By Arthur Ensign - Federal Writers' Project, 1935

The following account continues our series of stories written by the Federal Writers' Project of the Works Progress Administration of depression era Arizona. The story was based on an oral history interview of Skull Valley "old timer" Joe Farrell (as is noted later in the text) as told to the FWP workers.

Skull Valley's old-timers tell, with much gusto, of an incident, which emphasizes the inadvisability of too close questioning, particularly when the one questioned happens to be of Hibernian extraction. As the story goes, William Howard Taft, while campaigning for the Presidency, addressed the citizens of Skull Valley from the rear platform of his special train. During the course of his remarks, his eyes wandered to the sign, "Skull Valley," posted on the roof of the little depot. At the close of his talk he asked one of the gathering, Joe Farrell the section boss, how the place got its gruesome name. Joe informed him that it was because the first white settlers found skulls there. Mr. Taft was then unwise enough to ask, "What kind of skulls?" "Indian skulls," replied Joe. 

"Ah-ka-ma-nah" - valley of skulls - is what the Yavapai Indians have called it for the past century or more. And among the scant remnant of that once numerous tribe their are today a few that heard the story of its naming direct from the lips of those who took part in the battle which has furnished, down to the present time, Skull Valley with its most certain crop-skulls. Ploughing-time down there means, among other things, grave-exhuming time - the annual harvesting of dead men's bones. And the supply of these grisly evidences of that sanguinary encounter of long ago appear to be inexhaustible. 

At that time, according to Indian tradition, there was a great famine in the land of the Yavapais, and many of them died of starvation resulting from the prolonged drought. Season followed season without a drop of rain. River and creek beds were bone-dry. Springs that never before had been known to fail were now but a memory. Deer and quail - all the wildlife of the forest - had long since vanished, going elsewhere in search of feed and water. 

The Yavapais were indeed in desperate straights. Something had to be done, and done quickly; else the entire tribe was doomed to extinction. Their only hope of relief lay in the country to the south of them - the land of the Pimas, the land of plenty. But, most unfortunately, the Yavapais were persona non grata with the Pimas. For centuries there had been bitter enmity between the two tribes. 

But necessity knows no law; nor can it be governed by the rules of expediency. The Yavapais faced certain death if they remained in their own domain. It would be no worse to die at the hands of their enemies. A council was held, and it was agreed that they would go down to their prosperous neighbors, throw themselves upon their tender mercies, and hope for the best. 

The story of that long journey to the Salt River Valley is one of hardship, suffering and death. Fully a third of the starving band died en route. When the survivors finally reached their destination they met with a frigid reception. The Pimas were respectable tillers of the soil, and did not relish the idea of dividing their substance with a people who were too indolent to earn their bread by the sweat of their brows; to say nothing of feeding those who had been their sworn enemies since time immemorial. 

But, as the account goes, the Pimas were generous enough to supply their unwelcome guests with food, and tolerated their presence till such time as they were in fit condition to travel again. Then, they were politely but firmly requested to take their departure. Which they did, apparently. That is, they withdrew from the Pima settlements, halted on a nearby hillside, and held another council. And this one was very different. The former council had been held by a people whose bellies were cleaving to their backbones. Now, thanks to the corn and beans of the parsimonious Pimas, the Yavapais were themselves again. They were once more in fighting trim. But they were still facing the problem of a food supply. What were they to do? Where could they go? To return to their own drought-stricken country was altogether out of the question. To remain in Pima country - and eat - meant that they must fight for their food, obtained by force. But this course was not so easy. The Pimas outnumbered them, ten to one. And then, while they were discussing the matter pro and con, the problem solved itself - for the time being, at least. 

The Pimas annual feast of the Sun was due to take place. From their hillside camp, the Yavapais saw an outpouring from the Pima villages - men, women and children - all those who were young enough, able-bodied enough, to take part in the festivities. They were winding their way down the Great River, that mighty stream which they had harnessed with their own hands, building dams to hold back the water and divert it to the canals and ditches they had dug to irrigate their patches of corn, beans and squash. 

Here was the Yavapais golden opportunity. Surely their Great Spirit had come to their rescue. Now was the time to strike. They would find the Pima villages deserted, except for a handful of those who were too old or too young to attend the celebration. And so, at sundown, the Yavapais once more descended upon the Pimas, stripped them of their surplus store and took their leave with food enough to last them for many-a-day. 

But they made one great mistake - an error of judgment, which resulted in the plentiful crop of skulls that Joe Farrell, in after-years made mention of. They were not satisfied with merely taking the corn and beans of the Pimas. They included in their plunder some of the stay-at-home elders of the Pima tribe, together with a number of young children who had been left in the care of these elders. This would teach the penurious Pimas a good lesson on the evils of hoarding, even though it meant more mouths for the Yavapais to feed. 

However, at the end of the third day's march, heading toward their homeland, the Yavapais experienced a change of heart. It became evident to them that it was sheer folly to share their limited supply of food with anyone - least of all, the Pimas. So they disposed of their captives, in the usual thorough Indian manner. And then a miracle happened. The Great Spirit, as if in full approval of their bloody deed, sends down the long-prayed-for rain - in torrents, and for day after day. Now they could return to their country with the assurance that they would find both water and their accustomed food - the game of the forest - awaiting them. 

It is difficult to image just what process of reasoning provided the Yavapais with the assurance that the Pimas would not collect damages in full for the slaughter of their kindred. In all probability, reason played no part in the matter. For the Pimas, while much preferred to live at peace with their neighbors, could fight when they had to; a fact which the Yavapais should have well known, from their own experience. 

And so it was that these peace-loving Pimas, upon returning to their villages and learning what had transpired during their absence, started out on the trail of the Yavapais. What took place when the two tribes came face to face is easily surmised. The Yavapais of today admit that only such of their tribe as were fleet of foot came out of that battle alive. And if any further evidence is required to substantiate the premise that the Pimas amply avenged their wrongs on that occasion, it can be obtained by consulting the skulls of "Ah-ka-ma-nah." Their mute testimony is still coming to light, unearthed each year by the plows of those who today farm that eight-by-one mile strip of land known as Skull Valley. 

Editor's Note: "Many stories have been told regarding the origin of the name Skull Valley. There is documentation to demonstrate that the name dates back at least to 1864 when the first gubernatorial party arrived in the future Prescott. While it is a fact that there were several severe battles with Indians after the arrival of white men in Skull Valley, the name actually derives from the fact that the first white man who entered it found piles of bleached Indian skulls. The skulls were found by Captain Hargraves' company of the First California Volunteers, while escorting Coles Bashford to Tucson in March of 1864. The skulls were the remnants of a bitter battle between Apaches (Yavapais) and Maricopa (Pima) in which the latter were the victors. It is reported that the Apaches (Yavapais) had stolen stock from the Pima villages and were pursued by the Maricopas (Pimas). The dead were left where they fell. 

At least thirty-five more skulls were added to the bleaching bones as a result of a fight on August 12, 1866, in which six freighters (the chief of whom was a Mr. Freeman), five citizens and four soldiers battled more than one hundred Indians. The fight took place not more than three miles from the Skull Valley Station. Apparently the Indians were those who had stopped the same party from proceeding on its way on the first day of the month, forcing them to return to Camp McPherson, as the Skull Valley Station was called. A private citizen rode back to the post for help when the Indians appeared. He returned accompanied by Lt. Oscar Hutton, who demanded to know why the Indians had stopped the train. The Indians replied, as they had once before, that the water, the grass, and the country belonged to them and that all whites must leave the valley within the week. After sharp words on both sides, the battle was joined. When the bloody conflict ended, twenty-three Indians lay dead in the immediate vicinity and several more were found at some distance from the battleground. These too were left where they fell." (Byrd H. Granger, Will C. Barnes' Arizona Place Names, 5th Printing, 1975) 

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(iny2102p)
Reuse only by permission.
Yavapai Indians on horseback in Skull Valley, c. 1900