Magoosh !

Magoosh spoke Apache, Spanish and English. He helped the few remaining Lipan Apaches leave Mexico and go to the Mescalero Apache Reservation. Eve Ball mentions him in several books, including her biography of Ma'am Jones, and a dozen other writers have offered details of his life. This is my expanded version of an incident mentioned by Ball.

Magoosh was familiar with pronghorns. They saved his life (the first time) by bringing him to the attention of John Jones in 1867. Before Ma'am Jones settled the Seven Rivers area (north of present-day Carlsbad, N.M.) her family tried to "make a go of it" on a ranch in the Roswell, N.M., area. Magoosh had just left the Sacramento Mountains. He had met with the commander of Fort Stanton, whose troops worked with the Mescalero Apache to set up a reservation a decade later. Magoosh had hoped to get an agreement for the Lipans to join the Mescaleros.

Magoosh did not see who shot him. The first shot knocked him off of his horse. The second shot wounded his horse and made it stampede away. He laid still, as if dead, fading in and out of consciousness, but once was aware of the sound of horse hooves, and lost consciousness again after receiving a kick right on the wound in his left shoulder. When he awoke again he was alone, nothing in sight, except miles of prairie under a setting sun. He gently touched the exit wound below his collarbone and then strained to reach the wound on his back. The pain caused him to lose consciousness again, but not before he found both wounds were covered with crusted blood, giving him hope.

Cold awakened him early in the morning, just when the first hint of light appeared to the eastern horizon. He struggled to sit up, but the effort was too much. In another 30 minutes he tried again. This time, he managed to sit erect for a few minutes, but the effort tired him and he had to return to his prone position. As he lowered himself to the ground, he noticed a band of pronghorn more than a mile away, outlined on a ridge toward where the sun was about to rise. After a few more minutes he tried again, but again was not able to remain erect and again noticed the pronghorn, now much closer, one buck far in the lead. Another 10 minutes went by, and he heard a soft snort. The pronghorn were much closer. They had noticed his struggles and had come to investigate and now were trying to catch his scent.

He slowly turned his head in their direction. The lead buck was not far away. It lowered its head and raked its horns through a low growing sage, the type that rarely gets more than a foot tall, and spreads by underground runners. He had seen pronghorn do that before, usually as a preface before one male chased another out of its territory during breeding season. He wondered if the buck was challenging him, when the doe closest to the buck suddenly dropped, and then the crack of a rifle came from behind him. The pronghorn herd immediately sped away, headed back toward the rising sun.

The teenaged John Jones soon rode up beside him. The boy looked down at him and said words Magoosh could not understand, then went on to the pronghorn, where he quickly cut the meat into manageable chunks and placed them in two bags which he hung from the saddlehorn. He returned and squatted by Magoosh. Magoosh only could look at him, his throat too dry to form any words. John examined his wounds, then cradled Magoosh's head and gave him a drink from an army canteen that also had been hanging from the saddlehorn. Magoosh was able to say, "help." John was a strong teenager, and was able to stand Magoosh erect. He then placed Magoosh's foot in one stirrup, and with a strong push, lifted Magoosh into the saddle. John took the horse's reins and had begun leading the horse west, when Magoosh passed out again.

In later years, John Jones spent many days with Magoosh, befriending the Apaches and being of assistance to tribal members.