rees;
they saw the lonely camps and cabins, tenanted by little groups of
settlers, beyond all reach of help; they saw the wagon-trains and
stages traveling without convoys. Their chiefs were wily, their
warriors past masters of the art of ambush. They started in to kill
off the new-comers; and they undoubtedly would have succeeded in
depopulating most of New Mexico and Arizona if it had not been for
that one trait of which Big Foot Wallace furnishes an example.

Therein lies the key-note to the incidents within this little
chronicle; the contemptuous disregard for danger, the willingness to
take the supreme risk, which made those old-timers perform exploits
that were seemingly impossible; which made them outface their naked
enemies--who were always looking out for their own swarthy skins--and
come forth unscathed from situations wherein death seemed the only
means by which they could emerge; which made them win in many a grim
fight where the odds were one man against many.

One man against many. That was the case with Uncle Billy Rhodes. Back
in the early sixties he and his partner had taken up some land down in
the Santa Cruz valley near the pueblo of Tubac. If you drive southward
in your car to-day from Tucson you will pass the spot where Tubac
stood until the Apaches laid waste the town during Civil War times,
and go within a stone's throw of the place where Uncle Billy Rhodes
ran one of the biggest and finest bluffs in all the history of
Indian-fighting.

It was the custom of the Apaches to raid southward from their
reservations into Mexico, scooping up such loot and lives as they
could during their journeys. Usually at this particular time they
traveled by way of the Santa Catalina Mountains, keeping well to the
heights until they reached the Pantano Wash, where they frequently
swooped down on the Butterfield stage-station before climbing to the
summits of the Whetstones and the Huachucas. Clinging to the rocky
ridges, they went on southward and watched the lowlands for signs of
victims.

Such a war-party descended into the Santa Cruz valley one afternoon
and found Billy Rhodes's partner alone at the ranch. When they got
through with him there was little left in the semblance of a man, but
they took good care to postpone burning the ranch-buildings,
contenting themselves with promiscuous looting.

The idea was that smoke creates a warning signal and Uncle Billy
Rhodes would never come within rifle-shot of th