Monday, October 19, 2009

Zenogalache: the Apache Kid

In eighteen an' sixty-seven a young boy
was born into the tribe of the Apache.
He would later be known as the Apache Kid,
aka the Crazy One;
though his given name was Zenogalache.
He was the son of a chief, Toga-de-chuz,
who was killed so's a rival could bed his squaw.
The same squaw the Kid called "Ma."
An' the Kid waited years, til he grew,
then exacted revenge on his father's killer,
in the style of Apache law.
He was still young when orphaned,
so he was taken to San Carlos,
where he schooled by Al Sieber,
the legendary calvary scout.
It was military learnin',
ya' know, weapons an' such.
An' was the Kid good?
Well, ta' that there's little doubt,
he liked it very much,
since Sieber had him appointed
First Sergeant of the Apache Government Scouts.
However, Sieber became concerned
upon learnin' the Kid had already killed,
an' decided it would be best jus' ta' order him in.
So in he did come --- that is,
him plus ten.
Each of them fully packin'.
Well, both sides took ta' jawin',
one side hemmin', the other side hawwin',
til Sieber said the guardhouse would be their new home.
Thus, the Kid barked an order,
an' their guns sparked fire,
an' Sieber's leg caught a bullet.
So the Kid an' his band made good their escape,
an' soon began ta' roam, like there was nothing to it.
Yep, from that day forward
there was a price on the Kid's head,
the same ol' "alive or dead" standard.
So the army took ta' lookin',
along with scouts an' gunmen too.
Even the famous Tom Horn.
An' though the band increased in number,
at least times three,
most of the chasers invariably
chased shadows;
then returned empty-handed ta' face the scorn.
Now ya'll would figure most on the run
would try ta' keep a low profile,
so I guess the Crazy One's style
sprang forth from other thoughts.
Cuz' they stole a horse herd from the Atchley Ranch,
over near Table Mountain.
Then they killed themselves a loner,
an' left him ta' rot in his cabin,
a trapper named Bill Diehl.
An' then the desperadoes,
while movin' ever southward,
chose ta' add ta' their disgrace,
by torturing, then murdering, the rancher Mike Grace.
Down ta' ol' Mexico they rode,
then back again,
fer' two years the Apache Kid remained free.
But eventually
his spree was cut short,
he was captured an' clapped in irons.
Then a quick day in court fer' both he an' his men.
The sentence was "death"
but the Kid wouldn't die,
it appeared he had "friends" in high places.
His innocent pleas
of the dirty deeds
would soon add ta' the White House disgraces.
Ya' see, President Grover Cleveland
granted the Apache Kid a pardon,
an' set him free ta' go kill again.
Though this time instead of takin' herds
he took ta' stoppin' wagons,
killin' the drivers an' taken the freight.
Now I want ya'll ta' get this straight,
they weren't no redskin Robin Hoods
a' stealin' from the rich ta' give ta' the poor.
An' they sure didn't kill in self-defense,
they killed cuz' they thought it felt great.
Per chance a hero stepped forth in the form of a sheriff
Glen Reynolds of Gila County, Arizona,
who took a posse after the Kid an' caught him.
Though hindsight suggests
instead of playin' "Oops, I'm caught again"
they each should've picked a target an' shot 'um.
Cuz' they received a pitiful seven year sentence,
then never served a day;
they killed their guards on the way ta' Yuma Prison,
followed by a quick getaway.
Sadly, one of them guards was Reynolds.
In the hunt that followed
six of the Kid's band were captured.
Though only two were hanged.
The other four decided ta' do themselves away,
strangled with their own loincloths.
So like moths ta' the flame,
with the price on his head an' reputation growin',
the Kid an' his men began a murderous rampage.
The Apache Kid's rage needed targets,
an' there were targets a' plenty,
several settlers quickly bit the dust.
Gee, I wonder how much trust
President Cleveland retained in the Kid,
after hearin' how the Kid took out a prairie schooner
with a mother, young son, an' a babe?
Thank God the infant survived,
found alive near its kin that were dead,
cuz' in the eyes of the Apache Kid
 infants don't rate the cost of lead.
Now this reign of terror by Zenogalache
made him history's second most feared Apache;
second only ta' the famous Geronimo.
So both the army an' civilians wanted him dead,
with hundreds setting out ta' hunt him down.
Then, in a quirk of fate
while upon a trail in the Catalinas
the Apache Kid was found
by Dupont, a lone scout.
But they both carried rifles that were single shots,
an' neither wanted ta' fire, possibly miss,
an' be at the mercy of the other.
So they slowly dismounted,
sat themselves on some rocks,
an' waited out the long hot day
with eyes glued ta' one another.
Til finally at dusk, up rose the Kid,
he grunted, "Me leaving"
then mounted his horse
an' did in fact leave.
Of course Dupont heaved a sigh,
completely relieved.
Well, the years came an' went,
an' the renegades kept on raidin'.
No ranch or frieght was safe from the band,
at least not in New Mexico or Arizona.
And they hid out in the Sierra Madre land
south of the border
with a bit less law an' order.
Course here we go again,
like many a legends,
the end of the Apache Kid is in question,
cuz' history often has more than one recollection.
There is the claim of Edward A. Clark,
a rancher who'd been raided often by the Kid,
who recollects the final raid
in eighteen an' ninty-four.
With his new partner John Scanlon,
and an English visitor named Mercer,
they were besieged by the Apache band,
an' they fired back from the windows an' door.
Then came night fall, when Clark slipped out,
a workin' his way ta' the corral,
where he spotted two injuns a leadin' away his favorite horse.
So the logical course
of action was ta' aim an' fire.
Clark did, an' he did again,
but he waited til the end of the strife,
awaitin' til mornin' light ta' verify
that the one body found was a squaw.
It was the Apache Kid's wife.
An' near where her body lay,
a blood trail led away.
It was trailed by Clark til it petered out
high in the rocky hills.
An' Clark claims that it was the Kid,
an' he went off ta' die;
which seems ta' be supported by the fact
that there were no more raids an' kills.
No more ranchers raided,
no settlers or frieght drivers died.
An' with two witnesses
an' the corpse of the Kid's wife,
it appears that Clark hadn't lied.
Yet, without a body it was still bound ta' be
that other tales would sprout.
Just folks tryin' fer' a smidge of fame,
hopin' somebody might remember their name;
but fer' history they only add confusion an' doubt.
Such as the account of Mrs. Tom Charles,
claimin' the posse led by Charles Anderson
trapped the Apache Kid over near Kingston.
Insistin' they shot him dead
on Spetember tenth, nineteen-ought-five.
An' there always seem ta' be some
who prefer the bad guys actually win:
ta' getaway an' retire
in order ta' live out their days
unpunished fer' their sin.
So later reports of the Apache Kid
have us hearin' of his death again;
seems he was a cat with nine lives,
dyin' peacefully, or as peaceful as dyin' can be,
of consumption
at his Mexican hideout in nineteen-ten.
Unfortunately, as ya'll can see,
sometime history remains a mystery.

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