n't regarded as anything in particular to brag
about in those rough times. As a matter of fact the "Weekly Arizonian"
of May 15, 1869, gives only about four inches under a one-line head to
the battle between Tully & Ochoa's wagon-train and three hundred
Apaches, and in order to get the details of the fight one must go to
men who heard its particulars narrated by survivors.

Santa Cruz Castaneda was the wagon-master, an old-timer even in those
days, and the veteran of many Indian fights. There were nine wagons in
the train, laden with flour, bacon and other provisions for Camp
Grant, and fourteen men in charge of them. The Apaches ambushed them
near the mouth of a canyon not more than ten miles from the post.

Somehow the wagon-master got warning of what was impending in time to
corral the wagons in a circle with the mules turned inside the
enclosure. The teamsters disposed themselves under the vehicles and
opened fire on the enemy, who were making one of those loose-order
rushes whereby the Apache used to love to open proceedings if he
thought he had big enough odds.

Before the accurate shooting of these leather-faced old-timers the
assailants gave back. When they had found cover they sent forward a
warrior, who advanced a little way waving a white cloth and addressed
Santa Cruz in Spanish.

"If you will leave these wagons," the herald said, calling the
wagon-master by name, "we will let all of you go away without harming
you."

To which Santa Cruz replied:

"You can have this wagon-train when I can't hold it any longer."

The Apache translated the words and backed away to the rocks from
behind which he had emerged. And the fight began again with a volley
of bullets and a cloud of arrows. At this time there were about two
hundred Indians in the ambushing party, and they were surrounding the
corral of wagons.

Occasionally the Apaches would try a charge; but there never was a
time on record when these savages could hold a formation under fire
for longer than a minute or two at the outside; and the rushes always
broke before the bullets of the teamsters. Between these sorties there
were long intervals of desultory firing--minutes of silence with
intermittent pop-popping to vary the deadly monotony. Once in a while
the surrounding hillsides would blossom out with smoke-puffs, and the
banging of the rifles would merge into a sort of long roll.

Always the teamsters lay behind the sacks of flour which they had pu