USA > Arizona > History of Arizona, Vol. IV > Part 21
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"We had a pleasant trip to La Paz, and there we first heard the news of the killing of Leihy, his clerk and two friendly Indians, in Bell's Canyon, near Kirkland Valley. Dent was com- ing to relieve Leihy, who had been superintend- ent for several years.
"We also heard at La Paz that the Indians had made a raid on Prescott and carried Mrs. Governor McCormick into captivity, besides killing many people, which was absolutely false. Still the report caused delays in travel, and Bash- ford would not undertake the journey without a strong escort; consequently we were delayed for nearly one month waiting for teams to come that were on the road from San Bernardino.
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"Before leaving San Francisco Dent had shipped, via the Gulf of California and the Colo- rado River a large consignment of annuities for the Indians-the first they had ever received- and soon after we reached La Paz the goods ar- rived.
"About the first man that I met when I got off the wagon at La Paz was an Indian that I had known at Peeples' Ranch, whom we called Tom. He was a brother of Jack, who rendered such good service when he accompanied King Woolsey at the time when Woolsey made the Pinole Treaty. I told Tom that Mr. Dent was bringing a lot of presents from the Great Father for all the friendly Indians, and that he had bet- ter send word to the nearby Yavapais to come and get their share.
"Here I will say, for the benefit of the new- comer, that what are now known as Apache- Mohaves, or Apache-Yumas were, before the treaty of 1863 at Agua Caliente between the Mo- haves, Yumas, Pimas, Maricopas and Yavapais, on the one side, and John Moss and Pauline Weaver in behalf of the Americans on the other side, known as Yavapai-Apaches. (More about the treaty later.)
"Tom accordingly sent out word to the In- dians who lived within sixty or eighty miles, and quite a number of the men came to La Paz in time to share in the big eat and the dis- tribution of the annuities. There were blankets, shoes, red flannel, calico, domestic articles, needles, thread, clothing, cotton handkerchiefs, butcher-knives, shirts, beef, beans, flour, sugar, coffee, and tobacco, to be distributed, and Dent asked me to stay and take charge of the whole
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works, which I did. A few of the Yavapais ar- rived a few days before the day of distribution, and I had a beef killed and given out with other rations that none might want for food while waiting for the great event.
"Of the Mohaves there were eight captains : Iritaba, whom we called 'General,' as he was the head chief; Quat-ho-co-rowa, a son of Iritaba ; Mockneal, Moqutta, Tomaspa, Athe-he-malya, and Jose Chappo, and one more whose name I do not recall.
"Of the Yavapais there were: Quashacamo, the head chief; Potamkay, the great medicine man; Ah-hotch-ah-cama, Ah-hot-cutchawalka, Meal-yac-a-tuma, and three more whose names I do not remember at present. There were none of the people from the Ah-ha-seyampa (Wick- enburg), Walnut Grove, or Humbug Creek, and only Tom from Peeples' Valley. So I made up a bundle of red flannel, gaudy colored red hand- kerchiefs, etc., as presents to them, and sent them by Tom, as well as a pair of pants that would about fit Jack, and a red shirt and pocket hand- kerchief, not forgetting to put some needles and thread into the bundle that I sent by Tom to Pee- ples' Ranch or Valley.
"After the distribution, there having come to La Paz several trains, some of which had trav- elled on to overtake people who were waiting at or near Culling's Well for re-enforcement, the Bashfords and I started for Prescott. We made stations every night, and at Culling's Well I left the party and overtook Joseph R. Walker and Jake Lind, who had a mule pack-train and were camped about twelve miles from the well.
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"The next day the whole wagon train came along about noon, the team that had my distillery with the rest, and we moved on without any trouble from the Apaches, Joe Walker and I scouting the country until we got to Kirkland Valley, where I left the party and went to Wal- nut Grove, where my distillery was to be estab- lished.
"While in La Paz Mr. Dent, the superintend- ent, had made me several propositions for the purpose of getting me to remain with him and take charge of the Indians in order to induce them to go on to the reservation. The Mohaves at that time were scattered from Bradshaw's Ferry on the California side of the Colorado, to Cottonwood Island, above Hardyville, in Mo- have County. I declined his offer, but after I had reached Walnut Grove I received several letters from him, and in July following, C. W. Beach brought me a letter in person from Dent in which he proposed to give me the trading-post on the reservation if I would undertake to col- lect all of the scattering Indians of the two tribes of Yavapais and Mohaves, and get them to go on the reservation and dig an irrigating ditch, promising to give the Indians soldiers' rations, and pay them by the day for their work; also to pay me one thousand dollars a year as head farmer. After consulting with my partner, Eli- jah Smith, I decided to accept the offer, and started to La Paz.
"I arrived at La Paz on July 24th, 1867, and at once commenced my work of getting the In- dians together. I sent runners out among the Yavapais who lived along Williams Fork, the Santa Maria, and as far as Peeples' Valley ; also
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to the Ah-ha-quahala, Ah-ha-cawa, and across the Ah-ha-seyampa to the Bradshaws, to induce the Indians to come to the reservation. I in- structed the runners thoroughly as to the prom- ises that Dent had made to me, and also prom- ised them to stay on the reservation and look out for the interests of the Yavapais myself. I also gathered up what scattering Indians there were on the California side of the river and around La Paz, and moved them up the river about forty miles where there was some very desirable land to plant and quite a number of Indians located and doing a little planting.
"July 27th I arrived on the ground with two men, Linsey and Murray, with a four-horse load of supplies and seeds, and made my first camp at a point about four miles below where Parker now is, and began my farming on the Colorado as head farmer. There had been a very high water that year in the fore part of July, and there was plenty of damp ground ready for the seed after the ground was cleared of more or less brush. I had the Indians at it as fast as I could get them located, and each one marked off as much as he wanted to plant, in irregular- shaped pieces, and wherever he chose, each being careful not to encroach upon his neighbor who had come before him. I issued a large variety. of seeds, but with the exception of pumpkins, squash, and melons, I had to use a considerable amount of persuasion to get them to plant just a little. I induced one old fellow to plant quite a large patch of large white Dent corn. I think he did it through courtesy to me, for the other Indians said it would not make corn, and it did
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not-only large stalks and cobs with a few scat- tering kernels.
"With a few exceptions the Yavapais did not arrive until it was too late to plant. Conse- quently, as they had brought very little, if any, food with them, I had to get rations pretty fast. That year there was a bountiful crop of mesquite beans, and the Indians got along pretty well for a while, as they made a bread, as well as a very palatable drink, out of the beans.
"No provision had been made for storing sup- plies, and, in fact, there was not much except beans, flour, and strong salt pork to store and distribute. So soon as the Mohaves were through with their planting, I started to work on the ditch that had already been surveyed by a man named P. Waldemar. At all events, the survey had been made, and I started to work with all the Indians that came on an appointed day. If I re- member right, about eighty went to work the first morning. A few had their own shovels, and a few had axes. Those having no tools I supplied from a stock that I had brought when I came. Dent had promised to send me some help as time- keepers, more tools, and a lot of small rope to mark the line of the ditch on both sides, but he failed to keep his promise in this as he did in all other matters.
"I had looked over the survey carefully and concluded to start work at the point where the water would come to the surface when there was four feet in depth of water in the ditch. At that point there was but little brush or trees for about a quarter of a mile, and by working there the Indians could make quite a showing each day, while if I had started at the intake, I should have
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had to employ men who could handle powder, and perhaps run a tunnel through the point of a mesa.
"I gathered up about a hundred feet of rope and stretched it along one side of the ditch, and placed as many of the Indians along the line as could work without crowding. On the other side I made a mark and put the balance that did not have axes on that side. I put Murray in charge of the axe gang, and I tried to look after the diggers, while Linsey was left to do our cook- ing and keep camp.
"I did not know at that time that the Mohaves never stole or touched anything that did not be- long to them. This I learned in due time. The only thing that I lost through theft in my seven and a half months' stay on the reservation, was a large loaf of bread baked in a Dutch oven. It was taken one night out of the oven, which had been left by the camp fire a short distance from the shade where I slept with the other men, by a Fort Mohave Indian who had been down to the reserve on a visit, and had captured the heart of one of the young girls of the tribe. As he did not have the cash or other negotiable asset to pay for the girl, he had stolen her, and took my bread to eat on the road, which it would take two or three days to travel. When the cook missed the bread, as soon as he was up in the morning and raised a hubbub, I told an Indian boy to look for tracks. In about two minutes he read the sign : 'One Injun, one squaw took it. He gone up river.' Later in the day I learned of the elopement.
"About the third day after I started work on the ditch, the four-horse team arrived from La
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Paz with tools and provisions, and with it came H. H. Carter, then a smooth-faced boy, and now living at or near Prescott, and young Fred Dent, son of G. W. Dent, and not more than eighteen or nineteen years old. They came as time- keepers and assistants to help me to manage and learn eight or nine hundred Indians how to farm and do other work.
"I had promised the Indians, by Dent's in- structions, fifty cents a day, they to have their pay every night. I had no money to pay the Indians when the first day's work was done, but gave each one a slip of paper with his number on it. Very few of the Indians had names that I could get them to tell, hence the numbers. Each day I would make an additional mark on the piece of paper, but when the wagon came and no money to pay off, I was up against a hard proposition. I explained to the Indians that the money had not come to La Paz when the team left, but that Mr. Dent would send it as soon as it arrived from California. This story partly reconciled the In- dians, and they continued work, but not with the heart and cheerfulness that they had started in with. My force of diggers did not increase any until the money came, only the older ones replen- ishing the ranks as the young and strong Indians dropped out, more or less disgusted. Some of those who took the places of the younger men were not really able to work, but I could make no distinction under the circumstances, and was glad to have them as they were setting a good example for the young men.
"Finally, after a long delay, money came in the shape of silver and small currency. Some of the Indians knew the value of the bills, that is,
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they knew a one dollar bill from a two dollar bill, but when it came to five, it looked to them just the same as a two, and I, together with the other white men, was called upon at all times to deter- mine the value of a two or five dollar bill.
"From the pay day I told the Indians that I should only pay the money once a week-on Sun- day. I had been instructed by the God-fearing officials not to work on Sunday, and the Indians to this day believe in keeping the seventh day sacred-from work!
"After about one month from the time it was promised me, there was an oven built and a man named Thomas Bidwell sent to bake bread for the working Indians. One loaf a day was prom- ised to each Indian, besides the fifty cents.
"As soon as I had begun to pay them, the In- dians gained confidence and began to swell the ranks of my working force, and with the loaf of bread and cash weekly payments, and the arrival of some Apaches from the nearer mountains where they lived, I had all the hands that I had tools for. All the Apaches that were able to work were anxious and willing to work, and al- though they knew absolutely nothing about the use of tools, they soon proved themselves much the better workers. The loaf of bread was a great stimulus to them, as they came without food, and the rations issued to them were rather light when it came to filling up an entirely empty stomach. I will say here that some of the old and sick Apaches died on the trail while trying to reach the reservation.
"The Apaches would not eat fish, and came too late to plant, and, the Mohaves having gathered 21
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nearly all of the mesquite beans before the Apaches arrived, they were entirely dependent on what was issued to them.
"Late in the fall I was instructed to build some houses, and a crew of men was sent from La Paz to do the work. The Indians made the adobes, and Fred T. Williams, now of Prescott, and a man named Morgan, laid them. The build- ings are still in use at the agency.
"About the 1st of January, 1868, I was hav- ing considerable trouble with the Apaches. They were complaining of being hungry, which I knew was a fact, and I wrote Dent asking for a more liberal allowance of provisions, but to no purpose. As I was responsible for the Indians being there, I felt it my duty to see that they got what was promised to them. So in February I went to La Paz to consult with Dent. I had in- vestigated the matter closely, and had learned that in some of the companies the rations did not amount to more than four ounces of food per day per capita.
"At this point I will explain that the rations were issued once a week to each captain, regard- less of the number of his people. All got the same amount; whether he had twenty followers or forty, it was just the same.
"The Apaches had left their country voluntar- ily ; had given it up to the white men without a struggle, and had come on to the reservation with the understanding, through my promises, that they were to be amply provided for until an irri- gating canal could be dug, so that they could make homes for themselves, and a living. They had endured great hardships at the hands of the whites in the mountains around Prescott and
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Weaver; had been murdered by the score when they were sticking fast to the treaty that they had made with the Pimas, Maricopas, Yumas, and Mohaves on the side of the Indians, and Pauline Weaver and John Moss, who repre- sented the whites. This treaty was made near the Agua Caliente on the Gila River in June, 1863. This tribe was small, not having more than four hundred souls, and the Eastern Apaches preyed upon them, never allowing them to have a horse or any other kind of stock, and frequently capturing their young women and girls and making slaves of them. That was why they were glad to make friends with the whites, and assisted the white men in raids against the Tontos or Eastern Indians.
"This, and much more, I explained to Dent, but I could get no satisfaction out of him. So I resigned, and that was just what he wanted. He had used me to get the Indians together, with a promise that I should be made post-trader, and now that the Indians were there, he had another party that he could make more out of, and who would make any kind of an affidavit that was wanted. This party had already sent several tons of goods to the reservation, and started a store, and was taking in all kinds of money. As there were sometimes as many as two hundred and eighty Indians at work at fifty cents a day, a lot of money was going into the Indians' hands.
"There was a fine growth of six weeks' grass on the overflowed land, and when it was in good condition, I had a lot of it cut and put into a stack, which, when it was well settled, I meas- ured and found there was thirty tons of it. I so reported to Dent. Later on, the hay caught fire
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and burned, and Dent sent me an affidavit to sign in which the hay was claimed to have been eighty tons. In my controversy with Dent I put that up to him. I had not signed the false statement, and Dent did not like it.
"Well, after I had my voucher, I went to the reservation and had a talk with my partner, Elijah Smith, who had rented our ranch at Wal- nut Grove, and come down and gone to work, driving team on the reservation.
"When I told the Apaches that I was going, it created a great hubbub, and they had a big pow- wow that night; wanted to know where I was going, and I told them to California, which Smith and I had concluded to do. The next day there were no Apaches at work. They came to me and offered to go with me if I could give them work, which, of course, I could not do.
"I remained at my camp that day, and Smith and I got everything ready to go to La Paz the next day. That night the Apaches asked if I could not get them some young horses-one-year olds, and 2 year olds, which I undertook to do. So it was arranged that a man named Ayers and I should go to San Bernardino, and bring out a band of colts to sell to the Indians. Twenty-five dollars to thirty dollars was about what they would pay for colts.
"We went to the San Jacinto Ranch and bought a lot of colts at seven dollars a head, and some good saddle horses as well, and started back to Arizona with them. At the Smith ranch in the San Gorgonia Pass, where we held the colts a few days to get them gentle to corral and drive, we saw Dent, who was coming to California. The Smith station was a trade station where they
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changed horses and had meals. Dent inquired there what I was doing, and, when told, he at once wrote a letter and sent it back to Colonel Fuge, the agent at the reservation. I learned this when I got to a place on the Colorado River bottom, where I was met by a Mohave Indian who had been sent to meet me by Iritaba, the head man of the Mohaves. The Indian told me that Dent had instructed Colonel Fuge to have me arrested if I brought horses to sell to the Indians, as I was going to mount the Indians so they could go on the warpath against the whites. As soon as Dent learned that I had promised to bring the Indians horses from California, he had a lot of soldiers stationed near the reservation buildings. I believe they were brought up from Fort Yuma on a boat.
"Dent had his troubles in getting the soldiers there for nothing, for the first night after we left Smith's ranch, we lost all of the colts while try- ing to corral them at White Water Station. They became frightened at something and stampeded and scattered on us, and we had all we could do to hold the gentle horses, two of which were packed. We spent three days trying to find the colts, but succeeded in finding only seven head, which I traded to Carl Smith, son of Dr. Smith, for two saddle ponies, and came on to Arizona pretty well disgusted with the wild colt business.
"We bought the colts from the Estudillo Brothers in San Jacinto Valley, and one evening while sitting around a big camp fire, a big Indian walked up to the camp. He said nothing, but stood back a little, and when one of the Estudillos said, 'Buenas tardes,' the Indian did not answer
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him. I spoke to him in the Mohave language, and he answered me promptly. I sized him up by his long hair as being either a Mohave or Yuma. The Indian had gone to California from Fort Mohave with two white men who had taken him along to see the country, and expected to bring him back to Fort Mohave. They had gone from San Bernardino to San Diego; then in coming back they had taken the Los Angeles road, which had forked off of the road that they had travelled in going to San Diego.
"It being cold in the morning the Indian had started out to walk, and when he got to where the road forked, he took the San Bernardino road and, as he was out of sight of the wagon, got lost! Who said an Injun never gets lost ?
"I gave Mike (that was his name), something to eat, and some blankets, and told him who I was, and what I was doing there, and asked him if he wanted to go with us to the reservation, which pleased him wonderfully. Mike was a curiosity to the people there, and I had to ex- plain the whole business to them, for our con- versation had all been carried on in the Mohave language. What a strange piece of luck that Indian had. I doubt if there was another man in California who could talk the Mohave lan- guage, and if he had not met us there, the chances were good for him to have walked back to Fort Mohave.
"While Mike and Tex were looking after the horses at Smith's Ranch, I went to San Bernar- dino and bought a light saddle for Mike to ride, and if we had not lost the colts he would have been of great help to us in bringing them across the desert. As it was he was a good witness to
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the loss of the colts when I got among the In- dians, and they were to be made to understand what had happened. They tried to have me go back and get more horses. My excuse for not going after more was that I had no money to buy. In a short time an old Indian named Ah-the-he-malya came to me with an old hat in which were several hundred dollars in silver, and told me to take that and go and get horses. Then others came and offered me more silver, but I had had enough of handling wild colts on the desert, and declined their offers.
"The more I thought of what Dent had done and tried to do, the madder I got, and as soon as I got to La Paz and disposed of some of the gentle horses that I had brought, I went to the reservation. The Indians met me several miles below the agency buildings and warned me not to go there. Finally, Iritaba, the head man, met me and told me that the Indians were going to have a big talk that night, and wanted me to be present. So I concluded to camp with them that night, and they surely did have a big talk, most of which was rehearsing the shortcomings of the white men who had been sent among them by the Government; and they wound up by saying that Etho-co-sceelia, meaning me, was the only white man that acted square with them. When the conference broke up and I started to go where I had camped, Iritaba walked along beside me a little way, and then pulled my sleeve and said in an undertone, in his broken way :
" 'Spose Colonel Fuge put you in calaboose to-morrow morning; him heap cry !'
"During the big talk the Indians had talked freely of the possibility of the outcome of the
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matter in case I was arrested in the morning by the soldiers, expressing the belief that I should be put into a tent at their camp which was on the bank of the river where the pumping plant now is, and that I should be killed and thrown into the river. Then it would be reported that I had tried to escape and been shot while swim- ming the river. What grounds they had for their suspicions I never learned, but I had a Henry rifle in the agency building which I was there to get, and just before sunrise I rode up to the kitchen door and reached over my horse's head and knocked on the door. A man, a friend of mine named Tom Otterman, who was working there when I quit, and with whom I had left the Henry rifle, opened the door with his right hand and passed the gun to me, and his only remark was, 'She's full!' Then he threw the door wide open and stood there with his left hand hid be- hind the door casing.
"I had no more than rested my gun across my saddle when Colonel Fuge stepped out of his door at my left. I spoke to him, and told him I understood he had orders to arrest me and that I was there to see about it. He denied every- thing, and then I asked him what those ten sol- diers and a sergeant were doing in that room, the door of which was between him and me. He said there were no soldiers there, upon which I told him he was a d-d liar, for I had just got a glimpse of one's cap at the window which was not more than ten or twelve feet from me. He dared not make a move or motion, for in walk- ing out of his door he had gotten right in range of my rifle.
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