rifles and carbines, reverberating like the roar of a cannon, from peak
to peak, shall lay six of your number dead in the dust.

"The cold, gray dawn of that chill December morning was sending its
first rays above the horizon and looking down upon one of the worst
bands of Apaches in Arizona, caught like wolves in a trap. They rejected
with scorn our summons to surrender, and defiantly shrieked that not one
of our party should escape from the canyon. We heard their death-song
chanted, and then out of the cave and over the great pile of rocks,
which protected the entrance like a parapet, swarmed the warriors. But
we outnumbered them three to one, and poured in lead by the bucketful.
The bullets, striking the mouth and roof of the cave, glanced among the
savages in rear of the parapet, and wounded some of the women and
children, whose wails filled the air.

"During the heaviest part of the firing, a little boy not more than four
years old, absolutely naked, ran out at the side of the parapet and
stood dumfounded between the two fires. Nantaje, without a moment's
pause, rushed forward, grasped the trembling infant by the arm, and
escaped unhurt with him, inside our lines. A bullet, probably deflected
from the rocks, had struck the boy on top of his head and plowed around
to the back of his neck, leaving a welt an eighth of an inch thick, but
not injuring him seriously. Our men suspended their firing to cheer
Nantaje and welcome the new arrival; such is the inconsistency of human
nature.

"Again the Apaches were summoned to surrender, or, if they would not do
that, to let such of their women and children as so desired pass out
between the lines; again they yelled their refusal. Their end had come.
The detachment led by Major Brown at the top of the precipice, to
protect our retreat in case of necessity, had worked its way over to a
high shelf of rock overlooking the enemy beneath, and began to tumble
down great bowlders, which speedily crushed the greater number of the
Apaches. The Indians on the San Carlos reservation still mourn
periodically for the seventy-six of their relatives who yielded up the
ghost that morning. Every warrior died at his post. The women and
children had hidden themselves in the inner recesses of the cave, which
was of no great depth, and were captured and taken to Camp McDowell. A
number of them had been struck by glancing bullets or fragments of
falling rock. As soon as our pack trains could be