raising one until it got to be three months old and able to care for itself, when I released the poor thing by returning it to its tribe. It had become quite a pet, and would perform several little tricks with ease. As it was brought up among human beings, it possessed none of the native fear of man which is so strongly characteristic of its race, and it is quite probable that the poor little fellow subsequently fell a victim to misplaced confidence, although I carried it six miles below camp, where there was a large beaver dam, before restoring it to freedom.
The quality of mercy is unknown among the Apaches. They frequently take birds and animals alive, but invariably give them to their children to torture. A warrior is seized with delight when his son exhibits superior skill in this way. He looks on approvingly and makes occasional suggestions to the aspiring youth. The squaws are especially pleased with the precociousness of their children in the art of torturing. Even their horses are not spared, and their dogs may truly be said to lead "dogs' lives." What we call chivalry is also unknown to the Apache, who regards it as sheer folly and useless risk of life; yet there are instances of self-sacrifice and heroic devotion which would be second to none recorded in history, were it not for the fact that in each case the hero was mortally wounded before he displayed remarkable bravery for the safety of others. A badly wounded Indian is much more dangerous than one who is not. Feeling that he cannot escape, his first object is to kill as many of his foes as possible, and protect his own people to the last gasp. I have seen a single Apache, stationed at the narrow entrance to a defile, receive four carbine balls through the breast before he sank on his knees, and every time the cavalry charged that man would keep back the horses by dashing a red blanket in
