Apaches in the Santa Rita Mountains: The Adventures of Riley O"Rourke

CHAPTER ONE

Riley’d spent a pretty rough night in spite of the provisions and bedding he’d packed. The snow started about two hours before dawn, and a bulky, wet blanket weighed heavy on the tarp that covered the bottom half of his bed roll, called soogans.

He had managed to spread his slicker over some lower branches of a small piñon pine tree and tied it so it covered a portion of where his head rested.

When he finally gathered both his legs under him and crawled out from his soogans, he carefully scraped snow from the top.

What a mess, he sighed to himself. If I’d figured it to snow, I’d a-found a better spot to bed down. No tellin’ just how long this’ll keep up. Reckon I best try to get a fire a-goin’ and start to coffee-up." He had to pee so bad, he didn’t think he would make it to the bushes in time.

Both his horses were hobbled and they were busy gnawing bark from some trees at the edge of a clearing where they obviously spent most of the night. They nickered when the cowboy started to stir, hoping he would feed them their rations of grain.

Riley finished his nature chore and found an area that would serve him to build the morning fire. He started it in spite of the falling snow, and within minutes had a good fire going. He took his slicker down and covered himself with it, then cut some heavy, oak branches and arranged them as a wind break for is fire.

The coffee and bacon was tied up in an oilskin bag, along with the grain for the horses. His pot and pan and some other essentials were in there too, secured by a rope sling, high in a big, red oak tree.

On his way to fetch the coffee and the other supplies, he strapped on his gun belt and retrieved his M1839A carbine and placed it safely near the breakfast fire, just in case. Time now to strap on the morrall feed-bags for his horses.

According to the gold-covered pocket watch Riley treasured and always carried, a gift from his grandfather for his seventeenth birthday in 1857, it was time to depart.

It was three years later then, Seamus O’Rourke, Riley’s dad, found his parents dead and their ranch burned and the livestock stolen by a band of Pinaléro Apaches. Riley had just turned twenty and was working on the ranch for his father and new step-mother, Maggie.

Riley closed the gold cover on his pocket watch and heard it snap before he placed it under his leather vest in his inside shirt pocket. He finished a portion of bacon and drained the last of the coffee pot before he packed up to continue on his journey.

Catching Dobé, his saddle horse, and Chapo, his pack horse, wasn’t a problem. Saddling and retrofitting the pack onto Chapo was a chore, especially while the snow was heavy and the wind beginning its furious demands on the threesome.

Riley finally secured the oilskin tarp over the top of the panniers on the pack saddle, and climbed in Dobé’s saddle.

As he carefully traversed the snow-covered, rock-strewn trail down the south side of the Santa Rita mountains, he was deep in thought of Bean, his faithful dog that was his constant companion for the last two years. That was an act of mercy. It just had to be done, he sighed aloud.

Tears welled in his eyes and ran cold down his cheeks, as he brushed them away with the back of his gloved hand. I don’t know what made you chase that badger, you were no match for him by yourself, he openly scolded.

Damn you, Bean, damn you! He’d heard the snarling and growls and the whining yelps before he arrived on the pitiful scene. The badger’s front leg was torn off, and ol’ Bean lay dying, with a wide gash in his throat, pulsating with the great loss of blood. Riley mercifully shot Bean first, then stepped down to pull him off the trail and cover him with some rocks.

He knelt beside him and stroked the best old pal he felt he’d ever had. It was ten minutes past three o’clock that afternoon when he snapped shut his pocket watch case again and re-mounted his Dobé horse.

Riding at that altitude, the cold was penetrating very early in the morning. He kept an eye out constantly for any sign of the catamount, hoping he would cross its trail. He saw plenty of deer tracks, and he was certain they were apt to be white-tail, since there were only a few mule deer up this high.

This time he was looking for the old, crippled lion that was too slow to catch a deer, and had taken to killing some of his ranch beeves grazing the west side if these Santa Rita mountains.

Riley thought it would be easy for him to track the lion with the snow about a foot deep, but he hadn’t even cut any sign.

Too bad he buried his dog, he thought aloud that ol’ Beanie would’ve struck his trail by this time," he muttered to himself.

The farther down the mountain he rode, the less snow was apparent, and when he approached a small rise in the terrain he could see the ribbon of water flowing along the trail of cottonwood trees. The ground cover was less dense with trees and filled with the indigenous cholla cactus.

The closer Riley came to the river, the more prevalent were the beautiful Arizona sycamores and the huge, cottonwood trees lining the banks of the Santa Cruz river.

He felt the muscles of his horse start to bunch up slightly, and then he spied it. The small blue wisp of smoke was curling slowly through the nearly bare branches of a tall cottonwood and escaping into the gray-blue sky. The snow was descending with only an occasional flake, but the wind was starting to make its appearance felt.

Riley pulled rein on Dobé and jerked the lead rope attached to Chapo, causing him to check-up. He hoped they were all far enough back in the cover of brush so as not to be heard.

As he dismounted, Riley pulled his carbine from the saddle scabbard and wrapped the reins around his pony’s left front knee. There were three of them. He thought they were some of the Western Apache that continued to hunt in the territory known as the San Cayetaño pass; but where were the horses? He crouched behind some cover of brush to try to get a better look at them.

They were Papago. Each had one blanket that covered most of their dark red bodies. They all wore high, leather moccasin-type boots with wrapping from about mid-calf to the knee.

Each wore a shirt, difficult to see, concealed under their blankets. Only one man wore trousers, and they were worn knicker style, bloused and tied at his knees. Although they were unarmed, he knew they had bows and arrows, for he saw bows on the ground nearby, as well as one hand-made axe.

By now, Riley determined they were a hunting party, and had stopped to consume several rabbits that were roasting on a spit at their fire.

The Indians were most likely about sixty yards from his concealment, and he felt it would be a wise choice to back up, retrieve his horses and try to slip away without being noticed.

Although the Papago did not have the reputation of the Apache, they were none-the-less a formidable foe, and save for a few Mission Indians, sometimes very hostile.

As luck would have it, just as Riley was making good his getaway, he spotted a large party of Indians, moving down an old game trail single-file, toward the very area he just abandoned. There wasn’t any mistaking these Indians as the Mimbrés Apache. Riley recognized the leader at once as Chuchillo Negro, known as Black Knife.

This Indian was a captive and in the jail at Agua Priéta when Riley and his dad, along with three other men, sold a remuda of horses to a government remount depot located in that border town. This very same Indian was displayed in the center of town and was to be tried when the circuit judge arrived, but managed to break-out and escape last year, and Riley vividly remembered him.

No sooner than Riley saw the Indians traversing the trail above him, he suddenly stumbled onto the three horses the Papagos had tethered near their encampment. His own horses were calm enough, but the Indian ponies were frightened, partly by the odor of a white man, and partly by the sudden emergence of two strange horses. They immediately nickered, and alerted the Papago, and hailed the attention of about fifteen Mimbrés Apaches.

Riley cut the tethers on the Indian ponies and chased them out of the brush toward the oncoming Apaches. This ploy diverted the attention to the Papagos’ horses and away from him. When the Apaches saw the horses, they knew at once they were Papago ponies, and they were delighted with their new found treasures.

Approaching the Santa Cruz river, they immediately spotted the three hapless men who were attempting to make a stand there. It was probably all over in as long as it took for the arrows from fifteen Apaches to reach their marks on the three Papagos.

Riley took advantage of the coup and forded the river and headed due west into a very brushy and heavily treed area, and then turned directly north, hoping to circumvent the band of Apaches, and gain the high ground.

Riley wanted to go back up the side of the Santa Rita mountains, and head out and down the back side until he could make his way to the settlement of Tubac. He knew of a very large ranch nearby called El Reventon, and thought he could stay east of the river and stop over at the Reventon for the night.

CHAPTER TWO

Riley rode in past the front entrance to the Reventon hacienda, and was met by a brace of friendly guards who immediately took his animals and invited him inside.

It was very late in the afternoon, and since the snow had stopped, a sharp wind arrived. Riley was tired and so were his horses, and he welcomed the acceptance he received. He was told not to worry about his stock, they would be rubbed down and given a parcel of grain and sacaton grass.

Bienvenido! exclaimed Don Jorgé Luis Morales. Entrada, por favor.

I-I wasn’t sure you’d remember me, Señor Moralés, Riley spoke, as he stood in the portål of the patio.

My men saw you riding in and alerted me, Señor O’Rourke. It has been nearly two years since we’ve talked. I do hope your father and his new wife are very well.

Yes, they are well. Thank you for inquiring, and they would send their greetings if they knew I would be so bold as to impose on your hospitality for the night, Don Jorgé.

I assure, there is no imposition. What are you doing on this side of the Santa Ritas… checking on some of your ‘perdida vacas’?

Actually, I’ve been hunting a cougar that has killed some of my lost cows, and I tracked him a good ways before I lost his trail, Riley answered. But, I ran into some unexpected trouble about a days ride south of here very early this morning.

Before Riley could expound on his days findings, the patron insisted he be shown a room in which to freshen, and asked another servant to draw a hot bath for him there.

Riley followed the man down the tile-laden salida with its massive ollas hung from the vigas that punctured the alabaster walls of the ramada. Inhaling the fragrance of freshly baked bread wafting throughout the confines, Riley suddenly remembered the hastily prepared meal he wolfed down at first light, and decided he could stand a well-prepared, ranch-style supper.

Don Jorgé escorted his guest along with his daughter, Anita Maria.

One of the servants brought Riley a karafe of aged, red wine, for him to taste while he relaxed in the giant, wooden tub. He also brought two more buckets of steaming hot water to add to the bath.

A box of cigars from the gulf port of Veracrüz lay open on the dressing table.

He found his trousers and shirt had been brushed and freshened and neatly hung, and his boots polished, when he stepped from the tub.

By the time Riley appeared in the main room of the hacienda, a roaring fire was establishing a delightful mood for all the inhabitants of the large household. Ah, Señor, Don Jorgé spoke, as he arose to greet his guest. Yo poder presentar miå esposa (may I present my wife) Maria Isabella. A gratified smile crossed the face of the patrøn, as he introduced Riley to his wife, when she entered the room.

You have enhanced the family of the O’Rourkes’, Señor, she said, as she nodded. I remember you well as a much younger fellow, a hard-working cowboy, and just a muchaco, who has crecer adulto (grown-up). Bienvenido, and I hope you will stay with us for a while."

She excused herself and left the men to their wine and cigars, and the serious approach of the tale that brought Riley to stop at the Rancho Reventon.

Ya see, Señor, Riley said,