Apache Kid

APACHE KID I chapter from Rots Santes APACHE LAND

"APACHE LAND" BY ROSS SANTEE, 216 PAGES. ILLUSTRATED WITH DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR. PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. $3.50. Thirty years ago Ross Santee, not long out of art school and after a brief experience as a cartoonist in New York, showed up on a ranch north of Globe, Arizona, in the very heart of Apache Land. He wasn't an artist roughening it for atmosphere. He was a long, lanky guy by the name of Slim looking for bacon and beans. Horse wrangling became his profession. The spread he worked for occupied part of the San Carlos Indian Reservation. The Apaches were not on the warpath, although there were folks around who had chased or been chased by them. It was and is a wild country. Ross Santee came to know it well and better yet he became acquainted with Apaches. He worked with them, went to their "Devil Dances," attended their tulapai parties, and numbered among them some of his closest friends. "Apache Land" is a group of stories of the Apaches. past and present, and it tells, too, of a few white men who passed through that country. It is history, drama, and rich human experience, so very real and readable. The writing in the book is just as fine as the 100-odd drawings that go with the words and that add such vivid simplicity and beauty to the pages. Here is a great book by a great writer and artist, and by as fine a person as ever followed the night herd or put things down on paper. He went into Apache Land for bacon and beans but more important for us he learned to know a lot about the Indians he met there, learned to love and know the land which inspired these drawings which he gives us in his book. This is the way our West should be written. "Apache Land," on its publication last November, received enthusiastic critical comment. The New York Times Book Review for November 9 says of it: "'Must' books on the Southwest are few and far between. 'Apache Land,' most emphatically, is one of them." Of the author the reviewer says: "Few men have known the dry ranges more intimately; fewer have written of them or sketched them more entertainingly." And we would like to add few have written of the West more honestly or with greater feeling or with greater reverence for the subject . . . R.C.

When the old Apache and his two squaws moved in on the water and set up their wickiup about a hundred yards below Uncle Mac Robinson's line camp, it was an ideal arrangement as far as the Indians were concerned; Uncle Mac killed a beef at regular intervals. Since he always divided with his red brothers, other Apaches moved in and but for an unexpected incident-the Indian camp gave promise of becoming a growing and permanent affair.

Uncle Mac was alone in the line camp and it was dark when he heard the three shots from the rim. He figured a puncher was trying to locate his camp and his surmise was right. Not long after he replied to the shots a cowboy came riding in.

The puncher, a new hand, was none too certain of the line camp's location. He brought a note from the foreman, stayed all night at the camp but he pulled out long before daybreak next morning. It was hardly good daylight when an old buck walked into Mac's camp. He studied the ground intently before he spoke. "Cowboy come last night?" Uncle Mac shook his head. The old Apache looked long at the tracks on the ground before he spoke again: "Cowboy come last night?"

"Cowboy no come last night," said Uncle Mac, who was always ready to have his fun. Lowering his voice. he said in all seriousness: "My friend, the Kid, come last night; I feed the Kid."

When Uncle Mac got in from his day's ride that evening, the Apache camp was deserted. The Indians had moved en masse, such was their fear of the Apache Kid.

Kid, a full-blooded Apache, was the most dreaded and feared of all the renegades who ranged through Arizona and New Mexico during the late '80's and the early '90's. Trailed and hunted by the U. S. Cavalry, sheriffs' posses and Apache scouts, he eluded them all. He was even more vindictive against his own people than against the whites. For without the aid of Apache scouts, the soldiers and civilians who hunted him were helpless on his trail. He ranged from the Sierra Madre Mountains in Old Mexico to the White River Agency in Arizona. And aside from his own clan of blood relatives, he killed everyone who stood in his way.

Kid had married a daughter of Eskiminzin, the Aravaipa chief, and he took no other woman until misfortune befell him. Nor was the woman Kid loved allowed to accompany him on the trail. Kid had not always been an outlaw; for years he was a trusted scout and he was top sergeant of the company when his great trouble came.

Ski-Be-Nan-Ted was his Apache name. When he was in his early teens his father set up his wickiup in the hills above the little mining camp at Globe. This was in 1876. Since Apache names have always been more than a mouthful, the Apache boy was simply called "Kid," and because he would work he became well known in the little mining camp. In many respects he seemed to prefer the white man's way; he spoke good English, had many friends among the whites, was courteous and agreeable.

He worked for various cow outfits in the district, herding beef; and he was in his late teens when Al Sieber, chief of Apache scouts, enlisted Kid in his company.

Kid was with Sieber at the Battle of the Big Dry Wash. He was with Sieber when Sieber went to Mexico with General Crook after Geronimo and the other hostiles in 1883. Kid was in the scouts, when that gallant soldier Captain Emmet Crawford was killed in Mexico, in 1886, by Mexican irregulars while in pursuit of hostile Apaches. He was top sergeant of his company in 1888 and placed in full charge of the scouts when Sieber left to accompany Captain Pierce, the agent, on a trip to White River which was at that time a sub-agency of the San Carlos Reservation.

There are two versions as to how Kid's trouble befell him. Both Dan Williamson and Bill Sparks knew Kid, and since I knew and respected both Williamson and Sparks, I give each version although they were agreed that it was liquor that caused Kid trouble.

According to Williamson, Kid's father, who was then camped not far from the agency, gave a big dance. Tulapai, Apache liquor, was plentiful and the affair wound up in a big drunk. Next morning Kid's father was found dead in his wickiup, stabbed through the heart. Suspicion pointed to an Apache named Rip. Since it was Apache custom for the oldest son to exact vengeance, Kid, when he was sent by Sieber to arrest Rip, killed him. Kid then rode to his own camp, got drunk and sent word to Sieber that he wanted to see him. Sieber ordered him to come in, and when Kid with some of his scouts rode to Sieber's tent, they were drunk.

Sparks says that as soon as Captain Pierce and Sieber left for the White River sub-agency, a camp of Apaches up the river began brewing tulapai and when Sergeant Kid and his men rode to the camp, they joined the party instead of destroying the liquor and arresting the culprits as their standing orders required. The party lasted better than a week. An Indian was killed, and while Kid and his men had nothing to do with the killing, they were in no condition to arrest the murderers. Sieber and Captain Pierce had just returned when Kid and his men, still drunk, rode to Sieber's tent at the agency.

At Sieber's request, Kid handed him his rifle and disarmed the rest of his men. Sieber then ordered Kid to take his men to the guard house, order the Sergeant of the guard to lock them up, himself included. But in a few minutes they returned to Sieber's tent. In some manner, the drunken scouts had secured guns and ammunition and they began firing into the air. As Sieber reached for a rifle in his tent to quell the disturbance, he was shot in the ankle; during the excitement that followed, Kid and his men escaped.

In a few weeks they had been driven into the agency by the troops. Kid and his men surrendered, were tried and sentenced for mutiny and were given long terms in a Federal prison. They had served a few months when they were pardoned by President Cleveland.

Sieber, who spent a year in bed with his wound and was crippled for life, was very bitter. And though witnesses testified that Kid did not fire the shot that struck him, he was especially bitter towards Kid whom he blamed for the whole affair. On Sieber's insistence, Kid and his men were tried in a civil court at Globe, and on October 25, 1889, were sentenced to serve seven years each in the territorial prison at Yuma.

The first big leg of the journey from Globe to Yuma was by Concord stage. The first stop was at Riverside station, about forty miles from Globe, where the party spent the night. Eugene Middleton, the driver, routed them out early next morning and they were on their way long before daybreak.

Glen Reynolds, the sheriff of Gila County, and Hunky-dory Holmes, a deputy, were in charge of the prisoners. Accounts vary as to their number. There may have been as many as eight. And while many of the Apache prisoners, other than Kid's men, had received longer sentences for more serious crimes, only Kid and two of his men wore leg irons and handcuffs. The rest of the Apaches were simply handcuffed, and there was one Jesus Avott, a young Mexican sentenced to two years for stealing a pony, who wore no irons whatsoever.

Sheriff Reynolds, who had ridden horseback the first day, left his horse at the station and rode on the box with Middleton, the driver. Holmes, the deputy, rode in the stage with the prisoners as he had on the previous day. Both men wore heavy overcoats over their gun belts and six-shooters since the morning was cold. Reynolds carried a shotgun. His deputy carried a Winchester rifle. Both the sheriff and his deputy fired their guns repeatedly and were said to be in an exuberant mood that morning, a mood not caused by the crisp morning air.

After leaving the station, the road wound through a sandy wash for some distance. When the overloaded stage reached the steep, winding hill, Middleton suggested that all the party, except Kid and his two men who wore leg irons, walk up the hill. When Middleton started the team, the Mexican, Jesus Avott, was walking directly behind the stage. Sheriff Reynolds followed in the lead of the Apache prisoners, Deputy Holmes brought up the rear.

As the stage lurched up the steep, winding grade. Middleton heard a shot but thought nothing of it. He had stopped the stage to let the horses blow when an Apache prisoner covered him with Holmes' rifle. firing almost instantly. Middleton fell from the seat to the ground with a bullet through his neck, and although he was paralyzed from the shock for some time, he did not lose consciousness.

While there was evidently no prearranged plan of escape, the Apaches had been quick to take advantage of the situation. As the party walked up the hill, the prisoners narrowed the distance between themselves and the sheriff, while others dropped back; the sheriff and his deputy were attacked at the same instant.

The sheriff was still struggling with his assailants when he was killed by a shot from the rifle the Apaches had wrested from Holmes. A strange fact developed at the inquest: while Sheriff Reynolds had been shot through the heart, there were no wounds on the deputy's body; Holmes had died of a heart attack during the struggle.

The Mexican, Jesus Avott, was not molested by the Apaches. Unhooking and mounting one of the lead horses, he was bucked off three times. After his third attempt. the Mexican gave up and went afoot several miles to the nearest ranch for help. For his part in the affair he was pardoned.

Both the sheriff and his deputy were stripped of their arms and ammunition. The sheriff's watch and considerable money were taken from his pockets. The keys for the handcuffs and shackles were taken, and after Kid and his two companions were released, the whole group came and stood about Middleton. They were evidently speculating about his wound. One of the Indians picked a large. jagged rock and was about to crush his skull when Kid intervened, even to the point of seizing the Apache'sarm. They spoke in Apache for some time, and after stripping Middleton of his overcoat, they left.

Middleton recovered from his wound and told me. years afterward, he always believed Kid saved his life. With the killing of Sheriff Reynolds and Deputy Holmes, one of the greatest manhunts in the history of the Southwest was begun and it was to last for more than five years.

With U. S. Cavalry, sheriffs' posses and Apache scouts on their trail, the outlaws made their escape into the Sierra Madres in Old Mexico.

It was only a few months until a white man was murdered by three Apaches in the Sierra Ancha Mountains in Arizona. Henry Thompson, succeeding Glen Reynolds as sheriff of Gila County, trailed the three killers to a camp near Fort Apache and arrested one man. The killers were positively identified as not of Kid's band. Sieber, however, also investigated; he claimed that Kid and two of his men were the killers. Since Sieber was a government scout and backed by the military, Sheriff Thompson was forced to release his prisoner, much against his will.

When Kid found himself accused of nearly every crime committed in the Territory, with a reward of $5,000 on his head he grew vindictive; especially so toward his own people, since Apache scouts who had been his friends and had served under him now took his trail. He became the acknowledged leader of all the renegade Apaches who raided out of the Sierra Madres in Old Mexico; though Kid, himself, was a lone wolf. seldom taking more than one or two men. Often. in his raids on the reservation, Kid was alone.

There were many renegade Apaches who did not come in when Geronimo surrendered to General Miles at Skeleton Canyon, Arizona, in 1886, but stayed in Old Mexico. There was one warrior, named Massey, who later became one of Kid's men; in craft and cunning he was equaled only by Kid.

Massey was one of the many Chiricahuas who were shipped to Florida from Arizona before Geronimo's deportation. At some place east of the Mississippi River he escaped from the train. Traveling by night and hiding by day, it was months before he reached his homeland. During his long journey and after his return, no white man is known to have seen his face. Like Kid, but for some unkown reason, he was even more bitter toward his own people than the whites.

It will never be known just how many white men Kid killed in the more than five years that he was hunted. But there was positive proof that Kid killed Nat Whitman, an old scout, on Blue River and took food and ammunition from his cabin.

One of Kid's men told a squaw, whom he had allowed to return to the reservation, of Kid's part in the killing of two cowboys near Willcox. Apache scouts and the cavalry had been on his trail for days. Kid and his men were afoot and had killed a cow. They were cutting meat from the dead animal when three cowboys rode up to investigate. Hiding behind the carcass, the Apaches killed two of the punchers while the third escaped.

Kid and his companion killed two ranchers in the Sulphur Springs valley a short time later to get horses. Again there was definite proof that Kid and one of his men killed two cowmen on their way to the roundup between Bonita and Eagle Creek. The scouts and cavalry were close to Kid's trail at the time. They came upon the bodies of the two dead cowmen, but the fresh horses Kid and his man had taken allowed them to outdistance their pursuers. While Captain, later Colonel, Emelio Kosterlitsky and his Mexican rurales were trailing a party of Mexican smugglers who had crossed from the American line into Sonora, they rode up on their dead bodies; the smugglers had been ambushed, to a man had been wiped out by the Apaches. Taking the Indians' trail, rurales killed three Apaches in a running fight and Captain Kosterlitsky found a watch, with Sheriff Reynolds' name engraved on the case, on one of the Indians. The watch was returned to Reynolds' widow in Globe, Arizona. Kid may or may not have been with this band.

One after another the Apaches who killed Sheriff Reynolds and Deputy Holmes were tracked down and killed. Kid seemed to bear a charmed life. Often for months at a time he rested in the fastness of the Sierra Madre range in Old Mexico. But it was never long before he raided the reservation again, and his raids struck terror in the heart of the Apaches.

With the cavalry on his trail for the killing of a white man in New Mexico, Kid stole a squaw from the reservation only a few miles from the San Carlos Agency. As the family sat in their wickiup, Kid suddenly appeared and seizing one of the daughters dragged her from the wickiup before the eyes of her astonished family. When the addled father collected his wits and pursued with a rifle, Kid shot him through the heart.

At the sound of the shot all the Apaches in the little village came boiling from their tepees. During the ex citement, the girl escaped and Kid disappeared in the brush. Soldiers and Apache scouts came from the agency and took up the trail that led nowhere. Shortly after dark, Kid crawled down from his hiding place in a large cottonwood tree, stole another squaw from a nearby tepee and made good his escape.

Some of the squaws Kid killed when they were too worn out to accompany him on the trail, others he allowed to return to the reservation. And there is one of his squaws living on the reservation today who was stolen when a young girl.

Nor were the Apache scouts above giving Kid a wide berth when occasion offered. Jimmie Gibson, an old-time Arizona cowpuncher, had some horses he wanted that ran on the Tables, on the south side of the Gila River. Jimmie was riding down one of the long ridges near the old Bar F Bar headquarters when two Apache scouts rose from their hiding place in the brush. "Where you go?" they asked. Jimmie stated his mission. "No go tonight." said the scouts. "Kid camp at Mud Springs tonight."

Since they were a good five miles from the Springs and went no closer that night, Jimmie figured they didn't want Kid any too badly. Jimmie camped with the scouts and rode with them to Mud Springs late next morning; the scouts gave Kid ample time to be on his way. At Mud Springs the sign showed where an Apache and a squaw had camped the night before.

Jimmie knew Kid; years ago when we were together at the Cross S outfit he told me how on one occasion he could easily have killed Kid and claimed the reward. Jimmie was range-branding on the Wine Glass range at the time. He was in a thicket, having just branded a yearling maverick and turned it loose, when he observed an Apache and squaw coming his way. They were riding double on a pony and had no inkling of his presence.

Jimmie promptly put out his branding fire. In those days, all cowpunchers rode with a sharp eye. When Jimmie recognized the Apache as Kid, he pulled his rifle from the saddle boot and pumped a shell into the barrel. "Five thousand reward," said Jimmie, "dead or alive, an' me workin' for wages at the time. Kid and his squaw passed within forty yards of where I was hid in the thicket, holding my pony's nose so he wouldn't nicker. I could have used five thousand dollars, too, but I never wanted that kind of money."

Cline's outfit was working in the Four Peaks country and they were camped at the troughs, high on the east side of the range. They were range-branding and Hardy Shell, a puncher, was on his way to camp when a voice called to him, in good English, to "come on down." Not recognizing the voice and unable to see who was calling him, Shell rode on into camp.

Late that evening, Sheriff Thompson of Gila County rode into camp. Kid had killed a white man in Reno Pass the day before and the sheriff was on his trail. Without doubt it was Kid, wanting a horse, who had called to the cowboy. Next morning the sheriff and the cowboys trailed Kid for several miles up Salome Creek but Kid escaped.

Wid Childers, a friend, was once dismounted by Kid when Wid was on the roundup. Wid and a Mexican cowboy were on their way to camp when Kid appeared out of the brush with a rifle in his hands and told Wid to get down.

"Isn't that Old Man -'s horse?" said Kid as he looked at the brand. "Well, tell the Old Man I took his horse. I used to work for him."

About this time another armed Apache appeared and Kid ordered the Mexican to dismount, saying he wanted his horse, too. The Mexican began to protest, not knowing who Kid was; Wid had dismounted and was on tenterhooks, he told the Mexican to dismount and do it pronto. Wid said he didn't enjoy the walk to camp and that he felt rather foolish about the affair until he met a troop of cavalry pounding up the canyon on Kid's trail.

Unlike Massey's, the manner of Kid's passing is unknown to this day. Old Massey had been ill for months, too ill to walk, and he was dying when he allowed the last squaw he had stolen to return to her people on the reservation. He, too, had killed other squaws lest they betray his hideouts to the Apache scouts. Now it made no difference.

An old-timer who had known Kid claimed to have seen him among Villa's troops on the border as late as 1915. But when Walapai Clark killed one of Kid's squaws in the Galiuro Mountains, Kid's raids on the reservation ceased. Clark had hobbled out some horses not far from his cabin. When he went at dusk to throw them together again, he saw an Indian moving toward the horses. Slipping back to his cabin, Clark got his rifle and waited along the trail It was dark when two Indians passed in silhouette against the sky and Clark opened fire. The next morning Clark found he had killed a squaw, identified as one Kid had stolen from the reservation. The other Indian was wounded; Clark followed the bloody trail for some distance when it disappeared.

The reward for Kid was never claimed and was finally withdrawn by the Territory. The manner of Kid's passing will always be a mystery.