il later,
and the same may be said of pangingi, the Scandinavian game.

There were several tribes of Apaches wintering at Camp Grant the winter
we went there, if I remember correctly, among them being the Tontos and
Aravaipas. All of them, however, were under the authority of one
chief--Old Eskiminzin, one of the most blood-thirsty and vindictive of
all the old Apache leaders. The Government fed these Apaches well during
the winter in return for pledges they made to keep the peace. This was
due to the altruism of some mistaken gentlemen in the councils of
authority in the East, who knew nothing of conditions in the Territory
and who wrongly believed that the word of an Apache Indian would hold
good. We, who knew the Indian, understood differently, but we were
obliged to obey orders, even though these were responsible in part for
the many Indian tragedies that followed.

The Apache was a curious character. By nature a nomad, by temperament a
fighter, and from birth a hater of the white man, he saw nothing good in
the ways of civilization except that which fed him, and he took that
only as a means to an end. Often an Indian chief would solemnly swear to
keep the peace with his "white brethren" for a period of months, and the
next day go forth on a marauding expedition and kill as many of his
beloved "brethren" as he could lay his hands on. Every dead white man
was a feather in some Apache's headdress, for so they regarded it.

One day Chief Eskiminzin appeared with a protest from the tribes against
the quality of the rations they were receiving. It was early spring and
the protest, as we well knew, was merely his way of saying that the
Indians were no longer dependent on what the government offered but
could now hunt their own meat. Our commanding officer endeavored to
placate the old chief, who went back for a conference with his men. Then
he re-appeared, threw down his rations, the others doing the same, and
in a few minutes the entire encampment of Apaches was in the saddle.

Some little time after they had gone Lieutenant Vail, suspecting
trouble, sent a man down the trail to investigate. A few miles away was
a ranch owned by a man named Israels. The scout found the ranch
devastated, with Israels, his wife and family brutally slain and all the
stock driven off. He reported to Vail, who headed an expedition of
retaliation--the first I ever set forth on. We trailed the Indians
several days, finally coming up with the