Arizona's yesterday : $b Being the narrative of John H. Cady, pioneerCady, John H. (John Henry)
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Arizona's yesterday : $b Being the narrative of John H. Cady, pioneer
Cady, John H. (John Henry)
Cady, John H. (John Henry), 1846-1927; Frontier and pioneer life -- Arizona; Pioneers -- Arizona -- Biography
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My purpose in writing these memoirs is two-fold: First, I desired that
my children should have a record which could be referred to by them
after I am gone; and, secondly, that the State of Arizona, my adopted
home, should be the richer for the possession of the facts I have at my
disposal.
I want the reader to understand that even though the process of
evolution has taken a life-time, I cannot cease wondering at the
marvelous development of the Territory and, later, State of Arizona.
When I glance back over the vista of years and see the old, and then
open my eyes to survey the new, it is almost as though a Verne or a
Haggard sketch had come to life.
Who, in an uneventful stop-over at Geronimo, Graham county, would
believe that these same old Indians who sit so peacefully mouthing their
cigarros at the trading store were the terrible Apaches of former
days--the same avenging demons who murdered emigrants, fought the
modernly-equipped soldier with bow and arrow, robbed and looted right
and left and finally were forced to give in to their greatest enemy,
Civilization. And who shall begin to conjecture the thoughts that now
and again pass through the brains of these old Apache relics, living now
so quietly on the bounty of a none-too-generous government? What dreams
of settlement massacres, of stage robberies, of desperate fights, they
may conjure up until the wheezy arrival of the Arizona Eastern
locomotive disperses their visions with the blast of sordid actuality!
For the Arizona that I knew back in the Frontier days was the embodiment
of the Old West--the West of sudden fortune and still more sudden death;
the West of romance and of gold; of bad whiskey and doubtful women; of
the hardy prospector and the old cattleman, who must gaze a little sadly
back along the trail as they near the end of it, at thought of the days
that may never come again.
And now I myself am reaching the end of my long and eventful journey,
and I can say, bringing to mind my youth and all that followed it, that
I have _lived_, really _lived_, and I am content.
THE END.
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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Typographical errors corrected in the text: |
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| Page 80 recklesssly changed to recklessly |
| Page 82 Wickenberg changed to Wickenburg |
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Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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