Mangas: Renegade Apache

By J. D. Smith

After surviving the massacre of an Aravaipa village, Apache leader, Mangas, swears vengeance on all white men. Sweeping on homesteads and ambushing soldiers, he leaves a trail of destruction throughout Arizona and Mexico.
It becomes the quest of one man, civilian scout, Jess Grainger, to try and put an end to his murderous raids. But it is a dangerous trail that could cost him his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326508456

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Mangas: Renegade Apache

MANGAS

Renegade Apache

A Western Novel

By

J. D. SMITH

Copyright

Copyright © J. D. Smith 2015

eBook Design by Rossendale Books:

www.rossendalebooks.co.uk

eBook ISBN: 978-1-326-50845-6

All rights reserved, Copyright under the Berne Copyright Convention and Pan American Convention. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1   -   MASSACRE  AT  CAMP  GRANT

Santos watched as nine weary looking Apaches rode into camp. He had seen them coming in from the sandy approaches to the village. He was one of a band of Aravaipa Apaches that had arrived at the military garrison of Camp Grant, Arizona, near the Aravaipa creek. They had surrendered their guns, but kept their bows and arrows. While the army decided what to do with them, they established a village a few miles further up the creek and began planting corn. Now, more and more Apaches were coming in.

Santos was a short, stocky and slightly bow legged Apache. He was fearsome looking and powerfully built, dressed in a long sleeved mustard colour shirt, breechclouts and the Apache boots, that could be pulled up over the knee to protect them from cactus.

He watched the riders as they entered the village, and as they came closer, he recognised their leader.

Mangas, he called out.

The rider slipped off his pony and walked up to him.

It is good to see you, he said.

Santos smiled. You must be hungry. Come, we eat. 

As he walked through the village, Mangas noticed the squaws and young girls were staring at him in amazement, for he was not like any other Apache they had ever seen. He stood six feet tall, which was unusual for an Apache, although a few of the great leaders had been of similar height. His hair was black and long, kept in place by a white band around his head. His eyes were dark and piercing, a hawk like nose and high cheekbones. Like Santos, he was powerfully built. He wore long white trousers and boots. His upper body consisted of a grey  shirt and an unbuttoned black waistcoat, which no doubt he had taken from some poor white man that he had killed. On his left cheek was a three inch scar, a battle wound from somewhere in his past. He was twenty eight years old.

The two men sat cross legged as they ate, and after a long silence, Santos spoke. For some time now, I feel our Chief is weak. No longer do we hunt game, and we do not have guns to fight our enemies with. As each day goes by, we look for handouts from the whites. The soldiers hate us. You can see it in their faces. We should never have surrendered. This land is ours and we should fight to keep it. You are a leader. We should fight.

I share your feelings, my brother, and I have no wish to stay here, replied Mangas helping himself to some more beef. But we are alone. The men I rode in with are tired and also want peace. 

We should not be prisoners in our own country, bellowed Santos. But the Americanos want this land and are prepared to take it. If we stand in their way, they will hunt us down like dogs.  

Mangas noticed that many of the men had become lazy, lying around the wickiups with their families.

We will leave this camp soon, he said.

But Santos shook his head. My woman is heavy with child. I must wait until the little one is born. Then we go. Until then, you must hand in your rifle. We are only allowed our bows and arrows.  

At Camp Grant, Lieutenant Greenham sat in his office. It was only a small military post, and as Lieutenant, he was the Commanding Officer. At his desk, he seemed troubled. In front of him was a newspaper and a letter. In the newspaper were reports of Apache raids to the south and east of Tucson, where horses and cattle had been stolen, and four Americans had been killed. He then turned to the letter and called for Sergeant Tyree. The sergeant entered and saluted.

They’ve returned my enquiry about about the Aravaipa band. They want it resubmitted on the proper Government forms, said Greenham red faced and clearly annoyed.

It seems they ain’t too happy about the situation, sir, replied Tyree. The Lieutenant scratched his head. You’re right, sergeant. The trouble is, that while they waste time making up their minds, I’m responsible for the actions of a band of Indians that are increasing in number all the time. So I want a close eye kept on all their movements. That’s gonna be your job, sergeant.

Yes sir. I’ll put some men on it right away, said Tyree.

Good. I don’t want any of our Apaches being blamed for the actions of other renegades.

*****

A large well armed force of one hundred and forty men were on their way from Tucson. Six Americans and forty two Mexicans had decided to attack the Aravaipa camp, and with them were ninety two christianised Papago Indians. They blamed the Aravaipa band for the recent raids near Tucson and were determined to make them pay.

It was just getting light when Mangas woke suddenly. It was spring, yet no birds were singing. He peered out through the wickiup. He could see nothing but instinct told him that danger was near. He moved swiftly towards the wickiup of Santos, but before he could reach it, the warrior had come out to meet him armed with bow and arrows and a knife, ready for battle.

Something’s wrong, said Mangas. We had better wake the others.  The two men moved off in different directions to raise the alarm. A dog had been barking continually, but no one had stirred. While the Apaches slept blissfully unaware of the impending danger, the Tucson expedition were deploying themselves along the creek bluffs and the sandy approaches to the village. The men on the ground were to open fire on the wickiups, so that when the Apaches ran into the open, rifle fire from the bluffs would cut them down. Mangas had barely reached the first wickiup, when a hail of bullets whizzed about him. He quickly dropped to the ground to avoid being cut to pieces by the first volley. Startled by the guns, women and children ran from the wickiups and were cut down by the concentrated rifle fire from above. Mangas quickly grabbed his bow and arrows, and cursed for having surrendered his rifle. He realised that the position was hopeless. Some braves had managed to flee the camp, and Mangas decided to do the same. He made his way back to Santos amid the smoke and confusion, weaving and dodging bullets all the while.

We must get away from here, he shouted. Get your wife, Santos, and let us leave this place. 

But it was too late for saving relatives and loved ones. Santos moved off with his squaw, but being heavily pregnant, she could only shuffle along. She had taken no more than a few steps when bullets tore into her face and stomach. She lay gurgling and frothing at the mouth with blood. There was nothing that Santos could do, except leave or be killed himself. He and Mangas moved swiftly as hordes of Papago Indians stormed the village. The two warriors glanced back as they ran to see more attackers descending the bluffs. They met up with three other Apaches who had managed to rescue their wives. Soon, they were clear of the camp and safe. Mangas looked back at the mass of dead bodies, rifle fire and burning wickiups. His heart was filled with a burning anger for the white race, and the Papagos who had shown such savagery against Apache women. There was screaming and shouting everywhere, children crying, clinging to their wounded mothers in desperation. Then the gunfire stopped, and the degrading process of stripping the bodies began. Wounded women who could barely move were clubbed to death on the spot. Many of the surviving children had been gathered up by the Papagos. It was a pitiful sight. Mangas and Santos looked on as a young Apache woman was raped by grinning and laughing Mexicans, and then shot through the head. After that, they could watch no more.

Mangas turned to the others. What the white eyes have done here, is to destroy any chance of peace. From this day on, I swear, I will kill all white men and treat their women as they have done to ours. 

Santos was next to speak. My woman and unborn child are dead. I too vow to kill all white men until I am killed myself.   Mangas led his small group of survivors away. Five warriors and three squaws, and all of them on foot.

By 7.30am that morning, a mounted messenger arrived at Camp Grant from the small military garrison at Tucson. He told Sergeant Tyree that a large force of armed vigilantes had left two days earlier, with the intention of killing all Indians near Camp Grant.

Ride like the devil to warn them, bellowed Tyree. Tell them to bring their families inside the post for protection.   As the messenger rode off, Tyree reported to Lieutenant Greenham, who quickly dressed and made his way to the office. He was stunned at the news. Not only did he fear for the lives of the Aravaipa band, but that a new Indian war had started. Greenham paced the office, occasionally glancing out the window in the direction of the Aravaipa camp.

I’ve been sympathetic towards them, Tyree, he said. And they’ve been fine. Now, who knows what.   As the minutes ticked by, all manner of thoughts were running through Greenham’s mind. Have any been killed?  Would survivors go on the warpath?  Then there was the paperwork. What would Washington say?  After an agonising hour, the messenger returned. He was almost running when he burst into the office, and was gasping for breath as he struggled to get his words out. They’re dead. All of em’  

You haven’t done your bloody job, sergeant, snapped the Lieutenant. Get some men ready, and get hold of Surgeon Reynolds. We’re riding out to the Aravaipa camp. 

When the patrol arrived at the village, smoke was still belching from the wickiups, and the ground was strewn with the stripped and mutilated bodies of the dead. Brains had been dashed out. Some bodies were full of arrows, and others blasted by gunshot. One infant had been shot through the head, while another had been thrown into a burning wickiup. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air and two of the soldiers vomited. A burial detail began, by which time, some of the survivors who had managed to escape the massacre, returned to the village. They told Greenham that others who had escaped would seek revenge. Also that twenty children had been taken away. Greenham knew they would be sold into slavery in Mexico. The missing bodies were found and brought in for burial. Most were women and children. When the burial detail was finished, the Lieutenant turned to the grieving Apaches. He told them to rebuild their village and start over. He also gave his word that he would not rest until the killers had been brought to justice and punished, but the Indians were sullen and surly in their attitude.

Greenham turned to Surgeon Reynolds. White settlers are the ones who will pay a heavy price for what happened here, he said.

Chapter 2   -   THE RENEGADE

After escaping from Camp Grant, Mangas led his small band of survivors south travelling on foot. This was no hardship to them, for an Apache was capable of travelling fifty to sixty miles a day. After giving Tucson a wide berth, they continued south along the Santa Cruz river between Tombstone and Tubac. Their destination was Sonora and the Sierra Madre mountains. There, they hoped to meet up with other Apaches and carry out raids in both Mexico and the southern states.

Their first stop was a small ranch. They had watched the place all day and decided to attack when darkness fell. It would be easy pickings. In the corral were eleven horses, and inside the ranch house, a white man, his wife and two sons. The attack began just after dark when the eldest boy went out to check that the horses were secure for the night. He could not understand why they were so uneasy and his eyes searched the darkness for any sign of movement. A shiver suddenly ran down his spine as he heard movement behind.

He turned swiftly about only to find himself confronted by two Apache warriors.

He was quickly thrown to the ground, but had no time to