The soft soughing of the wind
in the trees; the gentle rustle of the grass as it is swayed by
the passing breeze; the musical ripple of water as it gurgles
from the spring; the piping of the quail as it calls to its mate;
the twitter of little birds flitting from bush to bough; the
chirp of the cricket and drone of the beetle are among the sounds
that are heard and fall soothingly upon the ear.
The trees growing upon the hillside bear a striking resemblance
to an old orchard and are a reminder of home where in childhood
the hand delighted to pluck luscious fruit from drooping boughs.
A walk among the trees makes it easy to imagine that you are in
some such familiar but neglected haunt, and instinctively you
look about expecting to see the old house that was once called
home and hear the welcome voice and footfall of cherished memory.
It is no little disappointment to be roused from such a reverie
to find the resemblance only a delusion and the spot deserted.
Forsaken as it has been for many years by the native savage
Indians and prowling wild beasts, the land waits in silence and
patience the coming of the husbandman.
CHAPTER II
MY FIRST TRIP TO ARIZONA
I recall with vivid distinctness my first trip to Arizona and
introduction to ranch life in the spring of 1884. The experience
made a deep impression and has led me to repeat the visit many
times since then, with increased interest and pleasure.
During the previous year my brother located a cattle ranch for us
in Railroad Pass in southeastern Arizona. The gap is one of a
series of natural depressions in a succession of mountain chains
on the thirty-second parallel route, all the way from New Orleans
to San Francisco over a distance of nearly twenty-five hundred
miles. The Southern Pacific Railroad is built upon this route
and has the easiest grade of any transcontinental line.
Railroad Pass is a wide break between two mountain ranges and is
a fine grazing section. It is handsomely bounded and presents a
magnificent view. To the north are the Pinaleno mountains, with
towering Mt. Graham in their midst, that are nearly eleven
thousand feet high and lie dark in the shadows of their dense
pine forests. Far to the south rise the rugged Chiricahuas, and
nearby stands bald Dos Cabezas, whose giant double head of
granite can be seen as a conspicuous landmark over a wide scope
of country. The distance across the Pass as the crow flies is,
perhaps, fifty miles. Beyond these peaks other mountains rise in
majestic grandeur and bound the horizon in every direction.
At the time that the ranch was located the Pass country was
considered uninhabitable because of the scarcity of water and the
presence of hostile Indians. No permanent spring nor stream of
water was known to exist in that whole region, but fine gramma
grass grew everywhere. Its suitability as a cattle range was
recognized and caused it to be thoroughly prospected for water,
which resulted in the discovery of several hidden springs. All
of the springs found, but one, were insignificant and either soon
went dry or fluctuated with the seasons; but the big spring,
known as Pinaleno, was worth finding, and flows a constant stream
of pure, soft water that fills a four-inch iron pipe.
When the spring was discovered not a drop of water was visible
upon the surface, and a patch of willows was the only indication
of concealed moisture. By sinking a shallow well only a few feet
deep among the willows, water was struck as it flowed through
coarse gravel over a buried ledge of rock that forced the water
up nearly to the surface only to sink again in the sand without
being seen. A ditch was dug to the well from below and an iron
pipe laid in the trench, through which the water is conducted
into a reservoir that supplies the water troughs.
Again, when the ranch was opened the Indians were bad in the
vicinity and had been actively hostile for some time. The ranch
is on a part of the old Chiricahua reservation that was once the
home and hunting grounds of the tribe of Chiricahua Apaches, the
most bold and warlike of all the southwest Indians. Cochise was
their greatest warrior, but he was only one among many able
Apache chieftains. He was at one time the friend of the white
man, but treachery aroused his hatred and caused him to seek
revenge on every white man that crossed his path.
His favorite haunt was Apache Pass, a convenient spot that was
favorable for concealment, where he lay in wait for weary
travelers who passed that way in search of water and a pleasant
camp ground. If attacked by a superior force, as sometimes
happened, he invariably retreated across the Sulphur Spring
valley into his stronghold in the Dragoon mountains.
Because of the many atrocities that were committed by the
Indians, white men were afraid to go into that country to settle.
Even as late as in the early eighties when that prince of
rascals, the wily Geronimo, made his bloody raids through
southern Arizona, the men who did venture in and located ranch
and mining claims, lived in daily peril of their lives which, in
not a few instances, were paid as a forfeit to their daring.
The Butterfield stage and all other overland travel to California
by the southern route before the railroads were built, went
through Apache Pass. Although it was the worst Indian infested
section in the southwest, travelers chose that dangerous route in
preference to any other for the sake of the water that they knew
could always be found there.
