_The Battle of Apache Pass_
High on the steep and boulder-strewn side of narrow Apache Pass,
Geronimo lay behind a pile of rocks. He had made the little breastwork
appear natural by uprooting a cactus and standing it on top of the
rocks. His best rifle and all the powder and bullets he had been able to
gather lay within easy reach. Now he had only to await the soldiers, who
intended to march through Apache Pass, and to give thanks to Usan, who
had created an ambush so perfect.
Apache Pass was a narrow slit between the Chiricahua Mountains on the
west and the Dos Cabezas on the east. It was one of the very few passes
in the Southwest through which travelers could take wagons. Far more
important, in a land of little water it sheltered sweet and cool springs
that never failed.
Turning his head, Geronimo saw the stone house built by men of the
Overland Stage Company and abandoned since Cochise took the warpath.
Some six hundred yards beyond the house, tall trees and green grass
marked the flowing springs.
Geronimo smacked his lips in satisfaction.
Behind each rock in the pass, each shrub, each cluster of cactus,
crouched an armed Apache. There were almost seven hundred Mimbrenos and
Chiricahuas. They were so well hidden that even Geronimo, who knew they
were there, could see few of them. He smacked his lips again.
The scouts had reported that there were about as many white soldiers as
there were Apaches in ambush, some on foot and some mounted. The
soldiers had stopped with their supply train at Dragoon Springs, forty
miles west of Apache Pass. There they could drink to their heart's
content, water their stock, and load up with enough water to see them
through to Apache Pass. But their water would be gone by the time they
entered the pass, and they could not get more until they reached the
springs beyond the stone stagehouse.
Geronimo glanced with pleasure at the stone breastworks which Mangus
Coloradus and Cochise had had built on the heights overlooking these
springs. The fortifications were manned by warriors who could shoot
without being shot, since the breastworks protected them.
Unable to renew their water supplies, the soldiers who were not killed
by bullets would die from thirst. The greatest Apache victory of all
time was almost certain.
[Illustration]
Soon two Apache scouts who had gone out to watch for the soldiers'
arrival came into the pass. One went to Cochise's ambush. The second
turned to where Mangus Coloradus lay.
Geronimo burned to know what the scouts had seen and what they were
saying, for then he would know how soon he might expect battle. But he
did not leave his position.
Presently, Naiche slipped down beside Geronimo. He was grinning.
[Illustration]
"Most of the heavy wagons, without which white soldiers go nowhere,
remain at Dragoon Springs," he said. "A few horse and many foot soldiers
are coming to Apache Pass, but they are no more than one to our six.
They wear their foolish uniforms of blue cloth and they reel with the
heat. They cannot live without water."
"Nor can they get water," Geronimo's grin reflected Naiche's. "Before
they reach it we shall slay them all."
"We shall slay them all," Naiche agreed.
Naiche slipped back to his ambush. A half hour later Geronimo saw the
thin cloud of dust that hovered above the marching soldiers.
The soldiers entered Apache Pass, and most of the cavalrymen led their
mounts, for the horses were so desperate for water that they could not
be ridden. There were pack animals too, and they carried strange wheels
and tubes that were typical of the silly things white soldiers took into
battle. But in spite of heat, thirst, and the heavy uniforms, the white
men kept a smart military formation as they walked unsuspectingly into
the trap.
They were two thirds of the way into the pass when a shot from the rifle
of Cochise rang out. At once firearms blazed from behind the Indians'
breastworks. But the hoped-for massacre did not come about.
This was partly because the Apaches were so sure the soldiers could not
escape that they did not bother aiming as carefully as they should have.
And it was partly because so many of the Indians were shooting
smoothbore muskets that were not accurate at a long distance.
Even as he shot at them, Geronimo could not help admiring soldiers such
as these white men. They did not flee in panic, as Mexicans nearly
always did, but coolly shot back. In good order, shooting as they went
and taking their wounded with them, they retreated from the pass.
Geronimo swallowed his disappointment. He had hoped all the soldiers
might be slaughtered at the first volley. But he knew that those who
still lived must reach the springs or die of thirst.
Leaving his position, Geronimo raced to the heights overlooking the
springs. He found a place behind the breastworks on the heights and
waited.
The white soldiers came again. But they were in battle formation this
time, and their rifles were far superior to smoothbores. Every shot
from an ambushed Indian drew a quick reply. Soldiers dropped, but here
and there an Apache went limp too. Carrying their dead and such wounded
as could not help themselves, the soldiers fought their way to the stone
stagehouse. Some entered the building, and some sheltered themselves
behind it.
Geronimo made ready for the attack on those who would attempt to get to
the springs. He had thought not even one soldier would ever reach the
stagehouse, but most were there. However, they were still six hundred
yards from the water they must have and the deadliest ambush of all.
The soldiers stayed in or behind the stagehouse for almost an hour and a
half. When they came out and advanced toward the springs, Geronimo was
amazed to see them pulling little wagons with tubes mounted on them.
Only warriors who knew nothing of battle would bother with such clumsy
things. Geronimo's confidence rose.
The soldiers neared the springs, and the Apaches loosed a rain of
bullets. Again, very few soldiers were hit.
It seemed to the puzzled Geronimo that the others were very busy with
their little wagons. One wagon escaped from the men who were handling
it and started to roll. Immediately other men pounced upon and halted
it. They turned the little wagon about, so that the tube pointed at the
breastworks.
[Illustration: _The first shell struck the breastworks_]
The first shell--for the little wagons were really howitzers--struck the
breastworks squarely about thirty feet to one side of Geronimo. Dust,
dirt, stones, boulders, and Apaches flew into the air.
The rest of the Apaches waited in stunned silence until the second shell
exploded. Then the Indians began a panicky scramble up the slope.
When they reached the heights, Geronimo stood with Mangus Coloradus and
twenty other Mimbreno braves and looked down on the battle ground. They
watched the soldiers drink, fill canteens, and retreat with their horses
to the stone stagehouse.
"We would have killed them all, but they shot wagons at us," Mangus
Coloradus said wonderingly. "But we are still many more than they are,
and we will kill them yet. To do so, we must first kill the messengers
they will surely send for help. Come."
The warriors followed Mangus Coloradus to the west end of the pass. Soon
they heard the pounding of horses' hoofs. A moment later they saw the
five mounted messengers who were riding to warn those camped at Dragoon
Springs of the ambush and to ask for help.
The Indians shot. Three horses went down at the first volley, but two
riders were quickly pulled up behind two other soldiers and thundered
on. There remained no one to help the rider of the third downed horse.
In the thickening night, the Apaches advanced to kill this lone man. The
dismounted trooper crouched behind his dead horse and prepared to sell
his life as dearly as possible.
The trooper's carbine cracked. Geronimo and two other warriors caught
Mangus Coloradus as he fell and carried him behind an outjutting
shoulder of rock.
They forgot all about the trooper who, after the Apaches left, made his
way to his companions at the stagehouse and lived to tell the tale.