him yes, to come on. Jose 
Maria came down and the four of us went over to our 
camp. I introduced them to Maus and told them who 
Maus was. The Mexicans then told Maus that they had 
made a mistake and did not know we were from the 
United States, that they were sorry for what they had 
done, and that they had suffered a much more serious 
loss than we had, as Maurice Corredor was a great man 
and would be a great loss to Mexico. I did not tell them 
of Crawford being shot. They wanted to know if we had 
any men killed and I called a scout that had gotten a 
shot in the wrist, and told him there were our wounded. 

The Mexicans did not know what to do and I could 
not see that we were doing any good, so I told them to 
go on back to their camp. We had not had any break 
fast and it was 10 o clock by this time, so we went to 
work to get something for all hands. 

Along about noon a Mexican came over and asked if 
I could let our doctor go over and attend to their 
wounded. I told Dr. Davis he could do as he liked, and 
he went over and dressed a whole lot of wounds for them. 
Dr. Davis said one of them was shot eight times. While 
Dr. Davis was over there, one of them came over and 
asked for Maus to go over, as they wanted to talk to 
him. I told Maus not to go, as he could not do any talk 
ing to amount to anything, but he said he would go, and 
go he did. 


About the time Mans went over, Dr. Davis came back 
and said he did not like the looks of things. That the 
Mexicans did not treat him right. Presently Maus sent 
over a note, saying he was held prisoner; that the Mexi 
cans wanted us to divide our rations with them; they 
wanted our mules to carry their wounded and they 
wanted everything we had. 

They talked of taking him to Chihuahua. I told the 
Mexican who came over with the note, to go over and 
get men to take the mules and grub back; told him to 
bring four or five men. This he did, and the man who 
came back to receive the mules and rations said he was 
the man now in charge of the Mexicans. 

He had four men with him, making five altogether. 
I told them that I was surprised that they should hold 
Lieutenant Maus as they were doing, and he told me that 
they were bound to have their own way, and we had 
better not make any trouble. I told him if that was 
their game, they should see how it was going to work. 
I told them to get upon a rock that was close by. 

"What are you going to do?" asked their spokesman. 

"You are playing a Mexican trick of bluff on us," said 
I, "and I am going to show you what joy means." 

I made them get up on the rock, and then I called old 
Nana and Jose Maria, and about a dozen of my scouts, 
and told them to get ready to do as I told them. 

I told them that as soon as I gave the word, I wanted 
them all to shoot into the Mexicans. By this time the 
Mexicans could see that they were going to be executed. 
I told them to call over to their comrades and tell them 
just the kind of a fix they were in, and after they told 


them that Lieutenant Maus must be sent back in one 
minute, or I would allow the Apaches to shoot them. 

The man then commenced to tell his companions how 
things were, and that they would surely be killed in a 
minute if Maus did not appear. 

For many a day we laughed at the way that Mexican 
did talk! Nana and Jose Maria were also telling them 
that they were all the same as dead men already, and 
how much pleasure they were going to have. I did not 
wait long till I told them that it was no use; that their 
friends had quit them, and they would have to die. 
Their friends wanted to talk, but I told them "No savvy," 
and it was getting time for my lieutenant to be coming. 

The talk of this man sounded so sincere that the lieu 
tenant came over and said that the Mexicans were doing 
a lot of bluffing on him, but they would not do any more. 
Maus said the Mexicans demanded everything when he 
got over there, and he could not talk much Spanish, and 
the Mexicans could not understand a word of American, 
and I guess there had been big doin s. 

Well, that ended the row. I told the Mexicans to 
come over and get a lot of extra horses I had, and I took 
about forty head of the best and turned the rest of the 
captured horses (and there must have been three hun 
dred of them) over to the Mexicans. 

The Mexicans came from the Chihuahua side of the 
Sierra Madre, and the horses belonged to the Sonora side, 
but I was not going to take any more horses to the line 
or to Bowie, as I already had enough of that. 

Late that evening the Mexicans pulled out, and I sent 
half a dozen scouts to follow and watch them. They 
were in very bad shape, as they had a good many 


wounded. I let old Jose Maria go back to the renegades, 
and told him to tell Chihuahua, and any others who 
wanted to talk to me, to come on the next day to where 
we would camp. 

Crawford was unconscious, and remained so till he 
finally died, three days later. He had a great hole in 
his head, and it looked as though a handful of brains had 
been shot out; but with all that, he lived until the third 
day, and died while on the way out of the mountains. 
We were carrying him in a travels, carried by pack 
mules. We were rather a sorrowful lot ourselves, as we 
pulled towards home. We did not want to bury Craw 
ford there in the mountains, so we were taking him out 
to the nearest settlement, which was Nacori. 

I had sent five scouts on ahead with dispatches from 
Maus to our camp at Nacori, and two others we sent to 
General Crook. From Nacori we could send in helio 
dispatches, and by the time we arrived at Nacori with 
the body of Captain Craw r ford, all the world knew of his 
death, and how it came about. 

We buried Crawford at Nacori. The packers and sol 
diers had the grave prepared when we arrived there with 
the body. His body was taken up the next summer and 
sent to either Lincoln or Beatrice, Nebraska, where his 
mother and sister lived, and I have always understood 
that it was buried at Lincoln. 

To go back to the Chiricahuas. As we went into 
camp, the first day after we left the battle ground, a 
woman came and told me Chihuahua was close there, 
and for me to come out, as he wanted to see me. I told 
Maus I was going out to see him, and he told me to 


do as I liked, and to come back and see him, and tell him 
what Chihuahua wanted. 

I went with the squaw, and joined the chief, and he 
said he would follow Geronimo no more, as Geronimo 
was "all on the run and drink muscal." He said Geron 
imo was the war chief, and it was the custom of all other 
chiefs to obey the order of the war chief. He said Geron 
imo was too much on the talk; and gave me to under 
stand that he was going to follow him no more. 

He w r anted me to make arrangements for him to meet 
General Crook and talk to him, and said he would be a 
renegade no more. Chihuahua was one of the most de 
termined, and of the best hereditary standing of any 
chief in the Chiricahua tribe, but he never aspired to rank 
high as chief. Natchez and Chihuahua were half broth 
ers, and both of them grandsons of old Cochise, the most 
noted of all old-time Chiricahua chiefs. 

Natchez was the greatest warrior, and the best man 
physically, in the bunch of renegades; he was also a 
man of great personal pride and courage. So, knowing 
his pride, I asked Chihuahua to try to see if he could not 
get Natchez to come with him. He said he would see, 
but that he thought Natchez would consider himself 
bound to stay with Geronimo. I did all I could in a talk, 
and made arrangements to bring General Crook to meet 
him in the full of the March moon, at the San Bernar 
dino Peak. I told him I could not be sure General 
Crook could come, but that I would take his message 
to him. 

That evening several more women and children came 
in and said they were going back with us. We had now 
about twenty-five prisoners to take back. I never put 


them under guard at all, as they were all willing to go, 
and they were perfectly contented when not within the 
sound of Geronimo s voice. Geronimo certainly had an 
influence over them that controlled them when he was 
with them, but once away from him, they would do as 
they pleased. Now, for the first time, I could begin to 
see dissatisfaction in the renegade camp, and that was 
what I wanted to see. 

At that camp on the Arras, where we jumped Geron 
imo, he could easily have given us a licking, or else a 
stand-off, had he made a fight, and all the Indians in the 
renegade camp thought that I had planned the fight to 
come off just as it did, and ran them down the draw 
among my best scouts. 

It was true, I did send some of my best men with 
Shipp, but I did it because Shipp was young and inex 
perienced, and I thought he would need good men to 
take care of him, as I was sure we would have a hard 
fight. Of course, I never let on but that everything came 
out as I wanted it to. 

Maus and Shipp knew different, but as they could not 
talk to either the scouts or the renegades, they could 
not give me away, and I took advantage of the wisdom 
I was supposed to have displayed. Then, too, the rene 
gades all began to think more of me because I had headed 
off the scouts and would not let them kill any more 
women and children; and, taking it altogether, I was 
getting to be a great man in my own estimation! 

["Personal Recollections of General Miles:" On page 471, 
Captain Maus, in his account, says: "I can not commend too 
highly Mr. Horn, my chief of scouts. His gallant services de 
serve a reward which he has never received."] 



Maus and Horn Report to General Crook at Bowie- 
Surrender of Chihuahua Geronimo Returns to War 
path Crook Superceded by Miles as Department 
Commander Horn Reduced From Chief of Scouts to 
Interpreter He Resigns and Goes to Mining Horn 
Recalled by Personal Letter From Miles An Excit 
ing Indian Chase Horn Brings Geronimo and Dis 
patches for Miles Miles Will Not Do Business 
Through a Civilian Geronimo Will Not Do Business 
Through a Soldier Horn Leaves Camp Dispatch 
From Miles to Horn: "Make Your Own Arrange 
ments for Me to Meet Geronimo." Horn Persuades 
the Renegade Chief to a Second Interview Geronimo 
Surrenders Remarkable Feat of Wasse The Scouts 
Disbanded Horn Returns to Mining. 

Well, after getting to Nacori and burying Crawford, 
we hired a large room in the town, our camp being sev 
eral miles from there. We put all the supplies in the big 
room, left a guard of soldiers there, and w r e all pulled 
out for the line. I guess General Crook ordered the 
storing of the rations in Nacori for future use. I did 
not know anything about that. 

We were stopped at the Batipita Ranch as we were 
on our way up, to wait there with the command till Maus 
and I could go to Bowie and report in person to General 


Crook. Maus and I left the command and went on in 
and had a long talk with the General, and I told him of 
the dissatisfaction among the Chiricahuas, and he made 
arrangements to come down as soon as he was notified 
by helio that the renegades were on hand. 

Maus and I then went back and established camp on 
the San Bernardino Creek, about twelve miles below the 
line, to wait for the March moon. We would have to 
wait about six or seven w r eeks. A long and tedious wait 
it was, with a message coming in from General Crook 
every day to see if we had heard anything. We had a 
helio station in camp. 

At last the welcome signal came. It was on the San 
Bernardino Peak. And, though it came at 9 o clock at 
night, I started out right away to go and find the mes 

I found him to be a young buck, who said he was a 
nephew to Chihuahua. He said that Chihuahua would 
be there whenever I said the w 7 ord. I sent him word to 
be there in four days, and then went back to report to 
General Crook by helio. 

General Crook sent word back he would be there at 
the appointed time, and I went on back, leaving the Gen 
eral to follow. General Crook was very anxious, for, as 
I learned later, the Department was hurrying him up as 
much as they could, and he was depending upon me. But 
I could not hurry the renegades; and so it stood. 

When the appointed day came along, all parties w r ere 
on hand and Chihuahua said that he did not have any 
more talk to make, but that he was willing to go to the 
guard house and stay there till Geronimo came in, for 
he said Geronimo would not stay out long now, as many 


of the men with him were much dissatisfied. There were 
about twenty-five men and a good many more women and 
children with Chihuahua. 

All at once there was some commotion up on the 
Peak and a big bunch of renegades came into sight com 
ing to our talk. Geronimo was at their head. The desire 
to make a peace talk was too strong in him to miss the 

I asked Geronimo if he had come in to surrender and 
he replied by telling me to take him to General Crook. 
This I did, and he wanted to make a great long talk about 
the way he was treated up on Turkey Creek, and General 
Crook asked him what he wanted to do, and Geronimo 
said he wanted to have an understanding. General 
Crook told him if he wanted to go along as a prisoner to 
come on, and if he did not, to go on back to the moun 
tains and he would send more scouts there to find him. 

He said: "Geronimo, you are so much of a liar that 
I do not want to trust you any more, and if you go with 
me you will have to go to the guard house till the author 
ities at Washington decide what to do with you." 

He told Geronimo he would camp for the night up at 
the scout s camp on the San Bernardino Creek, and if he 
wanted to talk to come up there. General Crook then 
pulled out, and as Crook had brought Micky Free down 
to me, I asked Micky if he wanted to stay back with me 
and talk to Geronimo and he said he would, so I told the 
outfit to go on to camp and that I would stay and talk 
to Geronimo a while. 

Crook and his escort went on and Micky and I sat 
down to have a talk with Geronimo. The chief had about 
twenty men, well armed and very well mounted. I 


asked him where he got his horses, and he said that the 
Mexicans were raising horses for him in Sonora, and he 
w r ent and got them when he wanted or needed them. I 
told him that General Crook was very mad at him for 
leaving the Reservation, and he said he knew Crook was 
mad, but if he could talk to him he could explain a good 
many things. I told him to come on and go to camp with 
me and I would try and get the General to talk to him. 
He asked me how many scouts and soldiers there w r ere 
in camp and I said I would not tell him. He asked me 
if I would try to trap him and I told him he could come 
and make his talk and if he and the General could not 
agree, that he could again go to the mountains. He said 
he would go with me. 

Geronimo and I rode ahead of the rest of his men, and 
he made a great complaint to me about a man like Chi 
huahua doing as he was doing, and said that Chihuahua 
was jealous because he could not be war chief. I then 
told Geronimo that Chihuahua would not talk that way 
of him, and he said, "Yes, he would," and added, that 
Chihuahua told him that it was no more good to be on 
the war path and he only said so because some Mexican 
killed his favorite boy on their last raid before I struck 
them on the Arras. 

Geronimo seemed to feel very bad about Chihuahua s 
giving up, and well he might, for it showed to me an 
open break in their camp. 

That night Geronimo wanted to talk to General 
Crook, but Crook told him if he w r anted to go to Bowie to 
the guard house to come on, and if he did not, that his 
talk was no good and for him to go on back to the 
mountains and he would soon be after him with the 


scouts. Geronimo wanted to talk to the scouts, but I 
would not let any of the scouts see him except Micky, 
and I knew he was immune from the influence of Ge 

While I was giving the scouts orders to keep away 
from the camp at Geronimo, Chihuahua came up and 
said, in a low tone, to me, to put him and all the people 
w r ith him under a close guard. 

This I did, and, while Chihuahua would not tell me 
anything, I could plainly see that Geronimo was only 
with us to try and get some of the men belonging to Chi 
huahua s band to desert and go with him on the war 

Geronimo saw me putting a guard over the prisoners 
who had before been entirely free, and he asked me why 
I was doing it. I told him I would take all of them to 
the guard house at Bowie, and that no more "good talk" 
was going to go; that if ever the Chiricahuas did go back 
to the Reservation they would only go to the guard house, 
as they would never be turned loose again. 

Geronimo said that was very hard, and no more of 
them would surrender under those conditions. I told him 
I could do no good talking to him, and that if he was 
there at sunup next morning that he would be taken 
prisoner by force. 

When morning came there was no Geronimo. He 
and his band had gone, and, as long as I was not allowed 
to make a prisoner of him, I was glad to know he was 
gone, for he had a wonderful influence with all Indians. 
He was such a great talker that he could make right 
seem wrong. 


We took all the prisoners we had up to Bowie and 
put them in a new guard house we had made especially 
for our Chiricahua prisoners. We had a couple of hun 
dred by this time, and we were also informed (anyhow, 
I was), that General Crook had been relieved, and that 
General Nelson A. Miles was to take command of the 

Things in an Indian way were at a standstill for a 
couple of months, and then I was informed by the 
Quartermaster that there would be no more Chief of 
Scouts, and that I was to be sent to Camp Apache as 

This was quite a blow to my pride, but one of my 
best friends was a Captain Thompson, of the Fourth 
Cavalry; he was made Adjutant General under Miles, 
and he told me to go to Apache and stay there till Gen 
eral Miles looked around and saw the lay of the land. 
He told me that Miles was going to try the renegades a 
lick with cavalry. The proposition was to enlist five 
Apaches in each troop of cavalry to do the trailing and 
scouting for the troops. 

So things were arranged and started under the new 

Huachuca was now made headquarters of the Depart 
ment. All the newspapers said that Miles was a brilliant 
officer, and was a great Indian fighter, and that the career 
of Geronimo and of Horn was about at an end. A San 
Francisco newspaper had come out with an article, say 
ing that Horn was as much Apache as he was Mexican ; 
that I had more influence with the hostiles than Ge 
ronimo himself; that I went to his camp whenever I 
wanted to without the least fear of being hurt, and that 


I was always the interpreter, and could say anything I 
wanted and no one could dispute what I said, as no other 
white man could talk their language, or was trusted 
by them. 

When this article came out I went to the Quarter 
master, at Apache, where I was stationed, and told him 
that I would quit the Government, as I was evidently 
very much in disgrace. I left at once and went over to 
a ranch in the Aravaipa Canon, which I had always 
called home, and where I had always kept some extra 
saddle horses. I had some mines there that I had wanted 
to work for a long time, and I did not want to work for 
the Government any more while things were going as 
they were. Again, the newspapers said that, as I had 
now left the Government employ, General Miles would 
not have any traitors in his own command, and would 
soon put down the renegades or kill them all! 

I knew the cavalry would never be able to do any 
thing but get whipped, but had I told anyone so, I 
should have been laughed at for my pains; soldiers 
could easily whip the renegades if they could get at them, 
but the renegades could avoid them till they got the 
soldiers into a trap, and then give them both barrels. 
Had I told General Miles this, he would doubtless have 
called me a fool. 

Well, two companies of the Tenth Cavalry, under 
Captain Leebo, ran onto a camp of renegades down 
towards Calabasas, and got whipped, and never saw one 
Indian. Two days later the same thing happened to a 
troop of the Fourth Cavalry. About a month later a big 
bunch of renegades came up by Fort Bowie and across 
by the Dragoons. They killed a man in the Dragoons, 


and turned back on their route and killed two men and 
a boy in Pinery Canon, in the Chiricahua Mountains. 
They then went into Mexico and killed four Mexicans, 
just on the line, at a vinataria, or muscal still. These 
stills are scattered all over northern Mexico, and, previ 
ous to this, not a man connected with any of them had 
ever been killed. 

Four or five squaws got lost from this bunch that 
came through last, or else they deserted and came into 
Fort Bowie, and they said that Ju, a Warm Spring chief, 
and a half-brother to Nana, had been killed by the 
Mexicans over in Janos, in Chihuahua. The way we 
afterwards got the story was that twenty-six bucks went 
into this town of Janos and got drunk; the Mexicans gave 
them all the muscal they could drink, and killed nearly 
all of them. Ju, in trying to get away, was running his 
pony at the top of its speed, and it fell down a bank and 
killed him. This was why Geronimo was killing the 
muscal men. 

Things were looking bad for the Chiricahuas, and for 
the troops, also; and the newspapers that had expected 
so much from Miles now said that he was a failure! 

The Apache scouts, with each troop of cavalry, would 
not work well, and they could not understand the troop 
commanders, and the troop commanders could not under 
stand them. 

In August, a detachment of troops came to the ranch 
where I was, and brought me a letter from the Quarter 
master at Fort Huachuca. He wanted me to come over 
and go to work. I sent back word that I was all ready 
to go to mining, and did not care to go to work for the 
Government again. Again came a detachment with a 


second letter, this time from General Miles himself, ask 
ing me to come to Huachuca and see him, and have a 
talk with him about the Indians. 

I made arrangements with the boys who were in with 
me on the mine to do my share while I was gone, then I 
got on my horse and went to Huachuca to meet General 

The General told me there that he wanted me to go 
to Mexico and find Captain Lawton (the General Lawton 
killed in the Philippines), and act as Chief of Scouts with 
him and see what we could do. 

I went down and struck Lawton s camp at a place in 
Sonora, called Sierra Gordo. I crossed a trail of Indians 
in the Heiralitas Mountains as I went down, and, after I 
reported to Lawton, I told him what I had seen, and he 
asked me what to do. He had twenty-five Apache scouts 
and two troops of cavalry and four or five white scouts. 
I told him to leave all the outfit except the scouts and 
to go and take up the trail I had just left. This we did, 
and as we were all in light traveling order, we went at 
a good lively gait, and, as Dr. Wood (General Leonard 
Wood, of Cuban fame) said, "We will run them off the 

For once the state troops of Sonora were out and try 
ing to co-operate with us; but all that was necessary for 
anyone to do was to keep in the mountains and give us 
supplies and all the information they could, and we 
would make the last of them run till they got tired of 
running. We had already captured a great many 
women. (The renegades told it that we killed seventy- 
five women and children on the Arras, where Captain 
Crawford was killed by the Mexicans.) 


Geronimo was from ten hours to four days ahead of 
us for five weeks, and his rear guard saw us many times, 
so they afterwards said. It was a great race, and I knew 
the-renegades could not stand it much longer. They had 
no time to raid and get fresh horses, except as they could 
pick them up, and when they would gain a few days on 
us we would hear of them by the helio, and we could 
drop the trail where we were and cut in ahead. 

As we were coming up by Fronteras, as usual, we 
found a couple of women that had given out, and we put 
them on pack mules and took them on to Fronteras. 
There Captain Lawton had a helio dispatch to drop the 
chase, and for me to come to Huachuca. The dispatch 
had been there for two days. 

Before I got ready to start, there came another to 
wait there, as Lieutenant Gatewood and a couple of Chir- 
icahua bucks were coming to try to open up communi 
cations with Geronimo. These were two men who had 
come in with the chief Chihuahua. 

The Chiricahuas had been leaving signs for a couple 
of weeks that they wanted to talk, and these signs had 
all been reported by me to Captain Lawton, and by Law- 
ton to General Miles. 

We stopped close to Fronteras for four days to let 
Gatewood and his two men get ahead, so they could com 
municate with Geronimo, but at the end of that time 
Gatewood came back and reported to Captain Lawton 
that he could not get his two friendly Indians to ap 
proach the Chiricahuas. 

Gatewood told Captain Lawton that he could not 
open communications in that way. Lawton asked me 
if I could do anything, and I told him frankly that I was 


the only one who could do anything! Gatewood said 
that General Miles did not want me to go into the camp 
alone, as he did not know if he could trust me. I had pre 
viously told Lawton that I could and would go alone, but 
would not go if anyone went with me, as I did not care 
for myself, but anyone else might get killed. 

That was the way the thing stood. I would go alone 
or not at all; and Gatewood was ordered by Miles not 
to let me go alone. There we all stopped and waited till 
Lawton could send a heliograph to General Miles, ex 
plaining the situation to him. 

While we were waiting for his answer the soldiers 
brought in a squaw. Lawton told me to ask her where 
she came from, and she said she had come from the ren 
egade camp of Geronimo, and that Geronimo wanted to 
see me and talk to me. I was very much put out at the 
way I was being treated, and would not tell Lawton, but 
told him to call George Wratton, a boy w 7 ho was with 
Gatewood, and let him do the interpreting. This he did. 
The squaw said that Geronimo was in the mountains, 
forty or fifty miles from there, and wanted me to come 
to him, and wanted all the soldiers to stop chasing him 
till he saw me. Lawton still had not heard from Miles, 
and so he sent this word, also to him. 

Next day Miles sent word to send Gatewood and my 
self to see what we could do. Then I could not go, be 
cause I did not know what I could tell Geronimo, and 
Lawton said: "Tell him anything you want to, but get 
him to come and talk to Miles." I said that was what I 
wanted to do, but could not unless Miles said he wanted 
to talk to him. I told Lawton that I could never tell 
Geronimo but one lie, for he would find it out, and the 


next time I went into his camp he would tell me I had 
lied to him, and then he would kill me. I refused to go 
unless General Miles promised me he would meet old 
Geronimo at a date Geronimo and I should fix. 

This word was sent to Miles, and he said for me to 
fix a date and he would keep it. Ten minutes after I got 
this dispatch I mounted my horse to start, and Gatewood 
said he would take his chances if I would let him go. I 
told him he would not be taking any chances, and to 
come on. 

We struck the camp up on the Terras, as the squaw 
told me we would, but she would not tell me where it 
was until I was on my horse ready to go. 

We did not have to go up to the mountain, as Geron 
imo met us down on the Bavispe River, and we had a 
long talk. I made arrangements to go with him to the 
Skeleton Canon, in the United States, and meet Miles 
there in twelve days. That would give Miles time and 
to spare, and I was afraid he would not come, as he was 
the kind that w r anted to make a renegade Indian think 
he was a big man, and Geronimo was just about as vain 
as Miles was, and thought that he, too, was a big man. 

The only courier I had was Gatewood, and I sent him 
back to tell Captain Lawton the arrangements I had 
made with Geronimo, and for all the troops with him at 
Fronteras to come to the mouth of the Caballon Creek, 
and I would meet him there with the renegades. Geron 
imo had told me to have the American soldiers around 
close, as he did not want to get mixed up with the Mex 
icans. His idea and mine were one on that; and, any 
how, I calculated to stay with the renegades, as they had 
no grub, and I did not want them to kill cattle, of which 


there were plenty around there. I wanted to get rations 
from our command, which I did when I met them. 

Captain Lawton was very much gratified to see how 
well I had done, and he said for me to stay with the 
renegades and he would do as I said. He told me he 
had sent a dispatch to Miles to meet us at the Skeleton 
Canon, as I had directed. 

I went over and told Geronimo, and he asked me if 
this dispatch had come to me direct, and I told him that 
it had come to Captain Lawton. 

"You go," said he to me, "and send a dispatch your 
self, and get an answer from him direct, saying he will 
meet me." 

I went back to Lawton s camp and told him I must 
have a dispatch from Miles himself, saying he would 
meet Geronimo and me. Captain Lawton said he did not 
think Miles would send me a dispatch of that kind. Any 
how, I sent Miles the dispatch, and told him I wanted 
word from him direct, to say if he would meet Geronimo 
at Skeleton. The dispatch I received in reply was : "See 
Captain Lawton. He is in command in the field. I can t 
do any business with a civilian." 

I told Lawton, after showing him the dispatch, that 
the stuff was all off, and that Geronimo would be on top 
of the Terras Mountains by morning. Captain Lawton 
did not know what to do. It was night by this time, and 
we could not send any more messages. I was thinking 
Miles was a monkey, as I rode back to Geronimo s camp. 

It was dark when I reached there, as he was camped 
about four miles from our troops camp. I told Geronimo 
how I had come out, and I translated the dispatch to 
him, and he, without answering, called to his people to 



get ready to pull out, and in less than five minutes all be 
gan to say: "We are ready." 

Geronimo then said he could not do business with 
General Miles through an officer, and said time might 
change the big soldier, and rode off in the darkness, fol 
lowed by his people. (There were only 136 of them left 
at this time.) 

I rode back to Lawton s camp and told him that I 
was going home, and if General Miles ever needed me 
again, if ever he could condescend to do business with 
an Indian through me when I had all the responsibility 
to shoulder, that I should be at his service. I told him 
Geronimo was gone, and before Lawton could understand 
the situation I rode away and went up to John Slaugh 
ter s ranch. 

It was daylight when I reached the ranch. I turned 
out my horse, and, as breakfast was soon ready, I ate, 
then lay down on Slaughter s bed and went to sleep. 

There was a troop of cavalry camped at Slaughter s, 
and about noon a Lieutenant came up and asked Slaugh 
ter if I ever stopped there as I came through the country. 
Slaughter said: "He never passes here without stop 

"Well, then," the Lieutenant said, "he may come by 
here to-day." He had heard by helio that I was coming 
north. ) 

Slaughter said, "He is here now, asleep. He got here 
at daylight." 

The Lieutenant said, "Wake him up, for God s sake! I 
have a dispatch for him from General Miles." 

John came in, gave me a kick, and told me that I was 
wanted. I went out and the officer handed me the dis- 


patch. It read: "Make any arrangements you want to 
for me to meet Geronimo. I will go where and when you 
say to meet him." 

That was a stunner! Here Geronimo had been riding 
south all night, and I had ridden forty miles north, and 
both had started from the same point! There were 
easily seventy-five or eighty miles between us now. 

I went to the helio station and sent a dispatch, saying 
Geronimo had gone back south, but to order the troops 
to lie still and I would try to see if I could find him. 

In just one week I had Geronimo back in the same 
neighborhood and had communicated with Lawton. 
Everybody was afraid I could not get the renegade chief 
back the second time. I sent word to Miles to meet me 
in four days at Skeleton Canon, and he was there on time. 

Miles came up into the canon, and I took Geronimo 
and Natchez and came down to meet him. Miles had 
three interpreters with him, and, after I brought him and 
Geronimo together, he said to one of his interpreters to 
tell Geronimo that he wanted to have a good, long talk 
with him, and that they had better get where they could 
sit down. Geronimo did not answer Miles, but said to 
the interpreter, "You are a Tonto, and I will have noth 
ing to do with you. I will only talk through the chief. 
I will have nothing to do with any one but him." 

General Miles said: "Oh, all right, but the chief is 
not a sworn Government interpreter, and these other 
men are." 

"I don t ask for him to be sworn," retorted Geronimo, 
"when he comes to my camp do you suppose I ask him 
if he is telling me the truth? No! That I never do. I 
am a liar," went on Geronimo, "when it suits my way 


of doing, but this boy and I speak only the truth to 
each other. You do not like him; I do not know why, 
and still when you do not like or trust him to do your 
business you must have a cause for it. What is the 
reason? Tell me what he has done, for there was a time 
when he was trusted, and he is a son of the old chief, 
Sibi; and Sibi, the man of iron, and my people have 
been fighting each other for thirty years and Sibi never 
lies. Nothing a man does is wrong if he tells the truth. 
Tell me what this boy has done that was wrong? You 
sent him word that you would have nothing to do with 
him, and I sent you word I would not have anything to 
do with anyone else." 

Miles said: "Do not let us talk about that; let us 
talk of what you want to do." 

Geronimo said, "I want to surrender with all my peo 
ple. I will do as you say, and go where you tell me 
to go or send me. I am tired of the war path, and my 
people are all worn out." 

General Miles then told him to come on in to Bowie 
and he would see what would be done with them. So, 
after all, the great talk was very small. 

When we got to Fort Bowie, all the soldiers formed 
on the parade ground, and Geronimo and his outfit rode 
in and laid down their arms. 

Then General Miles did do a fine act without any 
authority or orders from the War Department. He 
wired down to Bowie station, on the Southern Pacific 
railroad, got a special train, took all the Chiricahuas, the 
ones we had brought in and the ones in the guard house, 
marched them down, loaded them on the train, locked 
them in the cars and put guards all over the train. Then 


they pulled out and the dreaded Chiricahuas, the terror 
of Mexico and all the Southwest, were gone, never more 
to return, and Arizona was left in a more peaceful condi 
tion than it had ever enjoyed before. 

The old Mexican Captain, Jose Maria, did not come in, 
and I learned that he was still in Mexico with five other 
Indians. A Chiricahua named Wasse jumped off the 
train down in Texas while the train was running at full 
speed. He turned up in the Sierra Madres later, having 
made all the distance on foot, through the settlements of 
Texas, and the Texas marshals were after him all the 
time. He spoke Mexican like a native, and could pass 
for one anywhere in Texas. He was an outlaw for many 
years, living around in the mountains, and coming in to 
the Reservation once in a while to get a fresh squaw. 
Any kind was good enough for him. He would take a 
Yuma squaw as soon as any other kind, and he could not 
speak a word of the Yuma language. 

I took all my scouts to the Reservation, discharged 
them and was then discharged myself. I went back to 
the Aravaipo to go to work on the mine. I stayed and 
worked at the mine all winter. 



The Rustlers War Horn Called as Mediator Becomes 
Deputy Sheriff of Yavapai County Outbreak of 
"Apache Kid" Toga s Heart Split in Two Sieber, 
One Against Eleven "Apache Kid s" Surrender 
He Kills Guards and Escapes Roping Contests 
Among Cow Boys Horn Breaks Record Horn Goes 
to Denver to Work for Pinkerton National Detective 
Agency A Train Robbery Case Horn Captures 
"Peg Leg" Watson Horn and Stewart Run Down 
Joe McCoy Horn Quits the Pinkertons and Goes to 
Work for the Swan Land & Cattle Company of Wy 
oming Life Story Continued in Yellow Journals. 

Early in April of 1887, some of the boys came dow r n 
from the Pleasant Valley, where there w r as a big rustler 
war going on and the rustlers w r ere getting the best of 
the game. I was tired of the mine and willing to go, and 
so away we went. Things were in a pretty bad condition. 
It was war to the knife between cow boys and rustlers, 
and there was a battle every time the two outfits ran 
together. A great many men were killed in the war. 
Old man Blevins and his three sons, three of the Gra 
hams, a Bill Jacobs, Jim Payne, Al Rose, John Tewkes- 
bury, Stolt, Scott, and a man named "Big Jeff" were 
hung on the Apache and Gila County line. Others were 
killed, but I do not remember their names now. I was 


the mediator, and was deputy sheriff under Bucky O Neil, 
of Yavapai County, under Commodore Owens, of Apache 
County, and Glenn Reynolds, of Gila County. I was 
still a deputy for Reynolds a year later when he was 
killed by the Apache Kid, in 1888. 

After this war in the Pleasant Valley I again went 
back to my mine and went to work, but it was too slow, 
and I could not stay at it. I was just getting ready to 
go to Mexico and was going down to clean out the spring 
at the mine one evening. I turned my saddle horse loose 
and let him graze up the canon. After I got the spring 
cleaned out I went up the canon to find my horse and I 
saw a moccasin track covering the trail made by the rope 
my horse was dragging. That meant to go back, but I 
did not go back. I cut up the side of the mountain and 
found the trail where my horse had gone out. It ran 
into the trail of several more horses and they were all 
headed south. I went down to the ranch, got another 
horse and rode over to the Agency, about thirty miles, to 
get an Indian or two to go with me to see what I could 
learn about this bunch of Indians. 

I got to the Agency about 2 o clock in the morning 
and found that there had been an outbreak and mutiny 
among Sieber s police. It was like this: Sieber had 
raised a young Indian he always called "the Kid," and 
now known as the "Apache Kid." This kid was the son 
of old Chief Toga-de-chuz, a San Carlos Apache. At a 
big dance on the Gila at old Toga-de-chuz s camp every 
body got drunk and when morning came old Toga was 
found dead from a knife thrust. An old hunter belong 
ing to another tribe of Indians and called "Rip," was ac 
cused of doing the job, but from what Sieber could learn, 


as he afterwards told me, everybody was too drunk to 
know how the thing did happen. The wound was given 
in a very skilful manner and as it split open old Toga s 
heart it was supposed to be given by one who knew 
where the heart lay. 

Toga and old Kip had had a row over a girl about 
forty years before, (they were both about sixty at this 
time), and Toga had gotten the best of the row and the 
girl to boot. Some say that an Indian will forget and 
forgive the same as a white man. I say no. Here had 
elapsed forty years between the row and the time old 
Toga was killed. 

Rip had not turned his horse loose in the evening 
before the killing, so it was supposed he had come there 
with the express intention of killing old Toga. 

Any way the Kid w r as the oldest son of Toga-de-chuz 
and he must revenge the death of his father. He must, 
according to all Indian laws and customs, kill old Rip. 
Sieber knew this and cautioned the Kid about doing 
anything to old Rip. The Kid never said a word to 
Sieber as to what he would do. The Kid was First Ser 
geant of the agency scouts. The Interior Department 
had given the agency over to the military and there were 
no more police, but scouts instead. 

Shortly after this killing, Sieber and Captain Pierce, 
the agent, went up to Camp Apache to see about the dis 
tribution of some annuities to the Indians there, and the 
Kid, as First Sergeant of the scouts, was left in charge 
of the peace of the agency. 

No sooner did Sieber and Captain Pierce get started 
than the Kid took five of his men and went over on the 
Aravaipo, where old Rip lived, and shot him. That 


evened up their account and the Kid went back to where 
his band was living up above the agency. Sieber heard 
of this and he and Pierce immediately started to San 

When they got there they found no one in command 
of the scouts. Sieber sent word up to the camp where 
the Kid s people lived to tell the Kid to come down. This 
he did escorted by the whole band of bucks. 

Sieber, when they drew up in front of his tent, went 
out and spoke to the Kid and told him to get off his 
horse, and this the Kid did. Sieber then told him to take 
the arms of the other four or five men who had Govern 
ment rifles. This also the Kid did. He took their guns 
and belts and then Sieber told him to take off his own 
belt and put down his gun and take the other deserters 
and go to the guard house. 

Some of the bucks with the Kid, (those who were not 
soldiers), said to the Kid to fight, and in a second they 
were at it eleven bucks against Sieber alone. It did 
not make any particular difference to Sieber about being 
outnumbered. His rifle was in his tent. He jumped back 
and got it, and at the first shot he killed one Indian. All 
the other Indians fired at him as he came to the door of 
his tent, but only one bullet struck him; that hit him on 
the shin and shattered his leg all to pieces. He fell and 
the Indian ran away. 

This was what Sieber told me when I got to the 
Agency. And then I knew it was the Kid who had my 
horse and outfit. Soldiers were already on his trail. 

From where he had stolen my horse, he and his band 
crossed over the mountain to the Table Mountain dis 
trict, and there stole a lot of Bill Atchley- s saddle horses. 


A few miles further on they killed Bill Dihl, then headed 
on up through the San Pedro country, turned down the 
Sonoita River, and there they killed Mike Grace; then 
they were turned back north again by some of the cav 
alry that was after them. 

They struck back north, and Lieutenant Johnson got 
after them about Pontaw, overtook them in the Rincon 
Mountains, and had a fight, killing a couple of them, and 
put all the rest of them afoot. My horse was captured 
unwounded, and as the soldiers knew him, he was taken 
to the San Pedro and left there; they sent word to me, 
and eventually I got him, though he was pretty badly 
used up. 

That was the way the Kid came to break out. He 
went back to the Reservation, and later on he surren 
dered. He was tried for desertion, and given a long 
time by the Federal Courts, but was pardoned by Presi 
dent Cleveland, after having served a short term. 

During the time the Kid and his associates were hid 
ing around on the Reservation, previous to his first ar 
rest, he and his men had killed a freighter, or he may 
have been only a whiskey peddler. Anyway, he was 
killed twelve miles above San Carlos, on the San Carlos 
River, by the Kid s outfit, and when the Kid returned 
to the Agency after he had done his short term, and had 
been pardoned by the President, he was re-arrested by 
the civil authorities of Gila County, Arizona, to be tried 
for the killing of this man at the Twelve Mile Pole. 

This was in the fall of 1888. I was deputy sheriff of 
Gila County at that time, and as it was a new county, 
Reynolds was the first sheriff. I was to be the inter 
preter at the Kid s trial, but on July 4th, of 1888, I had 


won the prize at Globe for tying down a steer, and there 
was a county rivalry among the cow boys all over the 
Territory as to who was the quickest man at that busi 
ness. One Charley Meadows (whose father and brother 
were before mentioned as being killed by the Cibicus on 
their raid), was making a big talk that he could beat 
me tying at the Territorial Fair, at Phoenix. Our boys 
concluded 1 must go to the fair and make a trial for the 
Territorial prize, and take it out of Meadows. I had 
known Meadows for years, and I thought I could beat 
him, and so did my friends. 

The fair came off at the same time as did court in 
our new county, and since I could not very well be at 
both places, and, as they said, could not miss the fair, 
I was not at the trial. 

While I was at Phoenix the trial came off and several 
of the Indians told him about the killing. (There were 
six on trial), and they were all sentenced to the peni 
tentiary at Yuma, Arizona, for life. Reynolds and 
"Hunky Dory" Holmes started to take them to Yuma. 
There were the six Indians and a Mexican sent up for 
one year, for horse stealing. The Indians had their 
hands coupled together, so that there were three in each 
of the two bunches. 

Where the stage road from Globe to Casa Grande (the 
railroad station on the Southern Pacific railroad) crosses 
the Gila River there is a very steep sand wash, up which 
the stage road winds. Going up this Reynolds took his 
prisoners out and they were all walking behind the stage. 
The Mexican was handcuffed and inside the stage. 
Holmes got ahead of Reynolds some little distance. 
Holmes had three Indians and Reynolds had three. 


Just as Holmes turned a short bend in the road and 
got behind a point of rocks and out of sight of Reynolds, 
at a given signal, each bunch of prisoners turned on their 
guard and grappled with them. Holmes was soon down 
and they killed him. The three that had tackled Rey 
nolds were not doing so w r ell, but the ones that had killed 
Holmes got his rifle and pistol and went to the aid of 
the ones grappling Reynolds. These three were holding 
his arms so he could not get his gun. The ones that came 
up killed him, took his keys, unlocked the cuffs and they 
were free. 

Gene Livingston was driving the stage, and he looked 
around the side of the stage to see what the shooting 
was about. One of the desperadoes took a shot at him, 
striking him over the eye, and down he came. The Kid 
and his men then took the stage horses and tried to ride 
them, but there was only one of the four that they could 

The Kid remained an outlaw after that, till he died a 
couple of years ago of consumption. The Mexican, after 
the Kid and his men left the stage (they had taken off 
his handcuffs), struck out for Florence and notified the 
authorities. The driver was only stunned by the shot 
over the eye and is to-day a resident and business man 
of Globe. 

Had I not been urged to go to the fair at Phoenix, this 
would never have happened, as the Kid and his comrades 
just walked along and put up the job in their ow r n lan 
guage, which no one there could understand but them 
selves. Had I not gone to the fair I would have been 
with Reynolds, and could have understood what they 


said and it would never have happened. I won the prize 
roping at the fair, but it was at a very heavy cost. 

[At this point in Horn s story, I wish to insert a clipping 
which I have been fortunate enough to secure. It is from the 

Philadelphia Times, of 27th, 1895, and is timely just 


"In Arizona and New Mexico, roping contests used 
to be held as a kind of annual tournament, in Au 
gust, to the fair, or else as a special entertainment, 
often comprising, among other features, horse racing, a 
bull fight, baile and fiesta. Roping contests are generally 
held in a large field or enclosure such as the interior of 
a race course. Inside this compound is built a small cor 
ral, in which are confined wild beef cattle, usually three- 
year-old steers, just rounded up off the range. 

"The contest is a time race, to see who can overtake, 
lasso, throw and tie hard and fast the feet of a steer in 
the shortest period. The record was made at Phoenix, 
Arizona, in 1891. The contestants were, Charlie Mead 
ows, Bill McCann, George lago, Ramon Barca and Tom 
Horn, all well-known vaqueros of the Mexican-Arizona 
border. Tom Horn won the contest. Time, 49J seconds, 
which I do not think has since been lowered. 

"Two parallel lines, about as far apart as the ends of 
a polo court, were marked by banderoles or guidons. A 
steer was let out of the corral and driven at a run in a 
direction at right angles to the lines marked. As the 
steer crossed the second line, a banderole was dropped, 
which was the signal for a vaquero to start from the first 
line, thus giving the beef a running start of 250 yards. 
The horses used were all large, fleet animals, wonderfully 
well trained, and swooped for their prey at full speed 


and by the shortest route, turning without a touch of the 
rein to follow the steer, often anticipating his turns by 
a shorter cut. When the vaquero got within fifty yards 
of his beef the loop of his riata was swinging in a sharp, 
crisp circle about his right arm, raised high to his right 
and rear, and when twenty yards closer, it shot forward, 
hovered for an instant, and then descended above the 
horns of its victim, which a moment later would land a 
somersault. Before the beef could recover his surprise 
or wind he would have a half hitch about his fore legs, 
a second about his hind legs, and a third found all four 
a snug little bunch, hard and fast. 

"The rope, of course, is not taken from the head; it 
is all one rope, the slack being successively used. Some 
times the vaqueros used foot-roping instead of head. It 
requires more skill and is practiced more by the Mexi 
cans, who think it a good method with large-horned cat 
tle while in herd, where heads are so little separated that 
a lasso would fall on horns not wanted. In foot-roping 
the noose is thrown lower and a bit in front of the beef, 
so that at his next step he will put his foot into the noose 
before it strikes the ground. If the noose falls too 
quickly for this, it is jerked sharply upward just as the 
foot is raised above it. 

"I have seen men so skilful at this that they would 
bet even money on roping an animal on a single throw, 
naming the foot that they w r ould secure, as right hind, 
left fore, and so forth. As regards the lash end of the 
riata, two methods in this contest were also used. In 
the Texas style, the lash of the riata is made hard and 
fast to the horn of the saddle. The instant the rope 
holds, a pony who understands his work plants his fore 


feet forward and checks suddenly, giving the steer a 
header. His rider dismounts quickly, runs to the beef, 
which the pony keeps down by holding the rope taut. 

"As soon as the vaquero faces the pony and grasps 
the rope near the beef, the pony moves forward, and with 
the slack of the rope the beef is secured. While the beef 
is plunging or wheeling on the rope the pony is careful 
to keep his head toward the beef, or, as the sailor would 
say, he goes bow on/ 

"The Texas method is best adapted to loose ground, 
where it is much easier on the vaquero, but it is utterly 
unsuited for mountain work or steep hillsides, as the 
pony would lose his footing and land up in the bottom of 
a canon. 

"For such country, the California style is used. Here 
the lash is not made fast; a few f rapping turns are made 
about the horn, and the rider uses his weight and a 
checking of the pony to throw the beef. When he dis 
mounts, he carries the lash end forward, keeping it taut, 
toward the beef, taking up the slack and coils it as he 
goes, and with it secures the beef. The pony is free after 
the steer is thrown. It is the more rapid method. Tom 
Horn used it in the contest won, when he made his rec 
ord. With it the vaquero has free use of his riata for 
securing the beef. But it is a hard method, and plains 
men prefer letting Mr. Bronco take the brunt of it. 

"Tom Horn is well known all along the border. He 
served as government guide, packer, scout and as chief 
of Indian scouts, which latter position he held with Cap 
tain Crawford at the time the Mexicans killed him in the 
Sierra Madre Mountains. He is the hero referred to in 
the story of The Killing of the Captain, by John Heard, 


Sr., published some months ago in the Cosmopolitan 

(Horn s narrative is now resumed.) 

In the winter I again went home and in the following 
spring I went to work on my mine. Worked along pretty 
steady on it for a year, and in 1890 we sold it to a party 
of New Yorkers. We got f 8,000 for it. 

We were negotiating for this sale, and at the same 
time the Pinkerton National Detective Agency at Den 
ver, Colorado, was writing to me to get me to come to 
Denver and go to work for them. I thought it would be 
a good thing to do, and as soon as all the arrangements 
for the sale of the mine were made I came to Denver and 
was initiated into the mysteries of the Pinkerton insti 

My work for them was not the kind that exactly 
suited my disposition; too tame for me. There were a 
good many instructions and a good deal of talk given to 
the operative regarding the things to do and the things 
that had been done. 

James McParland, the superintendent, asked me what 
t would do if I were put on a train robbery case. I told 
him if I had a good man with me I could catch up to 

Well, on the last night of August, that year, at about 
midnight, a train was robbed on the Denver & Rio 
Grande Railway, between Cotopaxi and Texas Creek. I 
was sent out there, and was told that C. W. Shores would 
be along in a day or so. He came on time and asked me 
how I was getting on. I told him I had struck the trail, 


but there were so many men scouring the country that 
I, myself, was being held up all the time; that I had been 
arrested twice in two days and taken in to Salida to be 

Eventually all the sheriffs posses quit and then Mr. 
W. A. Pinkerton and Mr. McParland told Shores and me 
to go at em. We took up the trail where I had left it 
several days before and we never left it till we got the 

They had crossed the Sangre de Cristo range, come 
down by the Villa Grove iron mines, and crossed back 
to the east side of the Sangre de Cristos at Mosca pass, 
then on down through the Huerfano Canon, out by Cu- 
charas, thence down east of Trinidad. They had dropped 
into Clayton, N. M., and got into a shooting scrape there 
in a gin mill. They then turned east again toward the 
"Neutral Strip" and close to Beaver City, then across 
into the "Pan Handle" by a place in Texas called Ochil- 
tree, the county seat of Ochiltree county. They then 
headed toward the Indian Territory, and crossed into it 
below Canadian City. They then swung in on the head 
of the Washita River in the Territory, and kept down 
this river for a long distance. 

We finally saw that we were getting close to them, 
as we got in the neighborhood of Paul s Valley. At 
Washita station we located one of them in the house of 
a man by the name of Wolfe. The robber s name was 
Burt Curtis. Shores took this one and came on back to 
Denver, leaving me to get the other one if ever he came 
back to Wolfe s. 

After several days of waiting on my part, he did 
come back, and as he came riding up to the house I 


stepped out and told him some one had come! He was 
"Peg Leg" Watson, and considered by every one in Colo 
rado as a very desperate character. I had no trouble 
with him. 

We had an idea that Joe McCoy, also, was in the 
robbery, but "Peg" said he was not, and gave me in 
formation enough so that I located him. He was wanted 
very badly by the sheriff of Fremont county, Colorado, 
for a murder scrape. He and his father had been tried 
previous to this for murder, had been found guilty and 
were remanded to jail to wait sentence, but before Joe 
was sentenced he had escaped. The old man McCoy got a 
new trial, and at the new trial was sentenced to eighteen 
years in the Canon City, Colorado, penitentiary. 

When I captured my man, got to a telegraph station 
and wired Mr. McParland that I had the notorious "Peg," 
the superintendent wired back: "Good! Old man Mc 
Coy got eighteen years to-day!" This train had been 
robbed in order to get money to carry McCoy s case up 
to the Supreme Court, or rather to pay the attorneys 
(Macons & Son), who had carried the case up. 

Later on I told Mr. McParland that I could locate Joe 
McCoy and he communicated with Stewart, the sheriff, 
who came to Denver and made arrangements for me to 
go with him and try to get McCoy. 

We left Denver on Christmas eve and went direct to 
Rifle, from there to Meeker and on down White River. 
When we got to where McCoy had been we learned that 
he had gone to Ashley, in Utah, for the Christmas festivi 
ties. We pushed on over there, reaching the town late 
at night, and could not locate our man. Next morning 
I learned where he got his meals and as he went in to 


get his breakfast I followed him in and arrested him. He 
had a big Colt s pistol, but did not shoot me. We took 
him out by Fort Duchesne, Utah, and caught the D. & 
R. G. train at Price station. 

The judge under whom he had been tried had left the 
bench when McCoy finally was landed back in jail, and it 
would have required a new trial before he could be sen 
tenced by another judge; he consented to plead guilty 
to involuntary manslaughter, and took six years in the 
Canon City pen. He was pardoned out in three years, 
I believe. 

Peg Leg Watson and Burt Curtis were tried in the 
United States court for robbing the United States mails 
on the highway, and were sentenced for life in the Detroit 
federal prison. In robbing the train they had first made 
the fireman break into the mail compartment of the 
compartment car. They then saw their mistake, and did 
not even take the amount of a one-cent postage stamp, 
but went and made the fireman break into the rear com 
partment, where they found the express matter and took 
it. But the authorities proved that it was mail robbery 
and their sentence was life. 

While Pinkerton s is one of the greatest institutions 
of the kind in existence, I never did like the work, so I 
left them in 1894. 

I then came to Wyoming and went to work for the 
Swan Land and Cattle Company, since which time every 
body else has been more familiar with my life and busi 
ness than I have been myself. 


And I think that since my coming here the yellow 
journal reporters are better equipped to write my his 
tory than am I, myself! 




A few letters from Horn, and to him, throwing 

additional light upon the character of the 

man; and furnishing some of 

the reasons for belief in 

his innocence 

Also a summary of the "Horn Case" and estimates 
of the man by those who knew him best 



Denver, Colo., January 24, 1902. 
Mr. Tom Horn, 
County Jail, 

Cheyenne, Wyo. 
Dear Tom: 

I see by the papers that you are in serious trouble. 
After reading an account of the charge preferred against 
you, I can not for the life of me believe it is true. Know 
ing you so long and knowing you so intimately I can not 
comprehend how a man of your sense and ability could 
be guilty of so great a charge as is preferred against you. 

Now, Tom, you will remember the Cotopaxi robbery, 
which was committed several years ago by "Peg-leg" and 
Curtis, and the long, hard chase we had after them, en 
deavoring to catch them. You will also remember Ed 
Kelly, of Walsenburg, who first put me on the trail of 
Curtis and "Peg-leg," and you will again remember me 
wiring you and Doc Shores to meet me at Walsenburg 
that I was on the trail of the robbers. Doc Shores, as 
you know, is with the Rio Grande Western as their spe 
cial agent; he formerly was sheriff of Gunnison county, 
and his reputation is beyond reproach. We w r ent down 
on the prairie between Trinidad and Walsenburg, and 
Kellv went back on all his first statements and endeav- 


ored to throw us off the trail. You will remember he 
would have been killed down there on the prairie and 
left for the coyotes to devour had it not been for your 

Now, Tom, I am at a loss to believe, after your pro 
tecting such a character as Kelly from being shot out on 
the plains, where mortal man would have never known 
anything about it, that you would be guilty of murder 
ing a fourteen-year-old boy in cold blood. You know 
that scoundrel Kelly would have been shot for lying to 
the officers had it not been for your interference. 

Tom, I do not believe you are guilty of the crime. I 
am writing this in all justice to you and the community 
at large; knowing you as I do, and knowing your ability 
and sense, I can not believe you would stoop so low as 
to murder a fourteen-year-old boy for the small sum of 
five hundred dollars, when you could in all probability 
have made that amount in a week, legitimately. 

I live in Loveland, Colorado, and if there is anything 
I can do for you, or aid you in any manner as far as it 
is right, I am at your service. You can write me at Love- 
land, Colorado, box 271, and tell me what you think 
about it. I will give a copy of this letter to the press 
this afternoon, to be published in your behalf, as I do 
not believe you guilty of the crime. Write me and tell 
me if there is anything I can do to aid you. 

As ever, your friend, F M QWNBEY. 

P. S.: I will write Doc Shores this afternoon (al 
though I presume he has seen an account of your trou 
ble), and see if there is anything he can do for you. My 
sympathies are with you, Tom, because I believe youin- 



Cheyenne, Wyo., March 1, 1902. 
John C. Coble, Esq., 

Rosier, Wyo. 
Dear John: 

1 have just made an elaborate investment in writing 
material, so will drop you a line and will continue to do 
so every week from now on. I am still doing business 
at the same old number, but times are very dull just at 
present. I look for an increase in business in a few 

If I had the machine here I would play a few lines 
something like "Go away back and sit up." 

My girls have all left off writing to me and my heart 
is lonely now. If I had some place to work I would be 
as happy as a clam. Well, I guess I am happy anyhow. 

If any of the boys are looking for a good place to go, 
tell them to go to Cheyenne to jail. About all the talk 
I hear is which are the best jails and how to get out 
of jails, and doing the hobo act, and good places to go 
to make a good stake, and where to get the biggest glass 
of beer for 5c, and who gives the best free lunch for 
nothing, and general information that is of a great deal 
of benefit for any one to remember. 

Do you do any fishing nowadays, and if so, send me 
in one that weighs five or six pounds, for I am hungry for 
fish. Send it to me by express, care sheriff. 

Where is Charley Irwin going to keep his family? 
How is the Michigan coming on? What made Jim 
Meade leave Montana? 


I don t see how I am going to get out of the case with 
any money, but from what I can hear from the outside, 
I will have notoriety enough to run a divorce mill. Well, 
money is but dross anyhow. 

I have fully made up my mind that I will go way 
back to Missouri and sit down on a farm. This sporting 
life isn t what it is cracked up to be. I will be in jail 
anyhow four months, and I am too slow to ever catch 
up with myself again. Just think, four months that I 
don t even get to see a newspaper! Is that what you 
call life in the Far West? 

You and Charley are the only ones who have been in 
to see me. I am going to write to a friend of mine here 
in town to send me some reading matter, as I have read 
everything here that I can find. By the way, that was a 
nice lot of literature you sent me before you left town. 

Let me know if you hear anything from my saddle, 
bed and valise. Let me know, also, if you hear from the 
agents and they don t know anything of the stuff. 

Tell Stone and Irwin to dry the beef hides good and 
straight, as I started to do, and not to put them one on 
top of the other when they are green. 

I want to get out of here by the time greens get ripe, 
so I can walk back to Missouri and live on greens. 

Well, Johnnie, I feel the same as I did when we were 
in that train wreck: You can t hurt a Christian. 

Have you got the plumbago fence moved and let the 
contract for ploughing yet? I wanted to do that plough 
ing myself, but can t get around to it this spring. 

Regards to Irwin, Stone and all the boys. Tell Stone 
to write. With regrets, in jail, 




Cheyenne, Wyo., March 5, 1903. 
C. B. Irwin, Esq. 
Bosler, Wyo. 
Dear Charley : 

I received the |5.00 all O. K. Yes, send down your 
rieta and I will splice it and glad of the chance. I am 
just getting the new hair work so I begin to understand 
it. I will keep on practicing for a few days yet before 
I start to do any work. 

This winter does look to me like a corker. The back 
bone of it may soon break. 

How did those ropes last? Was the big one any 
good? Shall I send it back when I get it done or will I 
leave it here till one of you come in? Send it to K. A. 
Proctor, for he is the only man here to tend to such 

I have had a bad cold, but am getting over it. 

Don t forget the hair, if you have any on hand when 
you send in the rope. I wrote to Sam Moore to send me 
in some white hair and Proctor saw him on the street 
here the same day I wrote, and he said he would send in 
some right away. Send in that hair bridle of Johnnie s, 
so I can take pattern from it. Send it with the rope. I 
will only want it a day or so; I can splice the rope in 
an hour. 

Yours truly, 




Cheyenne, Wyo., October 3, 1903. 
Chas. J. Ohnhaus, Esq., 

Cheyenne, Wyo. 

I was informed by the sheriffs and my lawyers that 
the Supreme Court has refused to grant me a new trial, 
and that I am to be hanged November 20th. 

Now, sir, I am going to make an appeal to you to 
act in my behalf, and it certainly is not much I ask 
only that you make an affidavit to the facts in this sup 
posed confession of mine. 

You and I and Snow and La Fors and Stoll all know 
that you changed your stenographic notes, at the insti 
gation of some one, from what was actually said, to what 
you wanted me to say. In speaking of this money that 
was paid to me on the train between Denver and Chey 
enne, La Fors said it was paid to me by George Prentice 
and that Hi Kelley had given two one hundred dollar 
bills and a fifty dollar bill. 

Why was that cut out of your notes? 

On first entering the marshal s office La Fors showed 
me his rifle, and we had some conversation about the 
sights on the rifle, which he said were aperture sights, 
and he explained to me how they were used. 

Why was that cut out of your notes? 

You said in your notes that I said that I ran across 
there bare-footed, when, as a matter of fact, I told La 
Fors that if ever he wanted to cover his trail to go bare 
footed. In speaking of the rock under the boy s head, 


he asked me if it was a sign, and I said I supposed it was. 
I never said I put it there, nor did I intimate that I put 
it there. I did not say "That is the sign I put out to 
collect my money." 

You put that in at the instigation of some one. 

You put in your report that I said: "That was the 
best shot ever I made, and the dirtiest trick I ever did." 

You and I, and the others I have mentioned, know 
that was made up by Stoll or La Fors, and put in the 
notes by you. 

You said in your notes that I was paid a certain sum 
for killing three men and shooting another one, and 
every word of that also was manufactured. 

There were other things of more or less importance 
put in your notes at the suggestion of some one. 

Now, the people that know you say that you are a 
nice, model young man, and a Christian. Now, surely 
you would be doing a Christian act to come out and make 
an affidavit to the facts in this case of mine. 

You are a young man not yet in the prime of life, and 
do you want to go through life knowing, as you do, that 
your perjured testimony took away my life? You may 
live to be an old man, and every day of your life you can 
not help but think of the terrible wrong you have done 
me by being made a tool of by men who would, if it 
would add to their notoriety, do the same by you that 
they have done by me. I suppose you got, or was prom 
ised, a certain sum of money for doing as you did. Did 
you enjoy spending it? No! every cent of it is red with 
the blood of a man who never harmed you in any way, 
shape or form. 

You may live to be an old man, and every day of your 


life will, if I am hung, be a day that you can say to your 
self: "If I had only told the truth in Tom Horn s case, I 
could have saved his life. 

I am appealing to you for the truth only, and that 
should be the first Christian principle of any one with a 
claim on Christian principles. 

I ask only that you will go to my attorneys and tell 
them the whole truth as to where these notes were 
changed, at whose instigation they were changed, and 
what was done with the original notes. If they are not 
destroyed you can still produce them; and if they are 
destroyed, you can tell them at least the facts in the 
case, and forever clear your mind and conscience of a 
burden that you will certainly find hard to bear through 
life, no matter how stout-hearted you may feel. 

Have I ever harmed you, that you should seek my life 
in this manner? If so, when and where? 

There are too many men mixed up in this business 
that know the truth, and it will sooner or later come out, 
even if every one implicated does all in his power to con 
ceal it; and then what will the public think of the one 
or more when they do know what must eventually leak 
out, hide it as you may? 

You were made a tool of by some one, and now, for 
the last time, I ask you to tell only the truth. 

Surely I am not asking much from any one when 1 
ask you to tell only the truth. 

This is the strongest appeal I can write to you, and 
now I am going to ask you, if you ignore this appeal, to 
come and see me in a few days, so I can talk to you per 
sonally. Yours truly, 




Cheyenne, Wyo., October 9, 1903. 

John C. Coble, Esq., 

Bosler, Wyo. 
Dear Johnnie: 

Proctor came to me last night and showed me your 
letter. How is everybody? Who is boss on the ranch? 
How is Dunk getting on since he got married? Where 
is Stone, the Savage? 

Write me and tell me all the news of the country. 
What kind of prices are you going to get for beef? How 
is the feed on the range and did you have a good hay 
crop? Who put it up and all the news you have. 

I think you will have no trouble to get to see me next 

I have been informed that it might do me some good 
to tell all I .know, but I can t figure out who would be 
lieve anything I said, and what I know is next to noth 
ing. Of course, I know of that man coming to see you 
to join some gang of men in the hills to do something to 
the sheep, and I know you refused to have anything to 
do with any of the outfit. That man never spoke to me 
at all about the sheep. 

I know, also, that the man that I went after and made 
come to the ranch and burn his brand off of the E year 
ling, offered me five hundred dollars to kill off the whole 
bunch of sheep, so he could buy the ranch cheap. 

1 know the husband of the woman who said: "I just 
know that was our yearling that that man had in his 


wagon," and how, when she was told the sheriff was 
looking for the owner, she said, "No, it was not ours." 
Well, that man said he would give me a hundred dollars, 
and his neighbor below him said (with a big oath), "Tom, 
you have got this to do, and I will put up $250 to-day for 
my share." 

Those are the only ones that ever said anything to 
me about the row and, as I said before, no one w r ould take 
my word or oath either, so I could not do myself any 
good by telling that. 

Let me hear all the news. When will you be through 

Yours truly, 




Cheyenne, Wyo., October 12, 1903. 
John C. Coble, Esq., 

Bosler, Wyo. 
Dear Johnnie: 

I have written you a couple of letters, and also sev 
eral to Judge Burke, but so far have not heard a word 
from any one. 

I think that if you would go to Denver and see Billy 
Loomis that he could get an affidavit from Frank W. 
Mulock and those other two men with him, showing that 
he came here hired to swear to anything that was put 
into his mouth, and that Stoll and La Fors hired him to 
do so. It is certainly worth while to make the attempt. 

Try and find out from Burke and Lacey if such an 
affidavit would do any good. I have written Burke sev 
eral times in the last week, asking him if such an affi 
davit would do any good, but so far have been unable 
to get a reply of any kind from him. He does not an 
swer my letters, or even acknowledge the receipt of them. 
Of course, it is not worth while to get them if they will 
do no good, but where there is absolute perjury shown, 
and it is also shown that these men were paid to swear 
falsely, it would certainly cut some figure with the gov 

I wrote Ohnhaus a letter and asked him to come up 
and tell the truth and save my life; this I did on the 4th 
of this month, and I have not heard from him yet. Last 
night Proctor brought me word that Burke said it would 


be a good idea to write a letter to Mulock and see if he 
would come out and tell the truth, but no word can I 
get saying what good it would do. 

Of course, with Ohnhaus it is different; for he took 
down the conversation in shorthand and then changed 
it at the instigation of some one. He can tell the whole 
job, and that would get me a pardon, but he will prob 
ably refuse to do so. 

Anyhow, everything should be tried. You know that 
there is no time to spare if this thing is to be brought 

Burke has got too much to do to attend to this, and 
if you will give it your personal attention, I feel sure 
you can accomplish something. 

I have to-day written to Billy Loomis at Denver, to 
see Mulock and see if anything can be done in the matter, 
and told him to communicate with you in regard to the 
matter; also told him to write Burke. 

Johnnie, drop me a line as soon as you get this, so I 
can tell if you are getting my letters. How are every 
body and everything? I hear beef prices are way down. 

If you go to Denver and can get this affidavit from 
this man, get him to tell, also, who told him what to 
swear to. 

Let me hear from you soon. 

Yours truly, 




Cheyenne, Wyo., October 31, 1903. 
John C. Coble, 

Bosler, Wyo. 
Dear Johnnie : 

I had a long talk to-day with Judge Burke, and he 
spoke as though it would help my case a good deal if it 
was proven that I was not present when Nickell was 
shot so many times. 

The night before Nickell was shot I was at Alex 
Seller s ranch, and w r ent away in the morning (the morn 
ing Nickell was shot), and came back to his ranch in the 
evening. When I got back in the evening to Seller s 
ranch, Jack Linscott was there and stayed all night and 
left the next morning, going somewhere up on the North 
La ramie River. I left the ranch also, the same day, and 
came back to Seller s ranch again in the evening, and 
Jack Linscott also came back to Seller s ranch, and as 
Linscott and I both got in about the same time, Sellers 
was telling both of us about Nickell being shot the day 
before, and Jack said he did not hear of it at R. R. be 
fore he left. 

I then told both of them all about the sheep business, 
and the Nickell and Miller war, and about the Nickell 
boy being killed a short time before, which they had 
heard. There was a good deal of talk about it, so they 
will remember it well. 

-There were also several men there working at putting 
up hay. I don t know their names, but think one of 
them was a Newell. 


Linscott was driving a buggy. I still stayed on at 
Seller s for a couple of nights more after Linscott left. 
I was at Seller s ranch for two nights before Nickell was 
shot, and two or three nights after. Now, Sellers has 
sold out and I don t know where he is. You might look 
him up and show him this letter, and he can not help 
but recall the whole circumstance. 

I will write Linscott at Rock River and see if he will 
come in and see Judge Burke and make an affidavit to 
these facts. 

Yours truly, 


P. S. I am writing Linscott to write to Burke. 



Cheyenne, Wyo., November 17, 1903. 
John C. Coble, 

Bosler, Wyo. 
Dear Johnnie: 

Proctor told me that it was all over with me except 
the applause part of the game. 

You know they can t hurt a Christian, and as I am 
prepared, it is all right. 

I thoroughly appreciate all you have done for me. 
No one could have done more. Kindly accept my thanks, 
for if ever a man had a true friend, you have proven your 
self one to me. 

Remember me kindly to all my friends, if I have any 
besides yourself. 

Burke and Lacey have not shown up yet. 

I want you to always understand that the steno 
graphic notes taken in the United States marshal s office 
were all changed to suit the occasion. The notes read 
at the trial were not the original notes at all. Every 
thing of an incriminating nature read in those notes was 
manufactured and put it. It won t do any good to kick 
at that now, so let er go. 

If any one profits by my being hung, I would be sorry 
to see them disappointed. 

It w r ould, perhaps, be somewhat of a trying meeting 
for you to come to see me now. Do as you like. It 
might cause you a good deal of pain. 

I am just the same as ever, and will remain so. 


The governor s decision was no surprise to me, for I 
was tried, convicted and hung before I left the ranch. 
My famous confession was also made days before I came 
to town. 

I told Burke to give you some writing I did; be sure 
and get it. You will not need anything to remember me 
by, but you will have that anyway. Anything else I may 
have around the ranch is yours. 

I won t need anything where I am going. I have an 
appointment with some Christian ladies to-morrow, and 
will write you of their visit to-morrow night. 

I will drop you a line every day now, till the Reaper 
comes along. 

Kindest to all. 

Yours truly, 




Cheyenne, Wyo., November 20, 1903. 
John C. Coble, Esq., 
Cheyenne, Wyo. 

As you have just requested, I will tell all my knowl 
edge of everything I know in regard to the killing of 
the Nickell boy. 

The day I laid over at Miller s ranch, he asked me to 
do so, so that I could meet Billy McDonald. 

Billy McDonald came up and Miller and I met him 
up the creek, above Miller s house. Billy opened the con- 
vers:<tion by saying that he and Miller were going to kill 
off the Nickell outfit and wanted me to go in on it. They 
said that Underwood and Jordon would pay me. 

Miller and McDonald said they would do the w r ork. I 
refused to have anything to do with them, as I was not 
interested in any way. McDonald said that the sheep 
were then on Coble s land and I got on my horse and 
went up to see, and they were not on Coble s land. 

I promised to stay all night again at Miller s, as Mc 
Donald said he would come up again next morning. 

He came back next morning and asked me if I still 
felt the same as I did the day before, and I told him 
I did. 

"Well," he said, "we have made up our minds to wipe 
up the whole Nickell outfit." 

I got on my horse and left, and went on about my 
business. I went on as John Brae and Otto Plaga said 
I did, and on to the ranch, where I got in on Saturday. 


I heard there of the boy being killed. I felt I was well 
out of the mix up. 

I was over in that part of the country six weeks or 
two months later and saw both McDonald and Miller, 
and they were laughing and blowing to me about run 
ning and shooting the sheep of Nickell. I told them I 
did not want to hear of it at all, for I could see that Mc 
Donald wanted to tell me the whole scheme. They both 
gave me the laugh and said I was suspicioned of the 
whole thing. 

I knew there was some suspicion against me, but 
did not pay the attention to it that I should. 

That is all there is to it so far as I know 7 . 

Irwin, who swore I came into Laramie on the run on 
that Thursday, just simply lied. 

All that supposed confession in the United States 
marshal s office was prearranged, and everything that 
was sworn to by those fellows was a lie, made up before 
I came to Cheyenne. Of course, there was talk of the 
killing of the boy, but La Fors did all of it. I did not 
even make an admission, but allowed La Fors to make 
some insinuations. 

Ohnhaus, La Fors and Snow, and also Irwin, of Lar 
amie, all swore to lies to fit the case. 

Your name was not mentioned in the marshal s office. 

This is the truth, as I am going to die in ten minutes. 

Thanking you for your kindness and continued good 
ness to me, I am, 

Sincerely yours, 




Boulder, Colo., November 27, 1903. 
Mr. John C. Coble, 

Bosler, Wyo. 
Kind Friend: 

We buried Tom with all due respect that relatives 
and friends could show. We had the largest funeral that 
was ever in this town. Everybody showed due courtesy 
to the hearse as it went seven blocks. They stood on the 
street with their hats off as we passed along. When we 
arrived at the cemetery there was hardly standing 
room. There must have been anyhow 2,500 people at 
the funeral. 

Tom told our sheriff that he had written me a letter. 
I have never received it. I expected this letter all of the 
time, and this is the reason that I never wrote. 

I would like to know if he had any personal effects; 
if so, please let me know what and where they are. I 
received his hat, shoes and grip from Sheriff Smalley. 

We appreciate, from the bottom of our hearts, all that 
you have done for him; that is, myself and family. 

We have no picture of him, nor anything but what I 
have related in this letter. 

I received a letter from Attorney Burke, of Cheyenne, 
requesting me to place a guard over the grave, which I 
had already made arrangements for, and did, and this 
guard still remains and will until I call him off. He is 
an old friend of ours and Tom s, and never falls down on 


I see by the papers that you are seriously ill, which 
I am exceedingly sorry to hear. 

Hoping to hear from you soon, and that you will be 
in better health when this reaches you, I remain, 

Your friend, 


P. S. Give the Irwin boys my regards. 




Born and reared midst the comforts and refinements 
of civilization, I have, nevertheless, been most strongly 
attracted by the frontier type; so when, in July of 1901, 
I went to take the Miller-Nickell school in the Iron Moun 
tain country, I was happy in the belief that I would meet 
with the embodiment of that type in its natural environ 
ment. I was doomed to disappointment, for all the cat 
tle men and cow boys I saw were like the hired hands 
"back East" 

I was beginning to regret that I had not been born 
some twenty years earlier, when, on the night of July 
15th, there stopped at the Miller ranch a man who em 
bodied the characteristics, the experiences and the code 
of the old frontiersman. It was Tom Horn. 

Horn went to Wyoming in 1892 and for the follow 
ing five years worked as cow boy for several cattle com 

At the beginning of the Spanish-American War Gen 
eral Maus received instructions to look up Tom Horn 
and secure his services in the organization of the pack 
train for the army going to Cuba. In the fall of 1898, 
Horn was ordered by Miles to Tampa, Florida, as chief 
pack master for Shafter s army, with the rank and pay 
of colonel. Shortly after this, he was made master of 


At St. Louis, where the pack train of 520 mules and 
133 packers was organized, a delay occurred which neces 
sitated the shipping of the train from Tampa just one 
day behind Colonel Wood and Lieutenant Colonel Roose 
velt and their Rough Riders. 

When the train arrived at harbor, Horn found that 
the transports could not approach the landing near 
enough to disembark the mules. Nervous and anxious, 
he consulted the officers in charge of the transports, and 
together they decided to visit the flag ship and get orders 
from headquarters. Being personally acquainted with 
General Shafter, Horn approached him with the earnest 
request that permission be given to attempt the landing 
of the pack train, so that supplies and ammunition 
might be hurried after the Rough Riders, already twenty- 
four hours in advance. Shafter remonstrated: "But 
Colonel, you can not get your transports to the wharf." 
"Only give me an order to land my mules and they will 
be landed," was the reply. "You have the order," came 
the brief but welcome answer. Disembarking the train 
began without delay, the manner being original with 
Horn. A mule would be taken to the gangway, where 
four men were stationed with ropes. There was a "push 
all together," and the mule was in the water. 

The 520 were thus unloaded and headed for shore, 
perhaps a mile distant. Only two of the animals were 
lost. One was trampled underneath and drowned, while 
another, a big Missouri mule, swam in the wrong direc 
tion. Two seamen were sent after him to head him 
back, but the faster the sailors rowed, the swifter swam 
the mule; and the last seen of him he was far out in the 


ocean headed for old "Mizzoury." By daylight those 
518 mules were packed and on the trail. 

Too great emphasis can not be given to the fact that 
but for the energy and ingenuity of Tom Horn, there 
would have been no supplies nor ammuniation at the 
front when that notable engagement at San Juan Hill 
took place. Let any thoughtful, fair-minded person re 
flect upon the possible consequences if the chief of the 
train had not insisted upon immediate landing, and then 
with tireless zeal, kept his hundred and more packers at 
work through the long, tropical night. 

A few hours before the battle of San Juan Hill, Leon 
ard Wood and Theodore Roosevelt met with Horn while 
they were journeying afoot toward the front. Their 
horses were worn out, so they asked Horn for fresh ones. 
Now, Horn had received orders to supply no one mules; 
but, having served with Wood in Arizona and esteeming 
him highly, he made this case an exception, and gave 
mounts to both of them. 

Incidentally, Horn s description of the San Juan 
fight is the best in detail ever given. According to this 
eye witness, a degree of injustice has been done the 
Seventy-first New York in branding the entire regiment 
as cowards, whereas, there was only a deplorable lack of 
discipline and training. Horn saw one officer use every 
means to stop the retreat stampede rather of his men, 
pleading, commanding, threatening, even striking at 
them with his sword; and finally, seeing that his efforts 
were unavailing, he broke his sword and stamped upon 
the pieces. But his men streamed past him and his few 
staunch followers, dodged among and under the feet of 
the pack mules whence the disgusted packers, with oaths 



and lashes, strove to dislodge them. The officer he of 
the broken sword seeing that the packers efforts were 
also vain, joined a colored regiment just then charging 
up the Hill. 

Having contracted the Cuban fever, Horn was com 
pelled to return home before the close of the war. After 
a trying hospital experience, he went to the ranch of 
John C. Coble, which he thenceforth made his head 

By this time the rustlers in the Iron Mountain coun 
try had grown so bold that the leading cattlemen in 
those regions combined and hired Horn as a stock detec 
tive. His duty was to ride the range in the open season 
to discover offenders and prevent stealing. The Iron 
Mountain country is settled principally by small ranch 
men, but is bordered by many large ranges. It is only 
about fifty miles square, but it probably contains more 
rustlers to the square inch than any other place twice its 
size. These rustlers, like most of their kind, are ignor 
ant, shiftless and vicious. True, there are a few respect 
able families, but they are decidedly in the minority. 

The most talked-of families in the district were the 
Millers and the Nickells, whose quarrels had long been 
public property. They had taken homesteads about 
twenty years before, and for the past ten years a feud 
had existed between them. The quarrel had extended 
even down to the younger children, and fights between 
them were not uncommon. The feeling grew so bitter 
that in February, 1901, Jim Miller, the father, stabbed 
Kels P., the head of the Nickell family, seriously, but not 
fatally. The latter had long been at the outs, not only 
with the Millers, but with nearly all of his other neigh 


bors. The climax came in the early summer of the same 
year, when Nickell brought sheep into the district an 
unpardonable sin in a cattle country. 

This was the situation with which Tom Horn had to 
deal. So well did he succeed that the stealing almost 
ceased. Horn s big, muscular body and keenness in 
understanding a situation had much to do with his suc 
cess; but his main weapon was his reputation as a killer. 
He himself carefully fostered this reputation, for as he 
would say to his friends: "That is my stock-in-trade." 
Nothing but powerful fear could restrain the rustlers; so 
Horn, when he "just happened" to drop in upon a cattle- 
thief, would entertain the family by accounts of his ex 
periences as a government scout, deputy sheriff and as a 
Pinkerton detective. These bloody tales would leave 
his auditors open-mouthed, and for days after his depart 
ure not a calf would be stolen in the neighborhood. 

Of course, there were killings. There always are 
when cattlemen and rustlers are neighbors. Naturally, 
the rustlers blamed Horn for these deaths, for they hated 
him in proportion as they feared. Then, Horn himself 
boasted of the killing of certain cattle thieves that was 
additional stock-in-trade. So it came to pass that many 
people believed Horn responsible for all the killings. 
They forgot that other stock detectives were riding, that 
cattlemen as well as their detectives can handle guns, 
and that the rustlers quarrel among themselves! The 
authorities could never fathom the mysterious killings, 
and the trouble went on. 

On the morning of July 19, 1901, William Nickell, the 
fourteen-year-old son of Kels Nickell, was found dead 
about three-quarters of a mile from his home, shot 


through the heart. There was no clue, but the Millers 
were immediately suspected. One theory was that Jim 
Miller, lying in wait for "Ole Nick," as he called his 
arch-enemy, had shot the boy by mistake; but at the first 
session of the coroner s inquest, July 22d, strong evi 
dence tended to show that Victor Miller was the guilty 
one, he having had many personal quarrels and fights 
with William Nickell. But the evidence was not strong 
enough to warrant an arrest, and it looked as though 
this tragedy would also remain unsolved. 

August 3d the excitement, barely subsiding, was 
given an impetus by the tresspassing of NickelFs sheep 
upon Miller s deeded land. Several hundred sheep taken 
from their owner s homestead, driven across the public 
range and down into a meadow of a neighbor s deeded 
land, was certainly provocation from a cattleman s 
standpoint. Bloodshed was narrowly averted by the 
withdrawal of the sheep; but no one was surprised when 
the next day Kels Nickell was shot. He at once declared 
he recognized his assailants as Jim Miller and one of his 
grown sons. 

This declaration is intensified by the statements of 
Nickell and his wife to Mr. and Mrs. Joe Reid, neighbors: 
"They will try to lay this on Tom Horn, but he never 
done it! It was the Millers." 

At the second session of the coroner s inquest, August 
9th, some of the younger Nickell children testified that 
they had seen the men ride away in the direction of 
the Millers, one on a bay and the other on a gray horse. 
This was serious evidence against the Millers, for of Mil 
ler s three riding horses, one was a bay and one a gray. 


Thirteen shots had been fired at Nickell, two taking 
effect, but his wounds were not serious. 

Soon after the shooting, and while he still lay in the 
hospital at Cheyenne, four masked men descended upon 
Nickell s sheep, sent off the herder and clubbed a large 
number of the flock. Accustomed to strife though he 
was, this was too much for Nickell ; he sent for his family 
to come to Cheyenne, and his ranch was put up for sale. 
The remainder of the flock were withdrawn from the 
country by their owners, Nickell having simply pastured 
the sheep on shares. 

All these stirring events had not taken place without 
some suspicion being directed toward Horn. The Mil 
lers strove adroitly to throw suspicion upon him; in fact, 
both Gus and Victor Miller repeatedly said to me: "It s 
all right to let suspicion fall on Tom Horn! He doesn t 
care, and it might help us." Then there were many 
rustlers interested in having Horn out of the way, 
whether he was innocent or guilty. 

There were only two points which could possibly be 
construed against Horn his cherished reputation as a 
killer, and the fact that two days prior to the killing he 
had stopped at Miller s. Horn s friends claimed this lat 
ter fact was evidence in his favor, as it was well known 
he could enter a neighborhood, gather his information 
and depart, with no one the wiser; so, had he been on a 
murderous errand, he would not have shown himself. 
Horn himself always explained his presence there by 
claiming that he had heard Nickell s sheep were out on 
Coble s land; but finding that such was not the case, was 
homeward bound when he stopped at Miller s. 


Horn s movements are best shown by a quotation 
from a letter he wrote to his attorney. He says : 

"The morning K. P. Nickell was shot, I left Seller s 
ranch, which is more than one hundred miles from the 
Nickell neighborhood, and went down into Dave Coch- 
ran s pasture and ran across Dave and talked the news 
of the country over with him. We talked of the killing 
of the Nickell boy. I told Dave all I knew, of my leaving 
there the day before the boy was killed, sheep trouble, 
and so on. I went on back to Seller s ranch that night. 
I met Cochran on the round-up, some six weeks later, 
and he told me that the day after he talked to me in his 
pasture he got the news of K. P. Nickell being shot on 
the day before which was the day I was talking to him 
in his pasture." 

On the other hand, is it improbable that the Millers 
took advantage of the stock detective s presence in the 
neighborhood to score against their old enemies, the 
Nickells? Certain it is Nickell s sheep had never both 
ered any of the cattle outfits for which Horn was work 
ing; equally certain it is that the Millers had the provo 
cation ! 

The second night of his stay at Miller s, Horn made a 
remark which can not be harmonized with the theory 
that he was mixed up in the Nickell affairs. Jim Miller 
had been telling about Nickell s threats to drive the sheep 
upon Miller s property, and he ended with a hard 
chuckle: "If Old Nick turns his sheep in on my land, I ll 
turn my cattle in on him." Horn quickly and seriously 
replied: "Oh, don t do anything wrong!" 

The summer waned, and with its passing, Horn was 
thrown out of employment. The sheep were out of the 


country and the rustlers had been intimidated, so Horn s 
employers decided to dispense with his services. 

Among the officers who had been working on the 
Nickell case was one Joe La Fors, a deputy U. S. mar 
shal. This man had always posed as a friend of Horn s; 
so when, in the latter part of December, he told Mr. 
Coble that he knew of an opening in Montana for a stock 
detective, and that he would help Horn get the position, 
neither Horn nor Coble were surprised. 

The position was secured and Horn went as far as 
Omaha, where he got drunk and lost his outfit. Having 
returned to Coble s ranch for a new outfit, he received a 
letter from La Fors, saying that a representative of the 
Montana people was in Cheyenne and wished to meet 
him. La Fors also had a letter from Montana, which he 
wished to show him. 

On his way to Cheyenne Horn stopped at Laramie 
and again got drunk, and the morning he reached Chey 
enne continued drinking, so that he was too drunk to 
talk to La Fors, who made another appointment for the 
afternoon. Horn missed this appointment also, and La 
Fors went out to look for him. He found him asleep on 
a chair in the back room of a saloon. Waking him, he 
led him to the marshal s office, and there occurred that 
famous "confession." As to what was really said in the 
marshal s office, there are two accounts one is Horn s; 
the other is Joe La Fors and his confederates . 

The next day, January 13, 1902, Tom Horn was ar 
rested, charged with the murder of William Nickell. 

What evidence the authorities held was not made 
public until the preliminary hearing, on May 10th, when 
it was disclosed that at this interview with La Fors, the 


district court stenographer, one Charles Ohnhaus, and a 
deputy sheriff, one Leslie Snow, had been secreted by La 
Fors behind the door, between the marshal s two offices. 
These three testified that during the interview Horn was 
perfectly sober; that he had confessed to the murder of 
William Nickell, and of two rustlers, Lewis and Powell, 
who several years before had lived in the Iron Mountain 
country; that he had confessed to shooting at Kels Nick- 
ell with intent to kill; that he had said killing was a 
business proposition with him. 

Horn s trial came up on October 13th. In addition 
to these statements, there was a great showing of testi 
mony against him; but when sifted, it left the "confes 
sion" the main dependence of the prosecution. The at 
torneys for the defense considered Horn s chances better 
than even, as the only thing against him of importance 
was the so-called "confession" and he was drunk when 
this talk occurred. The so-called confession was not in 
the language of Horn, filled as it was with profanity and 
vulgarity, and it is a well known fact that Horn, drunk 
or sober, was never vulgar and seldom profane. The lan 
guage sounds more like Leslie Snow than Tom Horn. 
Even the unfriendly newspapers predicted either an ac 
quittal or a hung jury. 

Great was the surprise, then, when, at 5 p. m. on Oc 
tober 26th, the jury brought in a verdict of guilty. This 
jury was composed principally of small ranchmen, most 
of whom were from the districts adjacent to the Iron 
Mountain regions. After the trial it was discovered that 
Horn and his friends, Duncan Clark and Sam Moore, had 
recovered stolen stock from some of the jurymen. So the 
stock detective had been tried by a jury, the majority of 


whom were cattle rustlers! It is no mystery to a cow 
man why the case was lost. During the trial a prominent 
ranchman publicly said. "Show me a cattleman who s 
against Tom Horn, and I ll show you a rustler!" 

An appeal was taken, first to the district judge and 
then to the Supreme Court. As was anticipated, the dis 
trict judge refused a new trial. The rulings during the 
trial were such that the defense could not hope for much 
from this judge. They did, however, have some faith in 
the Supreme Court, for the attorneys for defense cited 
seventy-nine errors. 

\Yhile the matter was in the hands of this court 
things were quiet, except that certain newspapers kept 
loading the public with sensational stories that plots 
had been laid for the escape of the prisoner. August 9, 
1903, Horn did break jail, and was at large for about fif 
teen minutes. The alarm had been quickly given, so he 
was captured but a little distance from the jail. 

While effecting his escape he secured an automatic 
Browning pistol, and his enemies have always claimed 
that he would have killed the jailer if it had not been 
that he did not understand the mechanism of the gun. 
It is hard for his friends to believe that he could not 
operate so simple an arrangement, when they consider 
that he had handled firearms all his life. 

Murder was evidently not in his heart, for he could 
easily have killed the jailer by striking him with the 
stock of the gun after he was tied. 

After Horn had surrendered, and, surrounded by offi 
cers and others, was returning to jail, Deputy Sheriff 
Leslie Snow rode up, and with the butt of his gun aimed 
a murderous blow at the prisoner s head. It was only 


due to the quickness of a policeman in throwing up his 
arm that the stroke missed the temple, for which it was 
intended, and its power may be judged from the fact 
that the policeman s wrist was broken. Certain of the 
Wyoming and Denver newspapers had much to say about 
Horn s "murderous attack" upon the jailer, but they said 
nothing about Snow s murderous attack upon Horn. 

September 5th came, the Supreme Court s adverse de 
cision. Then, on the 31st of October, the last appeal was 
taken to the governor. 

Boarding, as I did, with the Miller s, I not only passed 
through the occurrences which were made public, but I 
obtained a thorough view behind the scenes. After the 
second session of the coroner s inquest, 1 overheard three 
conversations between Jim and Victor Miller, in each of 
which conversation statements were made by both, in 
criminating Victor Miller as the murderer of William 
Nickell. Twice afterwards Jim Miller acknowledged to 
me that Victor had confessed to him the killing of the 
Nickell boy; and on the 10th of October, 1901, Victor 
Miller himself confessed to me that he was the murderer. 
I agreed to say nothing about Victor s criminality, pro 
vided they would make no attempt to sidetrack the crime 
on Horn, or any other innocent person. I felt it would 
be unfair to punish Victor and leave untouched his 
father and Kels Nickell, the original cause of all the 
trouble. Moreover, I took into consideration the youth 
of the self-confessed murderer (Victor was but eighteen), 
and that he had grown up in the midst of quarreling and 
strife. So I held my peace. 

When Horn had been brought to trial, I seriously con 
templated laying my knowledge of Victor s guilt before 


the authorities; but as the attorneys for the defense re 
peatedly wrote me that they were confident of winning 
their case, I thought that by my continued silence I could 
save Victor Miller, and yet not jeopardize Horn. After 
the jury brought in their verdict I was ready to reveal 
my knowledge of Victor s guilt, for I had no intention of 
shielding a guilty man at -the expense of an innocent 
one. However, owing to legal technicality, the lawyers 
could not use this evidence until the case was placed 
in the governor s hands. When that time arrived I made 
an affidavit, setting forth in detail my knowledge of Vic 
tor Miller s criminality, and then I went to Cheyenne 
from a distant place in order to appear in person before 
the governor. 

The newspapers had much to say about the frequent 
interviews the governor held with the "school-ma am," 
and how he painstakingly questioned her concerning the 
situation in the Iron Mountain country, etc. In this they 
drew entirely upon their imaginations. I held but one 
interview, worthy the name, with the governor, and in 
this his questions were very evidently prompted more by 
a curiosity concerning my personal, private affairs than 
by any anxiety to inform himself upon the true situation. 

I did, however, hold a long, comprehensive interview 
with Judge Corn, chief justice of the Wyoming Supreme 
Court, in which he made the following statement: "You 
understand the Supreme Court did not determine Tom 
Horn s guilt or innocence; they simply passed upon 
whether or not there had been evidence enough before 
the jury upon which a verdict could be based. As for 
myself, I have not yet made up my mind whether he is 


innocent or guilty. In fact, I would be perfectly eligible 
as a juror to try the case." 

I also held a short interview with Judge Jesse Knight, 
of the Supreme Court, in which he said he did not read 
all of the testimony placed before the Supreme Court, 
and made this further statement: "I have taken no part 
in this case since it left the hands of the Supreme Court. 
I might have if they hadn t attacked Joe La Fors." It 
is a question how Horn s friends could assert his inno 
cence without attacking Joe La Fors. 

In addition to my testimony, a great deal of other evi 
dence strongly in support of the defendant was pre 
sented to the governor. 

Among the things submitted were two letters from 
Frank W. Mulock, of Denver. It will be remembered by 
those who followed the case, that this man and Robert 
G. Cousley testified at the trial that they had heard Horn 
in a Denver saloon boast of the killing of the Nickell 
boy. Mulock s letter to Lacey came as a complete sur 
prise; and a careful reading of these letters leads us to 
but one inference his conscience was hurting him! 

"Denver, Oct. 5, 1903. 
"Hon. J. W. Lacey, Cheyenne, Wyoming. 

"Dear Sir: I was sorry to hear that the Supreme 
Court had refused Tom Horn a new trial, after the very 
able defense you rendered him. I am one of the Denver 
witnesses that testified against him. 

"Last April, in Pueblo, and twice here in Denver last 
week I have seen a man who is a double for Horn. One 
Geo. S. Roberts, was to have been a witness against 
Horn, but failed to show up at the last minute. This 


Roberts was bartender at saloon here where the fellow 
claiming to be Horn made the alleged confession. From 
what Roberts has told me since Horn s conviction, I am 
inclined to think Horn was the subject of a base con 
spiracy. I met Roberts in Kansas City last October, and 
he told me he could procure evidence to acquit Horn, be 
sides what he himself knew. I think Roberts is in New 
Orleans, La., at present and I am satisfied I could induce 
him to procure anything favorable to Horn that he 
knows. I think if the showing is made to Governor 
Chatterton, that without a doubt, the governor would 
grant a pardon or commutation of sentence. 

"I am willing to do all I can towards the reparation 
of the wrong done Horn, if any wrong has been com 
mitted. I will go to New Orleans and see Roberts, and 
I am fully satisfied I can induce him to go before the 
governor or make proper affidavits. I do not ask any 
compensation for my services, even if it is developed that 
Horn is pardoned or commuted. 

"If you will furnish transportation to New Orleans 
and return to Denver, with accompanying legitimate ex 
penses, I am ready to go at once. If I do not hear from 
you in two or three days, I am going to Idaho for the 
winter. If I could see you personally, or one of your rep 
resentatives here in Denver, I could go more into details 
in reference to Roberts position in the case. You can 
address me by wire, 1134 Fifteenth street, care Jno. 
D. Ross, Denver. I will expect an answer from you 
Tuesday or Wednesday. 

"Yours in confidence, 

"Frank W. Mulock." 


"Denver, Colo., October 13, 1903. 
"R. G. Couseley, Esq., 
"1412 Olive St., 
"St. Louis, Mo. 

"Friend Bob: 

"I sent you a copy of an affidavit last week about the 
Horn case. You remember when we were in Kansas City 
last fall what Roberts told us about that fellow we met 
in the Scandinavian saloon not being Tom Horn. I have 
since found out things that lead me to believe that Rob 
erts was telling the truth. I don t think we ought to let 
this matter drop now and let Horn be hung without our 
doing the square thing. As I told you in the letter be 
fore, I wrote to Mr. Burke, one of Horn s lawyers, and 
yesterday I met him again, and he urges me to do every 
thing we can. 

"Please attend to this at once, and write me or T. F. 
Burke, of Cheyenne, Wyo., and tell him the circum 
stances and what Roberts told us in Kansas City. 

"Hoping to hear from you at once, I am, 

"Yours truly, 

"Frank W. Mulock." 

It seemed as though this evidence must at least save 
Horn s life. 

On the 14th of November, at half past three, the gov 
ernor made known his decision he would not interfere. 
On the afternoon of this day a singular incident came 
under my notice. At exactly 4 o clock a man called at 
my room in the hotel and presented a note from the gov 
ernor. The note read as follows: 





"Miss Kimmell: Will you please let me take those 
letters again? I read them so hurriedly yesterday I 
would like to see them again at my leisure. The bearer 
is my deputy secretary of state. Yours truly, F. Chat- 

The governor had reference to the correspondence be 
tween Attorney Burke and myself in relation to the Horn 
case. The strange thing is that the governor s written 
decision had then been lying on Judge Lacey s desk for 
half an hour! 

I have been accused of presenting theories as evi 
dence. Would it be too far-fetched a theory to advance 
that the governor had now found time to consider the 
evidence, although his decision had already been made; 
or did he have the deputy take those letters across the 
street to the prosecuting attorney, so that the latter 
might make copies of them? It is a fact that after Horn 
was dead the prosecuting attorney had copies made of 
his farewell letters to his mother and his sisters. I 
learn upon unimpeachable authority that while Stoll s 
stenographer was typewriting these farewell letters, her 
eyes filled with tears, so that she could hardly write. 
Stoll, coming into the room, took in the situation and 
jeered at her. The state s case was ended, so it is evident 
that his sole purpose was to acquire souvenirs of what? 
Of work well done! The hanging of an innocent man! 

So it was that on November 20, 1903, at about 11 
a. m., Tom Horn was hanged. There are those who can 
tell the grewsome details. It is enough for his friends 
to know that he smiled to the last. 

After all has been said and done, why was he hung? 
The answer is: "Because of a drunken talk." It was 


clearly demonstrated that upon the Sunday morning of 
his interview with La Fors Horn had forty drinks within 
him; yet his maudlin words were called a "confession." 
If his confession was bona fide, it is strange he should 
so soon afterwards have vigorously denied it and con 
tinued to deny it even to his death; and if he had a 
guilty soul, it is singular he should choose to unburden 
himself to a mere acquaintance and give no sign to his 

It was characteristic of Horn that when he was sober 
he was quiet in manner and modest, but that when he 
was drunk he was loquacious and boastful. His own 
account of his interview with La Fors was that they 
were trying to out-lie each other, and, as La Fors had 
turned the subject upon killings, each boasted of killings 
he had done. The role was an easy one for Horn it was 
his stock in trade in the Iron Mountain country. Cow 
boys on the lone prairie and scouts, far from civilization, 
when sitting around the campfire, habitually spin yarns; 
and Horn had been both cow boy and scout. It needed 
not this training, however, to make him a romancer. He 
was born one. He had an active imagination, a keen 
perception and a genius for language. He was truthful 
in the ordinary affairs of life, but if the spinning of a 
yarn would give pleasure, he was not one to let facts 
stand in the way. He always maintained that his state 
ments to La Fors were changed to suit the requirements. 
The alleged confession is undoubtedly characterized by 
striking peculiarities. 

Aside from the fact that the language used was not 
that of Horn, it has never been explained why, out of 
the multitude of his friends, he should have selected John 


C. Coble and me to speak disparagingly about. Could 
it be that the authors of the "confession" calculated that 
nothing but a strong resentment would turn us against 

Many things conspired to send him to his death, chief 
among which was the attitude of a number of the news 
papers of Wyoming and Denver. These were controlled 
by parties who would stop at nothing, and stoop to any 
thing to ruin the defense. Accordingly they printed 
great masses of damaging lies, and would not admit the 
smallest favorable point. 

It is said that one of the newspaper reporters of 
the case being remonstrated with for inaccuracy of 
statement in the report given gave this excuse: that 
the best authority upon this class of news laid down the 
rule for the guidance of reporters as follows: u ln case 
a crime has been committed which incenses the public 
mind, if the accused is able to divide the public senti 
ment, then take the sympathetic side of the case; but 
if the accused has few or no friends, then jump onto 
him with both feet and stamp him out of existence, for 
by so doing you will satisfy the mind of the public and 
close the incident." 

They habitually pictured the prisoner viler than the 
vilest, and as much a degenerate physically and men 
tally as spiritually. In addition to this calumny, there 
was much perjured evidence, and the truth was twisted 
until it became a lie. Then there were political ambi 
tions in the way. 

This was evidenced by a conversation between the 
governor and the prosecuting attorney of Douglas 
county, Wyoming. A few hours after the governor had 


made known his decision, the prosecuting attorney tele 
phoned to him in reference to the Indian outbreak that 
had recently occurred. While he was making his report 
the governor interrupted him by asking: "How do the 
people up there take my decision in the Horn case?" It 
seems that the governor had taken steps to learn at first 
hand how the people of Natrona county felt, for during 
the proceedings before him, he absented himself to at 
tend a dance at Casper. 

As a prominent lady aptly put it: "The governor of 
Wyoming does not believe in capital punishment per 
sonally, but he does politically!" 

Why Tom Horn should have been convicted will al 
ways be an open question, with an ever-increasing num 
ber believing in his innocence. 

That such a result should have been reached upon 
the evidence produced, and especially that executive 
clemency should have been refused in face of the show 
ing made in support of the application therefor, is in 
deed difficult of explanation. 

Tom Horn has been called a murderer of children, but 
read the following incidences, a few of his many kind 
nesses to the young and to the suffering: 

In the Arizona days the little son of an army officer 
conceived a great liking for him, and used to follow him 
around. One day when he, the boy, and other scouts 
were out riding they were surprised by Indians. A sharp 
encounter ensued, in which the scouts, being outnum 
bered, were forced to retreat. As they were dashing off, 
Horn noticed the boy had slipped from his horse. At 
the risk of his own life he went back, lifted the child into 
the saddle in front of him, and succeeded in escaping. 


Sam Moore, former foreman for the Swan Land and 
Cattle Company, writes: 

"Sheriff Cook, of Albany County, Wyoming, told me 
in the waiting room of the Cheyenne depot at the time 
of Horn s trial, that Tom and himself (Cook) were in 
Greeley, Colorado, together, and while standing around 
the depot, a passenger train came in. 

"Among the passengers who got off the train were 
two or three little, ragged, hungry-looking children, who 
singled Tom from among the crowd and came up to him, 
asking for help. Tom instantly acted, and took them to 
a restaurant and filled them up with a hearty meal. 
After which he took them to a clothing store, and dressed 
them up with new clothes and bought each a pair of 
shoes as they were bare-footed. Cook said: Don t tell 
me a man like him is around killing children. 

"Tom once saved my life by a good throw with his 
lariat at the right time. I shall never forget it." 

A family in the Laramie Peak country tell of an alter 
cation between two of their cow boys, in which one was 
fatally wounded; and how Horn sat for hours by the dy 
ing man, nursing him as tenderly as a woman could have 

Horn hated a thief, and most of all a cow thief; but 
it was his habit to give a rustler every possible chance 
for reform before reporting him. It has frequently been 
said that in his duties as a stock detective he learned 
dark secrets of his employers, Ora Haley, Whittaker 
Brothers and Al Bowie; and it was predicted that if he 
had to die, he would reveal his knowledge, for these men 
did not lift a little finger to help him in his trouble: but 


if he knew of any shady transactions of these men, he 
kept them to himself. 

When his last hour had come and ministers talked to 
him about his soul s salvation, he listened carefully, but 
made no hypocritical pretension to a feeling he did not 
possess. He said he had never thought much about such 
things, but realized that one ought to prepare for the 
future life. Notwithstanding statements to the con 
trary, he always believed in the life to come, and in re 
dress for human wrongs. 

He was the representative of a type not common. He 
was a man of action, and in times of strenuousness could 
out-do and out-endure all others; but in his hours of 
leisure he could be as indolent as a Mexican grandee, and 
would tell his romances with the ease of a litemteur. 

It would be hard to find Tom Horn s match physic 
ally. Standing six feet two, he was built in perfect pro 
portion to his height broad-shouldered, deep-chested, 
full-hipped. Without an ounce of superfluous flesh upon 
him and with muscles of steel, he could perform feats of 
strength which were the admiration and despair of other 
men. He was as straight as an Indian; but had the 
swinging carriage of the old-time frontiersman, with just 
the suggestion of a swagger in it. With strong jaws, 
and chin, and nose, he would have been hard-featured 
but for the full lips which could so easily curve into a 

The unflinching stare of his keen eyes which one 
sometimes encountered, was the signal-light of a sublime 
nerve a nerve which enabled him to look a horrible 
death in the face and smile. This was one reason why 
his enemies so hated him. They could imprison him, 


they could kill him they might even torture him but 
they could never make his soul cringe, his nerve falter. 

Strong in feeling as he was, he was unfailingly good- 
uatured and polite; and with his German blood, he had 
inherited the Teutonic sense of humor. Enjoying a good 
time himself, he liked to see everyone else have one, and 
many tales can be told illustrative of his big-heartedness. 
His enemies call him a desperado, but his whole life 
was spent in keeping the desperate in check. His ex 
periences were broad and deep, and he rendered much 
gallant service to his country. Riding hard, drinking 
hard, fighting hard so passed his days, until he was 
crushed between the grindstones of two civilizations. 

The mortal part of him lies in the cemetery at Boul 
der, Colorado, beneath the western breezes and the west 
ern sunshine which he loved so well ; but in the hearts of 
his friends, Tom Horn will live forever as the nerviest 
and the biggest-hearted man they have ever known! 

Denver, Colo., April 12, 1904. 


[Tom Horn counted among his most valued friends the 
Irwin brothers, Charles and Frank, and rightly so; for when 
his last moments had come (moments from which the most de 
voted shrank), theirs were the last friendly faces he beheld 
these two, who were there to sustain him, singing, at the 
scaffold s foot, with brave, tear-choked voices, a song to cheer 
their former comrade in his extremity.] 

Life is like a mountain railroad, with an engineer that s. brave; 
We must make the run successful, from the cradle to the grave; 
Watch the curves, the fills, the tunnels; never falter, never quail; 
Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the rail. 

Chorus : 
Blessed Savior, Thou wilt guide us till we reach that blissful 

Where the angels wait to join us, in Thy praise forever more. 

You will roll up grades of trial; you will cross the bridge of 


See that Christ is your conductor, on this lightning train of life; 
Always mindful of obstructions, do your duty, never fail; 
Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the rail. 

You will often find obstructions; look for storms of wind and 


On a fill, or curve, or trestle, they will almost ditch your train; 
Put your trust alone in Jesus; never falter, never fail; 
Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eye upon the rail. 

As you roll across the trestle, spanning Jordan s swelling tide, 
You behold the Union Depot, into which your train will glide; 
There you ll meet the Superintendent, God the Father, God the 

With the hearty, joyous plaudit, "Weary pilgrim, welcome 



Tom went to work for me in the government pack 
train in 1882; he was with me and worked steady with 
me for three years. A more faithful or better worker or 
a more honorable man I never met in my life. 

During the period of three years, I made numbers of 
scouting expeditions, and oftentimes needed the help of 
a man I could rely on, and I always placed Horn in 
charge; for it required a man of bravery, judgment and 
skill, and I ever found Tom true to the last letter of the 
law to any and every trust confided to his care. 

In 83 Horn was with me when I went into Mexico 
with General Crook, and we brought back the Chiricahua 
Apaches to the White Mountain Reservation here in Ari 
zona. During that trip Horn proved himself a very val 
uable man to me on many occasions. 

In making my side-scouts alone, I would always place 
Horn in charge of all Indian scouts left behind in camp. 
This required a man who was cool and had judgment to 
control and handle these scouts. Also, on other side- 
trips, when I took a few pack animals, I ever made it a 
point to take Tom with me, as it very often required me 
to have a man that I could rely on in every way, as I 
oftentimes had to split my crowd after being out. At 
these times I would always put Horn in charge of one 
set of scouts, tell him where and the time to meet me, 
and what to do; and I never had him fail to obey my or- 


ders to perfection. No matter what came up rain or 
snow, clouds or sunshine Tom was there to meet me, 
and true to the trust. 

This gave me such confidence in him that in 1885, 
when the Chiricahuas broke away from their White 
Mountain Reservation here (which caused the Indian 
War of 1885), and I followed them into Mexico with Cap 
tain Crawford, I took Tom Horn along with me. While 
I was out on the campaign, the balance of the Apaches 
on the Reservation became very unruly, which caused 
General Crook to call me from Mexico back to the In 
dian Reservation here in Arizona Territory. When I 
left to obey the orders, I placed Horn in charge of my 
scouts with Captain Crawford, and he stayed in Mexico. 

Captain Crawford finally overtook the Indians and 
had a fight with them. This is the time Captain Craw 
ford lost his life by the Mexican troops who ran onto 
Crawford s outfit, mistook the camp for hostiles, and 
opened fire on them. Crawford and Horn yelled to the 
Mexicans that they were friendly; but before the firing 
ceased, Crawford lost his life, and Tom Horn was shot 
through the arm. 

Notwithstanding all this, Lieutenant Maus and Tom 
Horn brought the hostiles, or at least the biggest part 
of them, back across the line, and would have brought 
them safe to the Reservation had it not been for some 
white men camped near the old San Bernardino ranch, 
who sold the Indians whiskey and mescal. This caused 
the Indians to become drunk and unruly, and about one- 
half of them broke away from the Maus command and 
went back into Mexico. The rest were brought to Camp 
Bowie, and shipped from there to Florida. This break 


was the cause of prolonging the Indian War at least one 
year longer. 

Horn s part in the war deserves the greatest praise 
for his services and the handling of his Indian scouts. 

Shortly after this, General Crook was relieved of the 
command of the department of the southwest, by Gen 
eral Miles, and Horn quit the government service, al 
though I saw him frequently afterwards, fie went to 
work in Pleasant Valley as a ranch hand. After this, 
there was a fierce war in this section known as the Pleas 
ant Valley war, between the cow men and the sheep men. 
There were between twenty and thirty men killed during 
the fight. Tom took no part with either side, although 
every inducement was offered him to take sides. 

Tom remained in that vicinity until he went to Den 
ver, as he told me, to go to work for the Pinkerton out 
fit. Since that I know nothing of him, only what I read 
in newspapers. 

Now, I wish to state that during the time of three or 
four years he was around me, and with me, I never once 
saw him under the influence of liquor. The most he ever 
drank was a glass of beer when out with a gang of the 
boys. And knowing him, as I do, and taking all into 
consideration, I can not, and will not, ever believe that 
Tom Horn was the man the papers tried to make the 
world believe he was. These words and sentiments can 
not be put too strong, for I can never believe that the 
jolly, jovial, honorable and whole-souled Tom Horn I 
knew was a low-down miserable murderer. 

In regard to my picture, I have none here, and have 
no show at present to have one taken, and as for my 
scouting costume, it was ever the same as that of any 


roving man; for, during my twenty-one years of fighting 
and hunting hostile Indians, I never wore long hair or 
buckskin clothes. 

Now, sir, if this will be of any benefit, use it to suit 
yourself. It is all facts to a letter. 

Your friend, 


Roosevelt, A. T., April 7, 1904. 



I have never made a statement for publication. All 
alleged statements and interviews published, whenever 
and wherever they may have appeared, were without 
authority and without any foundation in fact. 

Throughout the recent trial, despite argument of 
friend and abuse of foe, I have invariably refused to be 
interviewed, realizing the misrepresentation which might 
await me. Condemned if I spoke, condemned if I did 
not speak, I found myself driven to the position of a 
private citizen protecting his individual interests and the 
interests of others entrusted to his charge from the 
rapacity of maudlin and not over-scrupulous newsmon 
gers. The marked unfairness of the Colorado- Wyoming 
press in handling the trial has been unaccountable to the 
uninformed, but to those who know, this prejudiced at 
titude may be clear. 

Given: a "bunch" of reporters, inferior, unscrupulous 
space-fillers, of whichever sex, whose instructions have 

"Get copy, copy still. 
And then let Justice follow if she will," 

and then the prisoner at the bar becomes, so far as the 
news reports are concerned, a "black-hearted, bloody- 
handed, inhuman monster;" and spite, retaliation and 
baffled scheme for gain combine to hatch brood after 


brood of lies, harmless or harmful as they may be, and 
with or without consequences, but lies just the same, de 
liberately manufactured and circulated. For example, 
weigh such press statements as these: that Horn at any 
time lost his nerve; that the defense paid for evidence; 
that Horn was unruly as a boy; that Duncan Clark re 
signed his foremanship of the Iron Mountain ranch be 
cause of trouble over his testimony; that Horn tried to 
kill his jailer the day he attempted to gain his liberty; 
that Horn was informed of the governor s decision before 
the 17th day of November, 1903 ; that Horn s last letter 
to me was handed over by Proctor, deputy sheriff, to 
Charles Irwin, unopened and in the presence of witnesses 
at the scaffold; and that I declined to pay any part of 
the funeral expenses of Horn after his execution. 

On the contrary, Horn was never known to lose his 
nerve; not one cent was paid or offered for evidence; 
Horn was not incorrigible in his youth; there was not 
the slightest connection between Duncan Clark s resig 
nation and his testimony at the Horn trial ; had Horn de 
sired to shed blood in his attempt to regain his liberty, 
he could easily have done so, as the jailer w r as wholly at 
his mercy; the prisoner was informed of his approaching 
execution exactly three days before his death, as his let 
ter given on preceding pages of this book shows ; his last 
letter to me (certainly a sacred trust), was desecrated by 
unfriendly newspaper reporters, passed from hand to 
hand, and was given Charlie Irwin in the sheriff s office 
after the execution; and I certainly paid, and wished to 
pay, every item of the funeral expenses a fact quite 
easily proven. 


Yet it is through these equivocations, and other prod 
ucts of reportorial imagination, that the great and all- 
fair press, alive (?) to its grave responsibility where a 
human life is at stake, proves its trustworthiness! It 
is thus that the all-powerful moulders of public opinion 
proceed to mould! 

And it has not been the press alone, but there have 
been men in positions of trust, puffed up with their 
little brief authority," who have besmirched their trust 
and stooped to odious means for their selfish ends. If 
it be true that "kings play at chess with nations for 
pawns," then it is as true that Wyoming politicians play 
the game of justice with human souls for pawns, and, I 
may add, with Cowardice as referee. 

The story is done. Close the pages that tell of fight 
ing our country s foes, of secret service, of Cuban cam 
paigning, of zeal, of faithfulness, of fearlessness. Un 
written always must remain the record of Tom Horn s 
bravery, loyalty, generosity and the countless kindly 
acts which marked his pathway through life. I am 
proud to say that he was my friend, always faithful and 
just. When can I hope to see such another! And no 
man ever walked more bravely to his death. 

I am convinced, and I re-assert it to be true, that Tom 
Horn was guiltless of the crime for which he died. Nor 
am I alone in this belief. He suffered the death, but 
there is a Great and Final Referee in all matters of 
Justice. To Him the last and final decision. 


Iron Mountain Ranch, Bosler, Wyoming, 
March 1, 1904. 








MAY 2 ? 1971 

LD2lA-50m-2, 71 
(P2001slO)476 A-32 

General Library . 
University of California 

LD 21-100m-7, 40 (6936s) 

YB 35509 


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