When I was young I walked all over this country, east and west, and saw no other people than the Apaches. After many summers I walked again and found another race of people had come to take it. How is it? Why is it the Apaches wait to die- that they carry their lives on their fingernails? They roam over the hills and the plains and want the heavens to fall on them. The apaches were once a great nation; they are now but few, because of this they want to die and so carry their nails on their fingernails.