had come to Tucson with the notorious gunman Bill Ake in April 1857. Ake and Page were part of a turbulent group of young toughs that a later generation would label with the epithet “cowboys.”
After their wedding, Page took his bride to William Kirkland’s Canoa ranch on the Santa Cruz River. Kirkland, a tall, imposing, 27-year-old bachelor from Virginia operated a thriving lumber business, servicing both Tucson and Fort Buchanan. While Page felled timber 13 miles to the east in the mountains, Larcena tutored Kirkland’s ward, Mercedes Sais Quiroz, the bright 10-year-old daughter of a Mexican widow who lived in Tucson.
Larcena fell ill at the Canoa ranch.
The wetlands along both the Santa Cruz River and Sonoita Creek bred legions of mosquitos that carried malarial fevers, while fungus-laced spores from dust also infected settlers with sometimes deadly fevers that were totally misunderstood
for another century (called Valley
Fever in Arizona today). The mountain
air of the lumber camp was deemed to be good for her, so, on March 15, 1860, Larcena and Mercedes climbed onto an ox-drawn supply wagon headed for the lumber camp. The little girl cradled Larcena’s small dog in her lap. Kirkland, fretting over this outing, dispatched William Randall, an old frontier hand, to accompany the wagon on horseback. Kirkland also thoughtfully sent along a rocking chair and featherbed as gifts for the newlyweds.
As the oxen struggled to pull the wagon up Madera Canyon to the lumber camp, five Tonto Apaches watched and waited. While Mangas Coloradas might hold his Chiricahuas in check, even he could not control the Apache bands north of the Gila.
The Apaches Attack
After an early breakfast, Page and the other woodcutters headed higher up the mountain slope while Randall went off to hunt venison for supper.
As Mercedes played, Larcena eased into the rocking chair in her spacious tent. Her little dog lay curled up beside her. When the dog began to growl, Larcena hushed him. Then she heard Mercedes scream.
As she rose to her feet, the tent flap flew open and an Apache burst in. She reached for the Colt revolver by the featherbed, but the warrior grabbed her arm and pushed her out of the tent.
Mercedes ran toward Larcena, only to be seized by another Apache. Larcena now saw all five Apaches, half-naked, wearing but breechcloths and high-topped moccasins, and all armed with lances and bows and arrows. They were all young, save for an older warrior who spoke broken Spanish. She started to scream again for help, but a lance pressed against her breast silenced her.
The Apaches ransacked the camp, looking for anything of value. Since they were afoot, they could not carry anything heavy, so they amused themselves by cutting up bags of flour as well as Larcena’s featherbed. Feathers mixed with flour filled the air. The Apaches gathered up what they could carry and then marched Larcena and Mercedes up the steep slope toward their northern homeland.
Randall returned at noon to find the camp ransacked and the girls gone. He rushed to alert Page and the other lumbermen. A frantic Page mounted Randall’s horse and galloped to Canoa. The horse died under him as he reached the ranch and breathlessly told Kirkland what had happened.
Kirkland sent a messenger to Fort Buchanan. Then he rode the 40 miles north to Tucson for help. Page and another ranch hand mounted fresh horses and headed back into the mountains in search of the Apaches’ trail.
Trail of Desperation
Larcena made certain the rugged trail was well marked, breaking twigs and tearing pieces from her apron and dropping them. She whispered to Mercedes to do the same, but an Apache overheard her and separated them.
The Apache who had taken her revolver pointed it at Larcena’s head and taunted her in broken Spanish. Mercedes, understanding that he said he would soon kill Larcena, called out a warning and began to sob. The largest of the Apaches, for they were all small and wiry, hoisted the little girl onto his shoulders and carried her up the ridgeline.
The climb up the mountain was difficult, and Larcena,