Undeterred, he tried again a few days later. After a brief skirmish with soldiers on August 4, he slipped through the screen and raced north on the west side of the forbidding Sierra Diablo Range. He knew that in a canyon draining the east side of the mountains lay vital water, Rattlesnake Springs. Descending the canyon on August 6, he discovered soldiers posted to command the springs.

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Grierson, anticipating Victorio’s return and tipped off to his location, had led two troops of cavalry in a punishing dash up the east side of the range, marching sixty-five miles in twenty-one hours to reach Rattlesnake Springs before Victorio. Two more troops under Capt. Louis H. Carpenter joined him there.

Victorio attacked, but heavy fire drove his men back into the mountains. Late in the afternoon they sighted a wagon train approaching from the southeast and galloped out of the mountains to attack it. A formidable force of black foot soldiers with long rifles surrounded the wagons and stopped the attack. At that moment, horsemen charging from Rattlesnake Springs hit the Apaches in the rear, and they fled to the southwest, into a mountain range. Water, held by hard-fighting soldiers, had again confounded Victorio’s drive toward the Mescalero agency. He returned to Mexico.

Grierson would play no further part in the conflict, contenting himself with sealing off the Rio Grande to prevent another attempted crossing. That achievement, however, is a tribute to his leadership and the fortitude and courage of his black troopers.

Victorio and his people neared the limits of their endurance—limits Apaches rarely reached. Exhausted, hungry, thirsty, almost out of ammunition, and abandoned by many of the Mescaleros, they thought they had run out of options. Victorio knew one remained, but hesitated for days. At last he decided to strike directly west and join Juh in the Sierra Madre.

Victorio soon discovered, however, that even the Chihuahuan Desert afforded no safety. In September 1880, Mexican Col. Joaquín Terrazas scoured the country with a force that grew from two hundred to more than three hundred as volunteers enlarged his command. Believing himself distant from his foes, Victorio slowed and instructed scattered groups to unite at a lake near three low, rocky peaks called Tres Castillos. On the afternoon of October 13, 1880, the bedraggled band spread over a grassy plain bordering the lake. It was an ideal place to rest, feed and water their horses, and feast on recently killed cattle.

With a large fire blazing to cook the meat, the Indians relaxed as night began to descend. Suddenly rifle fire erupted from all directions, the flashes reflecting on the surface of the lake. Seeing the fire came from all sides, Victorio ordered his people to scale the rocky heights of the nearest of the three low mountains. Quickly they worked themselves up among the boulders and crevices and hid themselves to wait out the long night.

At daybreak Mexican soldiers swarmed up the slopes, seeking out Indians in their hiding places and killing them. For two hours the warriors fought back, until they had exhausted their ammunition. Stories abound of how the chieftain died: the most reliable, told by the Apache who found his body, is that he fatally stabbed himself with his knife. Only a few escaped who had been with him. Some sixty-eight women and children were taken into captivity and­­­—perhaps tragically, considering the background of many of the black troopers who had hounded Victorio’s band into the hands of Terrazas—sold into slavery in Mexico.

Colonel Terrazas lost three men killed. He went home to Chihuahua City in triumph, an even greater hero for having achieved glory without any help from American soldiers.

Not all of Victorio’s followers had been present at Tres Castillos. Most important, old Nana had been absent with some of his people. He inherited the mantle of Victorio and headed west for the Sierra Madre, where Juh welcomed him. Despite his age and his physical infirmities, Nana remained a powerful leader.

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