Lennon had picked out his Indian and sent a bullet to his heart; but the Indian in the agonies of death made a lunge at Lennon with his spear and transfixed him.  They both fell at the Bloody Tanks in the embrace of death.

The Americans rescued Lennon’s body, and having strapped it over a pack mule, carried it away to the next camp, where it was buried with Christian services at the foot of an aspen tree.

The Americans brought away twenty-four scalps.

After the Bloody Tanks affair some of the men engaged in it came into the Pima villages, where I was in camp.  J. Ross Browne, who was with me, took down the account in short hand, and I made a list of the Americans engaged in the expedition.  I remember, when Browne got through with his stenography, he asked one of the men if he had any Indian relics.  The man replied, “Yes, I have got some jerked years,” and he presented Browne about a dozen “jerked years” strung on buckskin.

I concluded to make a scout up country and see what was going on among the Indians, and as there were no troops at my command I organized a company of Pimas and Maricopas as scouts.  They had recently received arms and ammunition from the government, and I had uniforms and swords enough for the officers.  They soon learned to drill, and already knew how to shoot.

The commissariat was not quite up to military regulations, but we set out all the same, following along the Hassayamp to Antelope Peak, when we turned east by Walnut Creek to the Verde over an infernal trail.

The way down the Verde was not much better, as the Black Canon has never been considered strewn with roses; but we hunted and fished to the junction of the Verde and Salt River without seeing any Apaches.

The only “sign” we saw was cut on a tree,—­twenty-four Americans and twenty-four arrows pointed at them, which the Pimas interpreted to me as the number of Americans the Apaches threatened to kill in retaliation.

There was not a soul on the Verde, and not a white man nor a house on the Salt River, from the junction of the Verde to its confluence with the Gila.  We camped at the “Hole-in-the-Rock,” and next morning crossed Salt River at the peak about Tempe, and crossed over to the Pima villages, glad enough to get to that haven of rest.  It was 100 miles to Tucson, and 280 miles to Yuma, and not a soul nor any provisions between the two places.

There was no great inducement to stay in the Territory at that time, except for people who had an insane ambition for orchestral fame on the golden harps of New Jerusalem.  Many of the people had read about the government of the United States, in school books; and perhaps had enjoyed the felicity of hearing a Fourth of July oration in youth; but these were myths of antiquity in Arizona.  There was no government of any consequence, and even what there was was conducted on the Democratic principle, not for protection but for revenue only.