Geronimo's Influence Evolved From His Powers

For years, Geronimo eluded Mexican and American troops in rugged southeast Arizona hideaways like Cave Creek Canyon (above) in the Chiricahua Mountains. STEVE BRUNO a miraculous power, because no man could have released himself by his own efforts.

As Geronimo reached old age, his powers of healing caused his fellow Apaches to look at him with suspicion. Medicine men had the ability, they believed, to transfer death from themselves to another person. Rumors spread that Geronimo was thwarting death in this manner.

James Kaywaykla, a member of Geronimo's band, told Debo that these suspicions haunted Geronimo. His beloved but sickly daughter, Eva, appeared to be losing ground, and he feared some evil influence. He'd lost many family members in the last few years, and now Eva might leave him. He called for a dance to discover who was witching his family. Lot Eyelash, a half-brother, conducted the ceremony. After Eyelash danced to four songs, he stopped, pointed an accusatory finger at Geronimo, and cried out, "You did it so you could live on." While Geronimo's feelings about the accusation can only be imagined, he knew he had not witched his family.

Another of Opler's informants, Sam Kenoi, who was no great admirer of Geronimo, called his ceremonies foolish. "He thought the white people were going to kill him or send him to jail somewhere," Kenoi said. "Then he would hold his ceremony and see some vision and it would say, 'Go out on the war-path. '"

Nor did many whites believe in them. In his autobiography Apache Days & Tombstone Nights, John Clum, an agent on the San Carlos Reservation and the only man to ever capture Geronimo, accused him of "spreading more of that buncombe [bunk] about his charmed life as the favored son of Ussen." But how else do you explain the survival of a man who fought desperate battles for 50 years, a man who, with only 37 warriors, women and children, eluded 5,000 troops, about one-quarter of the U.S. Army, and 2,500 Mexican troops and captured the fearful imagination of a nation, an old man with many wounds and deep memories, who in the end died peacefully just as his power predicted all those years before?

Nowhere is it recorded how many of Geronimo's prophecies and predictions proved false, or healing ceremonies proved unsuccessful. However, the first-hand accounts by Apaches like Betzinez demonstrate that seeing is believing.

Sharon S. Magee of Phoenix enjoys discovering new stories to tell of Geronimo's life.

ADDITIONAL READING: Double Cross: Treachery in the Apache Wars includes an account of Geronimo reneging on his promise to surrender at Canyon de los Embudos in 1885. Written by Leo W. Banks for Arizona Highways' Wild West Collection, the 144page softcover book ($7.95 plus shipping and handling) can be ordered online at arizonahighways.com or by calling toll-free (800) 543-5432.

Expert Roper Earl Lightfoot Never Learned to Look Before He Threw

EARL LIGHTFOOT WORKED as an Arizona cowboy all his life. In the years before four-wheel drives and all-terrain vehicles, a cowboy's life and livelihood depended on his horse and his rope and his skill with both. Arizona cowboys were no different than any other cowboys in that respect; they always had their ropes ready for whatever happened. Earl was a good roper even by the highest standard. His two sons had participated in team-roping championships, and Earl had taught them how.

Earl worked on several ranches in the Camp Verde area, including two of the Wingfield ranches, and then nearly 20 years at Ward's Seven Lazy T. He often took his two boys, Alvin and Colonel, with him when he worked the ranch. It was on such an outing that they had an experience they wouldn't forget.

It was in the late 1940s. Earl was in the lead as he and his boys rounded up strays on the Wingfield ranch among the cacti and mesquite in the high desert near Camp Verde. The thing about rounding up strays in this terrain was to get them before they could get a bush between you and them, and avoid a chase.

Too many chases (which cowboys call “brush poppin' ”) can wear a horse down pretty fast, so it's important to have your rope ready and catch the stray quickly. Brush poppin' was always exciting because you never knew what might be on the other side. Earl was as quick as they come, and usually had the stray roped before it even twitched. It was almost an instinct with him. He took no time to ponder or identify; he'd just see movement and throw by reflex.

Earl and his horse once stepped around a piñon pine tree and spooked a bull elk out of its bed. The elk was up and moving in an instant, but not quickly enough. As soon as Earl glimpsed that flash of brown, his rope was on the way to the elk's antlers. Earl knew he had a handful, and had to decide in an instant between losing a good rope and preparing for a fight. Ropes weren't cheap, so he threw a hard and fast knot around the saddle horn. When the elk reached the end of the rope, it was almost perpendicular to Earl's horse and going so fast that it jerked the horse and Earl down to the ground. Of course, the elk went down too, but got back up a lot quicker. The horse lay there kicking and thrashing with Earl's leg pinned underneath and a really upset elk at the other end of the rope.

The elk decided to reverse direction and headed straight for them. As soon as the rope went slack, the horse lunged to its feet with Earl hanging on for dear life while keeping one eye on the rapidly approaching antlers. He and the horse were almost halfway up when the elk jumped right over them and kept going. One more jump and it reached the end of the rope again and jerked the horse back down onto the other side.

But this time Earl flew from the saddle and landed in a creosote bush. The sudden stop at the end of the rope spun the elk around, and the momentum of its hindquarters jerked its antlers out of the loop. Needless to say, it didn't hang around.

Both Earl and his horse were a little slow getting to their feet this time, and if the horse could have talked, it would have had some choice words about the situation. Earl had some choice words to say himself, and the two boys knew well enough not to laugh out loud. They also noticed that he sat a little sideways in the saddle all the way back to the barn.

When Earl swung his black and blue leg out of his bunk the next morning, there was a piece of butcher paper hanging on the back of a chair with a picture of a calf and a picture of an elk. Under the calf it said, “We rope these,” and under the elk it said, “We shoot these.” Nobody said a word, but there was a lot of snickering around the breakfast table that morning.

A few years later, while working on the Seven Lazy T, Earl roped a small black bear. His horse wasn't too enthusiastic about that either, but that's another story.

Earl died in 1996, leaving his two sonsAlvin, who lives in Mayer, and Colonel from Dugas-glad they had a chance to grow up closely associated with their dad. Earl's wife, Midge, lives in Rimrock. Al