gained strength and comfort from its genial influence. Day was near breaking at this time, and, as the rain had ceased, the morning star was seen to rise in a glory which none can realize but he who has seen it above the clear aurora of an Arizona morning. To observe it better, and to see if the daylight would give us signs of the enemy, some of the men went to the top of the hill —one of them climbing a tall, isolated rock, for the purpose. He was there but a minute; the next, descending, he hastened to McCleave, and revealed the fact of the village being in a valley at the foot of the mountain. Immediately the fires were extinguished, silence was observed, and every man made himself ready for an instant attack. We descended the mountain in a circuitous route, those on foot leading, and the dawning light showed us that our great speed and privation of travel were likely to have a merited reward, for the Indians, not calculating on such rapidity of pursuit, which, in their experience, must have been utterly unparalleled, or, perhaps, expecting no pursuit, were utterly without watch or guard. Most, probably all, of them were asleep in their huts; one or two light smokes, seemingly from fires smoldering through the night —an Indian custom—were issuing lazily from huts, but not a human being could be seen; while, at various points, in easy distance, three distinct bands of horses could be seen, grazing contentedly on the rich herbage of the valley.
Onward we went, silent as our fifteen horses' feet would let us, picking our way around the loose rocks of the path, and scattered so that no measured tramp should defeat our hopes of getting near them unperceived; until, when within about twenty yards of them, a yell was given from their huts, and in an instant all was war. Dark forms, armed with rifles and bows, yelling like wolves,
rushed to the hill-sides for safety; but they were quickly met, and paid in their own coin for their late aggressions. Our men had their blood up: hunger, thirst, and fatigue, all vanished with the first ring of the carbine, seconded by the clear trumpet-tones of McCleave's voice, as he led the attack. So we took every chance; but we had surprised the enemy in our turn, our carbines were close and well aimed, and the foe went down before the attacks of our horsemen and foot as snow falls before the sun's heat. Many a personal duel occurred, but in no case were the Indians victorious; and in fifteen minutes we remained sole masters of the field, the Indians who could having fled to the hills above.
Guards were now posted, and, upon a review of the field, about forty bodies of the enemy were counted; while we had not even a wounded man—so violent, sudden, and successful had been our attack. After resting a few minutes, some were sent to bring in the horses we had recovered; while others gathered the spoils of the camp into a heap, and, lighting a fire, made them all into cinders. There were consumed over two tons of dried beef, as much of prepared mescal-root, and a quantity of saddles, bridles, blankets, muskets, bows and arrows, and cooking utensils—nearly all of these the product of former robberies. The horses, over three hundred in number, and found to be all of our stock that had not died on the road; many branded cavalry horses, stolen from others, and a small lot of Indian ponies, were collected together and driven in front of us, as we proceeded to retrace our victorious steps. But we had not done with the enemy yet: they had no intention of letting us off without another struggle for victory; and as the herders were passing a wooded arroyo, a shower of bullets was poured in at them, resulting in the wounding of private Hall and the death of two horses. It was certainly
