It was a rule at Apache Pass
station that no Indians were allowed
inside of the corral at any time. In the kitchen was a big fireplace
would let them come there to get warm, but never when the coaches came
day as the coach horn blew, I heard Abbot the cook say, “Uga-she,”
or “Go out,” and a warrior answered, “To-was-te-do,”
or “I don’t want to.”
in and took him by the hair and breechcloth and hustled
him out the doorway. I
was shutting the
door when he hurled his lance at me. The door was made of split ash
pretty well seasoned. The lance buried itself in the wood and missed me.
given this warrior the name of “Dirty Shirt” as
he wore a hickory shirt given him by Dr. Steck, and it was dirty and
never having been changed since he first put it on. After he threw the
was angry enough to have killed him. I caught him by the hair and
head against the stone wall. Dirty Shirt was one of Cochise’s warriors
Cochise heard what I had done, he planned revenge.
the coach came in from the east loaded with passengers,
among them being Sylvester Mowry, Cochise was handy. Louis O’Shea, the
conductor, and Brad Daily, driver, had a great terror of the Apaches.
were seated to eat, I came in from the corral. At a glance, I knew that
was there on purpose, for he had always gone from the station at other
when the coach came in.
that something had to be settled right there. I walked up
to him and told him kindly in the Apache tongue that he knew I never
Indians in the house when the coach was in and that he must go out. He
very frankly that he would not go, and I immediately performed the same
operation on him as I had upon Dirty Shirt.
Daily was sitting at the table and could see Cochise and me.
When he heard me speak to Cochise, he was all attention, and when I
Cochise out the door, Brad just went over backwards. Three-legged
used along the table and they were none too steady when one sat
scrambled to his feet saying, “My God, Tevis! What have you done? For
God’s sake call him back and tell him he can stay.”
the passengers had scurried from their places at the table,
having only begun their meal. I told them to sit down and eat, that I
take care of Cochise, and did not want their advice. Brad said, “Hitch
my team and let me out of here. We will all be murdered.”
I could not detain them, I said, “Gentlemen, the
dinner was cooked for you; if you don’t eat it it’s your own fault; so
for your dinners and you can go.” No time was wasted in exchanging
and away they went out of the pass. Lieutenant Mowry told me afterwards
never had ridden faster than on that trip on the Overland Stage, the
only four hours to Dragoon Station, a distance of 40 miles.
Upon reaching there, Brad insisted on making the through trip to
Tucson, pleading as an excuse that he had business to attend to, and
reached Tucson, he asked for a layoff for one trip. He told the people
Tucson that he was sure Cochise had killed everyone at Apache Pass by
time. . .