Chapter 4

We rode north for a couple of days until we reached a small Mormon village called St. David. We told them about our recent adventure, and they thanked us. Apparently, some outlying farms had some theft of stock and they assumed that we had solved their problem for them. The next day, prior to moving out, we purchased a couple of dozen eggs, half a dozen chickens, a slab of bacon, and a few loaves of fresh baked bread. As we left, the local leader warned us that an Apache war band was roaming the area between St. David and Tucson.

A couple of hours out of St. David, I noticed a whisk of dust behind us. Sensing trouble I took out my modern binoculars as we topped a ridge. Sure enough, a band of about a dozen Apaches were dogging out trail. I told the others what I had seen and why it was a problem. “If they were Comanche or any of the plains Indians, they would just charge us on horseback. With our weapons we would have no problem driving them off, but these are Apache,” I said.

“Why is that different?” asked Tara.

I looked at her and replied, “They’re more practical, and not married to their horses. They will just dog our trail until the right time and place, and then hit us from ambush.”

With a look at his wife and son, Rory asked, “What can we do?”

I gave them a reassuring smile and said, “Find the right spot and ambush the ambushers.” As I outlined my plan they all got on board, after I convinced Tara that I would be safe.

A couple of hours later, I found my spot. I had my family (that’s what I now consider them) use rocks to fort up under the wagon in front of a gully that had a small trickle of water still running in it. Patrick was in the gully tending the animals, keeping him and them out of the line of fire. 100 yards in front of the gully was a jumble of rocks that would be irresistible to the Apaches as a staging point for their attack. I had gotten a canteen, all of my weapons, and a desert cammo tarp, and dismounted at a jumble of rocks on a small butte about 400 yards before the gully. I found an ideal spot about a dozen feet up in the rocks. With my cammo tarp covered with brush over me, I was in a perfect sniper position. The attackers would be easily in my range but they would assume, given the weapons of the day, that my hide was out of range, especially with smokeless powder not giving away my position. I was ready for the ball to start.

We were as ready as we could be. I had read Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War”, and that old dude knew war. I didn’t remember his exact words, but I got the main idea. Know yourself and know the enemy and you will kick ass every time. All that was left to do was wait.