The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1891-08-12
MY APACHE PROTEGE.

Never 60 cumming with an ApacheP
You smile tsuch strange adviceP Well,
l might have smiled at it once myself.
But we are all creatures of circum-
stance, and l was tenderfoot then,
anyway. This is how l chummed it
with my little Indian:
1 was swinging my red-and-blue
clubs under the pepper-tree at the
back of the station. This l did be-
cause l had theory that exercise was
good for man living on a desert.
The lazy Mexicans and most of the
Americans thereabouts had no ruddv
glow on their faces. They were all
sallow. What wanted was ruddy
glow.
My red-and-blue clubs circled about
very prettily that day, and the ruddy
glow came; also dripping epidermis
and big desire to sit down in the
shade of the pepper-tree and blow to-
bacco smoke. The tree was small
one. When the station tank ran over,
which was not often. its roots received
little moisture. So it grew slowly.
AS soon as l dropped my clubs a
squeal of disgust went up from some
where, and, as turned about, I saw
small. brown head dart behind
cactus-lined rock.
said nothing, but leaned back in
my seat. pulled my sombrero down
over my face and slammed sleep, with
one-half closed eye on the rock and the
big cactus shrubs. No use. You can
not get an Apache out of his hole in
that way.
Next day, with nv beautiful exer-
else theory still bristling in my brain,
turned quickly. while in the midst of
my club swinging, and saw the wide
open eyes and gaping mouth of the
cunning little savage had ever be-
held. He sprang about and fled be-
me to read Xxx Family Flour in
large red letters on his back. His one
short garment was cotton sack. with
holes cut through it for his head and
arms.
Come, Tads." 1 cried, christening
him in that feeting second with a
name that stuck to him all his life.
''out of that!'' And jumped behind
the rock, swinging an open hand that
did not grasp the four-sack, as l had
intended it should.
Where was the wee savageP
Like lizard, he had darted from
sight somewhere in that little patch of
rocks and cactus, though there did not
appear to be cover enough there to
conceal jack-rabbit.
"The spines must scratch him."
thought, as / looked at the prickly
cactus; but did not know then how
Apaches put up with such small irri-
tations. Not wanting to give the boy
unnecessary torture, l went back to
my clubs. Throwing my eyes about
again, l caught another tieeting
glimpse of the brown head as it lodged
behind the rock.
Tads must have been disappointed
next day. for there was no club-swing-
ing under the pepper-tree. The duties
of telegraph agent lay too heavily up
on me and the sun lay too heavily up
on the desert. l saw Tads steal away
from his lair about two hours after my
usual exercise time and walk down the
sand-drifts with detected air, his one
garment Tapping in the hot wind.
A wild nature like his was proof
against such snares as the toothsome
confection, the golden orange. or the
mealy peanut. l found that out by
trial in the course of the next week.
But an old jack-knife won him over.
That was something his Apache mind
could grasp. 1t was greater delight
to him than the red-and-blue clubs.
Sworn friends from that day were
Tads and l. His talk was a ridiculous
mixture of English, Spanish and
Apache, and his voice was very throaty.
But understood him. Indian-like he
said little. 1t was, therefore. easy to
get along with him. He would sit for
hours on a high stool listening to the
'tunk-tunk-tunk" of my sounder. The
telegraph was an awful mystery to him
at first, and it squelched his imagina-
ton; but he solved the problem at last.
A man away off in the mountains
spoke with his fingers to me, and L
spoke back to him. That was his idea
of it, and it was not a bad one either.
The humming of the wires overhead
were the voices of people with ponder
Gus fingers, but they were not OF this
world.
How the cowboys laughed when
they saw Tads and me in the station.
That tenderfoot's a queer one, +"
they said of me.
The despised Apache could not crawl
into their hearts-not even if he were
a 6-year old.
Hell steal everything the tender
foot's got" they pleasantly averred.
But he did not.
When Tads left the station of an
evening. his little brown feet battered
straight over the roads to the wickiups,
half mile away. In time he wore a
narrow trail over to the huts.
pity vell" was what Tads would
grunt to me every day when he came
shyly into the office. and greeted him
with friendly, ''How-de-do?" Then
he would shrug his shoulders in way
that would wrinkle the three KS into
such bewildering folds that you could
not have read them unless you had
known what they were beforehand.
One day while he was meandering
about the place, grunting quietly to
himself, he upset one OF my battery
jars.
"Tads," l cried, angrily, for the
deserts breath was hot upon me, and
was irritating enough, let alone spilled
vitriol, you're little beast! Skip
out of here, or I'll take stick to your
Then arose great howl from Tads,
and he kept on bowling until an
Apache woman came over the sands
from the wickiups and gathered him
up in her arms. She was his mother.
She eyed me suspiciously, and walked
away with her highly demonstrative
burden.
OF course I regretted my hot Ian
guage and wanted the little beggar
back again. 1t was so lonely there on
the desert. The wires walled SO heart