The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1891-06-23
AN APACHE CHUM.

| You smile at such strange advice! Well,
l might have smiled at it once myself.
| But we are all creatures of circumstance,
| and was a tenderfoot then anyway.
| This is how chummed it with my little
| Indian:
was swinging my red and blue clubs
under the pepper tree at the back OF the
railroad station. This did because
had a theory that exercise was good for
a man living on desert. The lazy Mex
leans, and most of the Americans there
abouts, had no ruddy glow on their faces.
They were all sallow. What wanted
was rudy glow.
My red and blue clubs circled about
very prettily that day, and the ruddy
glow came; also a dripping epidermis
and a big desire to sit down in the shade
Of the pepper tree and blow tobacco
smoke. The tree was small one,
When the station tank rap over, which
was not often, its roots received little
moisture. So it grew slowly.
As soon as dropped my clubs squeal
of disgust went up from somewhere,
and as I turned about I saw a small,
brown head dart behind cactus lined
rock.
said nothing, but leaned back on my
seat, pulled my sombrero down over my
face, and slammed sleep, with one half
closed eye on the rock and the big cac-
tus shrubs. No use. You cannot get
an Apache out of his hole that way.
Next day, with my beautiful exercise
theory still bristling in my brain, I
turned quickly, while in the midst of my
club swinging, and saw the wide open
eyes and gaping mouth of the cunningest
little savage I had ever beheld. He
sprang about and fled behind the rock,
but not too quickly for me to read xxx
Family Flour" in large red letters on his
back His one short garment was sack,
with holes cut through it for his head
and arms.
"Come, Tads," cried, christening him
in that feeting second with name that
stuck to him all his life, t'out of that~
And jumped behind the rock, swing
ing an open hand that did not grasp the
-four sack, as | had intended it should.
Where was the wee savage?
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.
1.-The spipes must scratch him." I
thought, as 1 looked at the pricky cac-
tus, but / did not know then how Apa-
ches put up with such small irritations.
Not wanting to give the boy unneces-
sary torture, I went back to my clubs.
Throwing my eyes about again l caught
another fieeting 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 upon
me and the sun lay too heavily upon the
desert. saw Tads steal away from his
lair about two hours after my usual ex-
ercise time and walk down the sand
drifts with detected air, his one gar
ment Tapping in the hot wind.
A wild nature like his was proof
against such snares as the toothsome
CONNECTION, the golden orange or the
mealy peanut. 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 l under
stood him. Indian-hke, he said little.
1t was therefore easy to get along with
him. He would sit for hours on 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 imagination, but he solved
the problem at last. a man away off
over the mountains spoke with his finger
to me, and l spoke back to him. That
was his idea of it, and it was not such a
bad one either. The hummings of the
wires overhead were the voices of people
with ponderous fingers. but they were
not of this world.
How the cowboys laughed when they
saw Tads and me in the station!
That tenderfoot's queer one" they
said of me.
The despised Apache could not crawl
into their hearts-no, not even if he were
a six-year-old.
He'll steal every thing the tenderfoot's
got" they pleasantly averred. But he
did not.
When Tads left the station of an even
ing his little brown feet battered straight
over the roads to the wickiups, half
mile away. In time he wore narrow
trail over to the nuts.
Pity veil" was what Tads would
grunt TO me every day when he came
shyly into the Office and greeted him
with friendly ''How-d'e-do:" Then he
would shrug his shoulders in a way that
wrinkled the three Ks into such be-
wildering 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 20
himself. he upset one of my battery jars
"Tads," / cried angrily, for the dss-
srts breath was not upon me ana was tr-
ritating enough, let alone spilled vitriol,
you're little beast! Skip out Of here,
or I'll take a stick 70 YOU"
Then arose a great howl from Tads,
and he kept on bowling until an Apache
woman came over the sands from the
Eickiups and gathered him up IN her
arms. She was his mother. Size eyed
NE suspiciously, and walked away with
her highly dernonsrrative burden.