Cochise's Bloody Ambush

Ambush

An 1869 battle in a Chiricahua Mountains canyon marked the beginning of the end of the decade-long Apache wars

As I stood at the base of a flat-topped jumble of stone in the Chiricahua Mountains,

I scanned the ridgeline for a battleground bloodied 130 years ago in one of the most desperate battles of the Apache wars. Surely, these were the very crags where the legendary Cochise had waited for the thirsty, saddle-weary cavalry troopers to move into his trap. Some historians called the ensuing conflict the Battle of Tex Canyon. I had come to stand where brave men had died. But was I standing in just the right spot? Despite my research, I couldn't tell. I had sought out accounts of the 1869 altercations between Cochise and the cavalry, fascinated because the fortified a ridge at the junction of two canyons near Rucker Canyon, at a place I'd driven right past, unknowing. Chastened, I talked the good-natured Gillespie into showing me the spot where I hoped to make an imaginative connection to one of the most unrelenting, respected and successful of Indian war leaders. Cochise already led the Chiricahua Apaches as their war chief when the Southwest was wrested from Mexico in 1848 at the end of the Mexican-American War. Cochise had earned his status during the Apaches' generationslong war with Mexico. Initially he greeted the Americans as potential allies and even permitted his warriors to supply wood to the Apache Pass stagecoach station at the Chiricahua range's northern end. But in 1861, an overeager young Army lieutenant, George Bascom, triggered all-out war when he falsely accused Cochise of kidnapping a boy and then seized members of the chief's family as hostages while under a flag of truce. Then Cochise captured hostages of his own. After the inexperienced Bascom blundered through a series of bad decisions, both sides executed their prisoners and the war began. In the next decade, the Apaches would kill hundreds of people and force the abandonment of nearly every settlement in southeastern Arizona except Tucson. In 1869 alone, Apaches killed an estimated 52 people and stole 1,000 head of livestock in the area. At that time, some 9,000 Anglos and Mexicans lived in AriApache chief had so uncharacteristically stood his ground here in the face of repeated assaults instead of strategically fading away. For the Apaches, the battle represented both a day's triumph and the beginning of the end of a decade-long war. Armed with published accounts, I'd spent the day exploring the lushly scenic canyons of the southern Chiricahuas. I had detoured into Rucker Canyon and even spent an hour exploring Red Rock Canyon's extravagantly colored rocks and enthusiastic little stream, but had abandoned that detour to investigate nearby Tex Canyon. Now I'd paused before this mesa ringed by a natural stone rampart just off the good dirt road connecting U.S. Route 191 and State Route 80. But as I stood rereading the account of the battle from Edwin Sweeney's book Cochise, I realized the vague description could fit a halfdozen other places. I turned to the experts for help, and Coronado National Forest archaeologist Bill Gillespie agreed to help me fill in the blanks. The battle wasn't in Tex Canyon after all, according to recent archaeological research. Instead, Cochise had

The next day, the 50 to 60 raiders struck again, jumping a herd of 250 cattle. Later that day, the Apaches attacked a military supply train at Dragoon Spring. need, but he also had a capacity for ruthless rage and he took seriously the Apache determination to seek revenge.

On Oct. 5, 1869, Cochise concealed a large war party in a gully alongside the old Butterfield Stagecoach route passing just north of the Dragoon Mountains. They materialized out of the gully as the coach approached and killed the driver, the five-man military escort and the passenger-a wellknown local mine owner-before the victims could get off more than six shots. The next day, the 50 to 60 raiders struck again, jumping a herd of 250 cattle. The cowboys put up a brave three-hour fight, but fled when a warrior charged in close enough to lance one of them to death. Later that day, the Apaches attacked a military supply train at Dragoon Spring, but the soldiers fought off the charges without suffering any casualties. Cochise and his warriors then drove the herd as quickly as possible across the open expanse of Sulphur Springs Valley toward the Chiricahuas, where their hungry families waited.

A cowboy carried the warning to Fort Bowie, spurring the dispatch of soldiers from throughout the area. At 8 A.M. on Oct. 8, after pushing his men for 22 hours without sleep, Lt. William Henry Winters and 25 troopers from Fort Bowie overtook Cochise's rear guard, killing three of the five warriors.

Winters was guided by Merejildo Grijalva, who had been kidnapped from his Mexican village as an infant and raised by the Apaches. Grijalva trained as a warrior, but then joined the Army to become one of their most effective scouts. Although they were outnumbered, the soldiers' firepower gave them a decisive advantage on the open ground. Cochise led his handful of mounted warriors in repeated feints, trying to give the bulk of his other warriors, who were moving on foot, time to reach the safety of the mountains. The soldiers concentrated their fire on Cochise, but couldn't hit him. The Apaches would say he was protected by his "Power"; the soldiers certainly complained that he had an uncanny knack for sliding down on the side of his horse just as they fired. Cochise delayed the soldiers for 90 minutes, until the warriors reached the protection of the foothills, before he withdrew, leaving the cattle herd behind. Winters contended he'd killed 12 warriors, while the American loss was two wounded.

Cochise normally would have scattered his warriors after such a fight, but this time he moved north through the Chiricahuas. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the army's tenacity and Grijalva's tracking skills. Winters returned to Fort Bowie, and a new expedition with 62 troopers set out, guided by Grijalva and commanded by Capt. Reuben Bernard. Grijalva followed the trail into the Rucker Canyon basin of the Chiricahuas. After finding a fresh Apache camp, the scout and five soldiers entered a canyon and started up a rocky, flat-topped ridge. Waiting until the soldiers were halfway up the steep hill, hidden warriors rained arrows down on the exposed men, killing two immediately and wounding a third. Grijalva scrambled down the hill uninjured.

Fortunately for Bernard, the Apaches had mostly bows and arrows. Repeatedly, the soldiers closed within 100 feet, but they couldn't break Cochise's line. Bernard then took 30 mounted men and swept around far to the right, only to encounter more perfectly positioned defenders.

Near sunset, Lt. John Lafferty organized several soldiers in a brave but foolhardy attempt to recover the bodies of the two men killed in the first attack. Before he reached the bodies, a well-aimed shot carried away a chunk of his jaw,

Apaches believed the rocks of such a place possessed their own spirits, which, if approached with humility and reverence, could protect, cherish and teach.

but he survived the fray and scrambled back down the hill beside another soldier who broke his leg. With their ammunition running low and darkness approaching, Bernard decided to withdraw. His report declared victory, with a tally of 18 Apaches killed-an unlikely claim given Cochise's position and superior number of warriors.

Bernard's dispatch also described the Apaches as “recklessly brave” and Cochise as “one of the most intelligent hostile Indians on this continent.” Later, an astonishing 33 soldiers in the fight were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, more than who won it for any other battle in the Southwest. A total of just 200 soldiers earned the Medal of Honor in the nearly 20year duration of the Apache wars.

Bernard returned to Bowie for reinforcements and, on Oct. 26, went back to the canyon battlefield to pick up the trail. Cochise, however, was waiting, and the next day, opened fire on the surprised soldiers. There were no casualties and the Apaches withdrew. That evening, Cochise sent a warrior to discuss possible peace terms, but Bernard rebuffed the opening.

The seemingly inconclusive battle actually proved to be a major turning point. Cochise had demonstrated that he could stand off even a large, well-supplied force when on ground of his own choosing. However, the soldiers had proven their own tenacity and courage. Cochise sought peace several times as the battling dragged on for another three years. Finally, the Americans offered the war chief a reservation that included his beloved Dragoons and Chiricahuas. Cochise maintained the peace during the few remaining years of his life. Two years after his death, however, the government discarded its promise and shut down the Chiricahua reservation-triggering the breakout of Geronimo and other war leaders who fought the final phase of the Apache wars.

With that history fresh on my mind, I parked my Jeep under some scrub oaks at the foot of the ridge. Gillespie and other Forest Service researchers had studied historic documents to find the battlefield a few years ago. After using metal detectors to locate brass cartridge casings among the rocks, they worked to have the site listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Gillespie and I took some water with us and stumbled up the loose rock covering the 200-foot-high hill. After we reached the rock rim where the warriors had hidden themselves, Gillespie wandered off to look for artifacts. Caught in the haunting spell of the place, I seated myself in a natural fortification, a rocky rampart with several boulders for cover and a fissure through which I could Safely survey the steep incline below. The forested, rock-ribbed slopes of the ridge swept away on every hand. Apaches believed the rocks of such a place possessed their own spirits, which, if approached with humility and reverence, could protect, cherish and teach. Surely, the Apaches had needed such friends.

Later, when Cochise offered peace in return for his own land, he told his enemies: “The white people have looked for me long. I am here! What do they want? Why am I worth so much? God spoke to my thought and told me to come in here and be at peace with all. The Apaches were once a great nation; they are now but few, and because of this they want to die and so carry their lives on their fingernails. I have drunk of these waters and they have cooled me. I do not want to leave here.” The wind rose mournfully, and a chill seeped through my shirt, damp from the exertion of the climb that had cost other men their lives a stone's throw from where I sat. The sound of the cooling waters of the stream downcanyon carried faintly to me. In that moment, I glimpsed the world of Cochise, so sacred and lost, and felt life's pulse, so urgent and frail. All coyote was always happiest while spying and prying into someone else's business. One day he spotted some lizards playing a game unfamiliar to him, so he trotted over to see what was going on. The lizards were taking turns sliding down a steep rock on smooth, flat stones. Coyote wanted to play, but the lizards said, “You are not a lizard. Go play your own games.”

The Resourceful Trickster Plays a Starring Role in Indian Lore

Still, Coyote persisted. “It's very dangerous,” they warned him. “You'll get killed.” He didn't believe a word they said. He chose a large sliding rock and started down the runway, but halfway down, it caught on a smaller rock, flipped and smashed him flat. The lizards, irritated with the mess at the end of their runway, revived the foolish coyote and sent him on his way with a warning that he had his own games to play and shouldn't try to be what he wasn't.Like the incorrigible animal in this Hopi folktale, the coyote continues as the trick-ster of myth-trotting, howling and grin-ning through countless fables and out across the Western landscape. Most ranchers and trappers agree with some of the Indian stories and myths about coyotes: These leering mischiefmakers seem to be almost impossible to kill.

Certainly, anyone familiar with the old tales of the rascals would not be surprised to learn that coyotes have been known to follow hunters, dig up their traps, turn them over and urinate on them before retreating