Teamsters always swore; "the
mules wouldn't even stir to go up a hill, if they weren't sworn
at like that."
By the time we had crossed the great Mogollon mesa, I had become
accustomed to those dreadful oaths, and learned to admire the
skill, persistency and endurance shown by those rough teamsters.
I actually got so far as to believe what Jack had told me about
the swearing being necessary, for I saw impossible feats
performed by the combination.
When near camp, and over the difficult places, we drove on ahead
and waited for the wagons to come in. It was sometimes late
evening before tents could be pitched and supper cooked. And oh!
to see the poor jaded animals when the wagons reached camp! I
could forget my own discomfort and even hunger, when I looked at
their sad faces.
One night the teamsters reported that a six-mule team had rolled
down the steep side of a mountain. I did not ask what became of
the poor faithful mules; I do not know, to this day. In my pity
and real distress over the fate of these patient brutes, I forgot
to inquire what boxes were on the unfortunate wagon.
We began to have some shooting. Lieutenant Bailey shot a young
deer, and some wild turkeys, and we could not complain any more
of the lack of fresh food.
It did not surprise us to learn that ours was the first
wagon-train to pass over Crook's Trail. For miles and miles the
so-called road was nothing but a clearing, and we were pitched
and jerked from side to side of the ambulance, as we struck large
rocks or tree-stumps; in some steep places, logs were chained to
the rear of the ambulance, to keep it from pitching forward onto
the backs of the mules. At such places I got out and picked my
way down the rocky declivity.
We now began to hear of the Apache Indians, who were always out,
in either large or small bands, doing their murderous work.
One day a party of horseman tore past us at a gallop. Some of
them raised their hats to us as they rushed past, and our
officers recognized General Crook, but we could not, in the cloud
of dust, distinguish officers from scouts. All wore the flannel
shirt, handkerchief tied about the neck, and broad campaign hat.
After supper that evening, the conversation turned upon Indians
in general, and Apaches in particular. We camped always at a
basin, or a tank, or a hole, or a spring, or in some canon, by a
creek. Always from water to water we marched. Our camp that night
was in the midst of a primeval grove of tall pine trees; verily,
an untrodden land.
