A short time ago, idling through a collection of early-day photographs, I came across two that vividly recalled the closing scenes in that bloody frontier drama in which the Apache was the chief actor. For many years the relentless foe of the pioneer, wary, tireless, cowardly and treacherous, he was the very incarnation of fiendishness, if possible, more pronounced in the squaw than in the man. Never meeting you in the open, always in ambush, concealed behind the big granite boulder, the point of a hill or a clump of brush, he and his fellows patiently awaited your solitary coming, all unconscious of danger, then--the crack of the rifle and it is all over. Today he might be a “sniper”, but i…
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