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.
