Year: 1875

Several years since it was my fortune
to receive an invitation from a gentle
man by the name of Ewell to visit him
at his rancho on the Calabasas. in the.
southern portion OF Arizona. The time
was March, the most delightful month
of the year in that latitude.


Ewell had owned the ranch for some
time. After living on it for nearly three
years, he went back to central New York,
and returned with his wife and three
children. The two elder were boys be-
tween the ages of fourteen and sixteen,
and the younger girl of eight years.


Charlie and Walter were both fine,
frank, generous-hearted boys, full OF
life and activity. Each owned good
| Mexican horse, repeating rifle and
revolver, and were perfectly at home in
the saddle. They were in the habit of
| starting out upon a hunt aud being
absent all day, frequently bringing in


fine, fat buck, or other game, of which
there was great profusion in the coun-
| try.


| One evening we were sitting on the
rude piazza, enjoying the delicious
moonlight The boys had planned an
expedition for the following day, and I
ventured to suggest that it was hardly
safe for them to hunt SO much alone, as
they were liable at any time to meet
| Apaches ON the war path.


| Ewel1 smiled at the remark, saying
that she had lived there nearly five
years, and that for the boys, he had no
fear of the result if they should meet
one."


I replied that "my experience in the
| Territory led me to believe that they
were likely to see them at any time, and
especially if they were unprepared for a
visit"


| My friend laughed, and pointing to q
number of fine guns hanging upon pegs
driven into the adobe wall, said, so, I
am prepared for them, come when they
may"


Mrs. Ewell here interrupted the con-
versation by remarking that she chad
resided there nearly two years, and had
never caught sight of an Apache, and
really she would like to see one."


We all laughed as Ewen remarked,


"You see, judge, what brave little wo-
man my wife is. Who's afraid of Apach-
es here?"


| With this remark the conversation end
| ed. Ewell and then went out to Sc
cure the gate to the corral, and then
| both retired for the night.


| I had been sleeping several hours,
when I awoke with the impression that
some one was moving about the ranchel
L rose, lighted match, looked at my
watch and found it was nearly three
! o'clock. / then unbarred the thick
wooden shutters of the window and look
| ed out. The moon had gone down, but
the stars were shining brightly, and the
stiffness of the night was undisturbed
by single sound.


I was just closing the shutters when I
heard the sharp twang of a bowstring,
and an arrow quivered in the framework
of the window, not three inches above the
| top of my head. To close the shutters
and secure them was but the work of
an instant. I then dressed, and quietly
awoke my friend and the boys.
We listened intently for some time.
| Not sound was heard save the uneasy
tramp of the horses in the corral close
by. Ewell finally proposed to go out
and see for himself, saying, 'You've
been dreaming, I reckon


I urged him to remain where he was,
and not expose himself. The corral was
perfectly safe. The walls were about
ten feet in height, and two feet thick,
and the only entrance was through a
ponderous gate of oak, strengthened by
q heavy iron bar.


He did not heed my suggestion. TAX
ing his revolver in his hand, he unbarred
the door and stepped out Through the
| half-opened door we could see the re-


iection of the first faint streak of light
| in the eastern sky, against which his
form stood perfectly revealed.
Even the animals in the corral were
perfectly quiet. Not sound was heard.
After listening few moments, Eweli
turned to re-enter the house. The next
moment we heard the noise of arrows as
they struck the woodwork, and saw Mr..
Ewell sink to the ground just as the
blood-curdling Apache war-whoop rang
out upon the early morning air.


I instantly called to the boys, and we
sprang towards him. But he was no
longer therel We then closed and bar
red the door, and breathlessly listened
for some sound that should apprise us
of the situation outside.
Mrs. Ewell ' as not aware of the at
tack until she heard the war-whoop.
That paralyzed every faculty of her mind,
and reduced her to a state of most abject
terror. Jumping from the bed, she
caught her little daughter in her arms
and sprang into the room, calling upon
us to protect ker and the child.
Fortunately, in her terror she did not
notice her husbands absence, and Char
ley instantly went up to her, and begged
her to return to her room.
Hearing no further noise outside, we
cautiously unbarred one of the shutters
and looked out. Not seeing any Indians,
in few moments we ventured to open
the door in which we found about a