_From Copyright Photograph 1903 by E.S. Curtis_
In the good old days the radius of Apache wandering centred in the
mountains of what is now southeastern Arizona; this was their stronghold,
their lair, whence they raided to the south, well down into Sonora and
Chihuahua, westward to the Colorado river, northward into the Hopi and
Navaho country, and eastward as far at least as western Texas. From this
mountain rendezvous they swept down upon the Mexicans and Indians of
Sonora and Chihuahua, and on the Pueblo villages of the north, while in
later years they terrorized the white settlers of the entire Southwest. To
follow them was a fruitless task which often led to the destruction of the
pursuers.
The primitive Apache was a true nomad, a wandering child of Nature, whose
birthright was a craving for the warpath, with courage and endurance
probably exceeded by no other people, and with cunning beyond reckoning.
Although his character is a strong mixture of courage and ferocity, the
Apache is gentle and affectionate toward those of his own flesh and blood,
particularly his children. Fear, to him, is unknown. Death he faces with
stolid indifference; yet Apache men have been known to grieve so deeply
over the loss of a friend as to end their troubles by self-destruction.
No people could be better fitted than the Apache to conduct continuous
predatory warfare. Every form of plant and animal life pays him tribute.
An entirely naked Indian, without implements of any sort, would stop on a
mountain slope and in a few minutes be sitting by a cheerful fire
preparing a welcome meal. With a fragment of stone he would shape
fire-sticks from the dead stalk of a yucca. Sitting with the flattened
piece held firmly by his feet, a pinch of sand at the point of contact
between the two sticks, with a few deft whirls of the round stick over his
improvised hearth the lone traveller would soon have a fire kindled. Into
the blaze he would cast a few sections of green, juicy mescal(1) stalk
which, when cooked, would afford him both food and drink. This part of his
meal finished, the Apache might gather other dead yucca stalks, split
them, and often find within small stores of honey.
Many plants furnish small seeds rich in nutriment. These are gathered in a
basket, ground on a metate, and the oily mass formed into a ball with the
hands. The Apache assert that a lump as large as one's two fists would
subsist a man for two days; but in addition he would eat wild greens of
various kinds, either cooked or raw. One of the principal vegetal foods of
the Apache is the mescal--in their language, _nata_. Nothing can give a
better idea of the economic life of these people than a description of one
of their annual mescal harvests.
The mescal harvest occurs in the season of new life and growth, when the
call from the wild is strong in the blood, and like a class of
children--for they are but grown-up children--they pour out into the wilds.
From the camp where they have passed the winter they take to the trails
which lead to the mescal hills.
For some hours after leaving the huts on White river the path leads across
the hot, dusty desert; then it reaches the rim of White river canon and
follows its edge so closely that a pebble tossed from the saddle would
drop into the torrent more than a thousand feet below. How musical the
roar of the stream, and how cool its waters look! As the trail passes some
especially dizzy spot the Indian women lean away from the sheer edge in
fear. For miles the trail traverses the bluff. At times the river is out
of sight and hearing, then it emerges again and both eye and ear receive
its greeting. At the hour when the pinon trees stretch their long shadows
across the land the Indians urge their horses down a steep, winding trail
and arrive at the river's bank. Here they ford, follow the course of the
stream for a while, and then at a bend reach an open flat dotted here and
there with shapely live-oaks. In this park-like opening the long
straggling line comes to a halt.
[Illustration: Cutting Mescal - Apache]