That night Mrs. Elliott had every lady that belonged around the Fort at her house, and she took the "boy scout" along the line and introduced him to every one of the ladies. This was something new to me, for it was the first time in my life that I had struck society, and I would have given all of my previous summer's wages to have been away from there. I did not know how to conduct myself, and every time I made a blunder--which seemed to me every time I made a move--I would attempt to smooth it over, and always made a bad matter worse.

Next morning at the breakfast table I told the Colonel and his wife that I was going back into the mountains as fast as I could get there. I knew I could track Indians, and fight them if necessary, but I did not know how to entertain ladies, especially when my best clothes were only Indian-tailored buckskin.

Mrs. Elliott assured me that she would not have had me come there dressed differently, had it been in her power to prevent it. "Dressed otherwise than you are," she said, "you would not be the same 'boy scout' that my husband has told us so much concerning."

Of course this was encouraging, and I concluded that I might not have been so painfully ridiculous as I had supposed. For, be it known, I had been scarcely able to sleep the night before for thinking of what an outlandish figure I had cut that night before all those high-toned ladies, and of the sport my presence among them must have created.

However, I felt much better after the pleasant way in which Mrs. Elliott declared she looked at it, and with renewed self- complacence proceeded to discuss with the Colonel his plans for the next summer's campaign.

He informed me that he intended to go out with four companies of soldiers, and would locate a short distance east of last year's quarters, at a place where the town of Wadsworth has since been built. Plenty of good water and an abundance of grass were there, and with two companies he would make his headquarters there. The other two companies he would send about one hundred miles further east, to the vicinity of Steen's Mountain, and it was his wish that I should take charge of the scouts and operate between the two camps.

Notwithstanding I had a good home with Col. Elliott and his wife as long as I wished to remain, it seemed to me that this was the longest and lonesomest week I had ever experienced. Everything being so different from my customary way of living, I could not content myself.

The day before I was to start back home it was arranged that I should return to Jim Beckwith's ranche and keep the Colonel posted by letter in regard to the snow in the mountains, and when he would be able to cross. Then I was to join him at Beckwith's.

The following evening Mrs. Elliott gave a party, which was attended by all the ladies and gentlemen of the garrison. There was to be a general good time, perhaps the last party of the season, as it was approaching the time for preparations for the next campaign against the Indians.

When all the guests had arrived and the spacious house was a blaze of light and happiness--fair women smiling and their musical voices fairly making a delightful hub-bub of light conversation, and the gentlemen, superb in their gold-trimmed uniforms, or impressive in full evening dress--the manager of the dance sang out for all to take partners for some sort of a bowing and scraping drill that is a mystery to me to this day. I had seen the fandango in Taos, and elsewhere in the Mexican parts of the southwest, but this was the first time I had seen Americans dance, and it was all appallingly new to me.

I sat in a corner like a homely girl at a kissing-bee, and had nothing to say.

After the crowd had danced about two hours, the floor-manager sang out, "Ladies' choice!" or something that meant the same thing, and to my surprise and terror, Mrs. Elliott made a bee-line for me and asked me to assist her in dancing a quadrille. I had no more idea of a quadrille than I had of something that was invented yesterday, and I begged her to excuse me, telling her that I knew nothing whatever of dancing. She declared, however, that I had looked on long enough to learn and that I would go through all right. I hung back like a balky horse at the foot of a slippery hill, but between Mrs. Elliott and the prompter I was almost dragged out on the floor.

The reader may be able to conceive a faint idea of my situation. I was now twenty-three years old, and this was the first time I had been in civilization since I had left St. Louis, a boy of fifteen. Here I was, among those swell people, gorgeous in "purple and fine linen," so to speak; ladies in silks, ruffles and quirlymacues, gentlemen in broadcloth, gold lace and importance, and I in only buckskin from head to foot. I would have freely given everything I possessed to have been out of that, but my excuses failed utterly, and finally I went into it as I would an Indian fight, put on a bold front and worked for dear life.

I found it quite different to what I had expected Instead of making light of me, as I feared they would, each lady in the set tried to assist me all she could.

When on the floor it seemed to me that every man, woman and child were looking at me, as indeed they were, or rather at my suit of buckskin, that, worked full of beads and porcupine quils, was the most beautiful suit of its kind I have ever seen. But it was so different from the dress of the others that it made me decidedly conspicuous. When on the floor and straightened up I felt as if I were about nine feet high, and that my feet were about twenty inches long and weighed near fifty pounds each.

The prompter called out, "Balance all!" and I forgot to dance until all the others were most through balancing, then I turned loose on the double-shuffle, this being, the only step I knew, and I hadn't practiced that very much. About the time I would get started in on this step the prompter would call something else, and thus being caught between two hurries I would have to run to catch up with the other dancers. However, with the assistance of Mrs. Elliott, the other good ladies, the prompter, and anybody else in reach, I managed to get through, but I had never gone into an Indian fight with half the dread that I went into that dance, and never escaped from one with more thankfulness.

The following morning, after bidding Col. Elliott, his wife and all the other of my new-found friends good-bye, I started on my return to Beckwith's ranche, perfectly willing to resign my high- life surroundings to go back to the open and congenial fields of nature and an indescribable freedom.

I found Beckwith suffering severely from an old arrow wound that he had received in a fight with the Utes near Fort Hall in 1848.

It was late spring when the snow began to melt, but it went away very fast when it once started. About the first of June I wrote to Col. Elliott that by the tenth of the month he could cross the mountains. He did not arrive until the 20th of June, then I joined him and we started across the mountains.

By direction of the Colonel each of the captains detailed four men from their respective companies to be my assistants, and at my suggestion young men were chosen, such as myself, who could ride forty-eight hours, if necessary, without stopping, and I asked for men who were not afraid to go alone, not afraid to fight, and, above all, men that would never allow themselves to be taken prisoner.

The command having been drawn up for dress parade, the orderly sergeants called their rolls, and whenever a man's name was called whom the captains wished to de-tail, he was directed to stand aside. Up to this time the men did not know and were wondering what was up. Col. Elliott informed them after the drill was over, and said to them:

"Soldiers, this man, Capt. Drannan, is now your chief, and you will act according to his orders at any and all times. He will instruct you when to meet him at his private quarters."

The next three days were spent in drilling the scouts to mount and dismount quickly, to shoot at some object when on the dead run, to lie on the side of the horse and shoot at an object on the opposite side while running at full speed, and a great deal of other work of that kind.

Three days later we started east, Capt. Mills and Lieut. Harding with their companies, expecting to go about one hundred miles before locating permanently for the summer. I started out in advance of the command with my entire force of scouts. We traveled about fifteen miles together, when we separated, four taking the north side of the emigrant trail, with instructions to keep from four to five miles from it; four keeping the trail and four, with myself, south of the trail. I gave the men north instructions in case they should find an Indian trail to follow it until they were sure the Indians were making for the emigrant trail, and then dispatch one man to notify the men on the trail, the other three follow the Indians, and at the end of three days all were to meet at a certain point on the trail where, we expected to meet the soldiers.

The second day out we struck an Indian trail south of the road, but it being an old one we did not follow it but made a note of the number we thought there were in the band, an that night we pulled for the emigrant trail, expecting to meet the soldiers there.

We did not meet the soldiers, but met the four scouts who had traveled on the emigrant trail.

We got no word that night from the men north, but according to agreement we went to a hill near by and built two fires of sagebrush, that they might know where we were, and if in need of assistance they could dispatch, but did not see nor hear anything of them.

The next morning I kept the emigrant trail myself, sending the other squad of men south, with instructions to meet me at Humboldt Wells, telling them about the distance it was from where we were then camped, and describing the place to them. There we would wait until the command came up, as we were now running short of rations. That day the party south struck the same trail that we had seen the day before; two of them followed it and the other two came to camp to report. The party that had started out north of the trail got into camp just at dusk, tired and hungry, and the following morning at daylight the other two from the south came into camp. From what I could learn from them the band of Indians they had been following were traveling along almost parallel with the emigrant trail, looking for emigrants, as it was now getting time that the emigrants were beginning to string along across the plains en-route for the gold fields of California.

Our provisions had run out, so we sat up late that night awaiting the arrival of the command, but we looked in vain.

The following morning, just as I could begin to see that it was getting a little light in the east, myself and one assistant scout crawled out quietly, without disturbing the other boys, to kill some game. We had not gone far from camp when we saw nine antelope; we both fired and both shot the same antelope. We dressed the game and took it to camp, arriving there just as the other two scouts came in from the south. The boys were all up in camp, and considerable excitement prevailed among them, they having heard two shots, and thought the Indians had attacked us. They were all hungry as wolves, so we broiled and ate antelope almost as long as there was any to eat.

Almost the entire scout force were from New York, and were new recruits who had never known what it was to rough it, and they said this was the first meal they had ever made on meat alone. After breakfast was over, it now being understood that we would lie over until the supply train should come up, my first assistant scout and two others took a trip to a mountain some two miles from camp, which was the highest mountain near us, taking my glasses along to look for the supply train. In about two hours one of the scouts returned to camp in great haste and somewhat excited, saying that about fifteen or twenty miles distant they had seen a band of Indians who were traveling in the direction of camp. We all saddled our horses, left a note at camp informing Capt. Mills where we had gone and for what purpose. We started for what has ever since been known as Look-out Mountain--of course not the famous Lookout Mountain of Tenneesse--and there joined the other three scouts. From the top of this mountain we could get a good view of the Indians through the field glasses. We watched them until about one o'clock, when they went into camp in the head of a little ravine some five miles distant--This convinced us that there was water and that they had stopped for the night. We located them as well as we could, and the entire scout force, being thirteen all told, started across the country for their camp.

Seven of this number of scouts had never seen a wild Indian and were over anxious to have a little sport with the redskins. The Indians, being in a little ravine, we were able to get within a half a mile of them before they could see us. After advancing as far as we thought prudent, one of the scouts and myself dismounted and crept through the sagebrush within three hundred yards of them. Their fire was yet burning and the Indians were lounging around, everything indicating that they had just cooked and eaten their dinner. I counted them and made out twenty-one, my assistant scout made twenty-three, and instead of being Pah-Utes, as we expected, they were Utes. The boys all being anxious to try their hand, I decided to make the attack at once. Returning to where I had left the other scouts, I told them my plan of attack, telling them to bear in mind that one shot well calculated was worth three or four at random. I also told them as soon as I gave the war- whoop for each of them to make all the noise he could.

Now we all mounted, and by riding up a little ravine we were able to get within fifty rods of them before they could see us.

Before making the charge I told the boys to draw their pistols, and when the pistols were emptied to draw sabres and cut the savages down before they could get to their horses. We rode slowly and cautiously until almost in sight of the Indians, when I gave the word "Charge!" and all put spurs to their horses, raised the yell, and one minute later we were in their midst, arrows and bullets flying in all directions. I received an arrow wound in the calf of my right leg, the man immediately on my right got shot through the left or bridle arm, and one of the raw recruits got his horse shot from under him.

He did not wait for orders, but drew his sabre and went to work cutting them down as he came to them. When we first made the charge some of the Indians made a desperate attempt to get their horses, but the scouts shot and cut them down, not allowing one of them to mount. The Indians, much to my surprise, fought as long as there was one of them left standing. The battle lasted about fifteen minutes, and when it was over we counted the dead Indians and found the number to be nineteen, but there were twenty-one horses, so we were confident that two Indians either escaped or fell in the sagebrush where we could not find them.

We gathered up the horses and ropes that belonged to the Indians. The man that had his horse killed in the battle, caught the best horse in the band, threw the saddle on him and started for camp, considering we had done a good day's work. As we rode down the ravine in the direction of the emigrant trail some of the boys looked in that direction and saw the smoke curling up from a camp- fire.

"The command has arrived!" shouted one of the boys.

I proposed that we give the Captain a surprise. We all dismounted, and each fastened a scalp to the browband of his bridle, and when the Captain saw us coming and saw that each had a scalp, he said: "Boys, let's give them three cheers." At that the valley rang out with the yells.

This pleased the new recruits that had been engaged in the battle, and I can truthfully say that I never saw the same number of green men equal them in the first engagement, for every one of them fought like heroes.

We dismounted, turned our horses over to the herder and called for supper. This was the first square meal that it had been our pleasure to sit down to for four days, and this was where none of us shrunk from duty, in the least.

By this time the wound in my leg was beginning to pain me, and gave me more trouble than I anticipated. The next morning it was badly swollen, and I was not able to ride horseback for several days.

That morning we pulled for Steen's Mountain, which we supposed to be about forty miles from where we were camped.

Not being able to ride horseback, I rode in one of the ambulances.

From here we kept guards out on each side of the trail, with orders to keep from five to six miles from the train, and if any Indians were seen to report at once.

The second day in the afternoon Capt. Mills established his headquarters about one mile from the trail, in a beautiful spot; plenty of water, an abundance of good grass, and a few pine trees scattered here and there, making it an unusually pleasant place for quarters that summer.

Not being able to ride, I stayed in camp, but sent all the other scouts out. The second day my first assistant returned and reported having found the trail, as he thought, of about fifty Indians, traveling west, and about parallel with the emigrant trail.

The next morning I started my assistant and three scouts after the Indians, with orders to report as soon as they had the redskins located.

They were gone four days and no word came from them. I began to be very uneasy, as well as Capt. Mills, thinking something must have happened them or they would have returned, as they only took three days' rations with them. I took four other scouts and went on their trail.

The reader will understand that in this country the soil is somewhat sandy, and a horse is easily tracked. Our horses being shod, it was easy to distinguish their tracks from that of the Indians' horses. My wound gave me much trouble, but we followed the trail of the other scouts for some distance after striking the trail of the Indians, and their horses being shod, we could easily track them, but finally they became so obliterated that we could see no more trace of the shod horses. We sought in vain to get some sign of them, and came to the conclusion that while the scouts were trailing the Indians another band had stolen up behind them and either killed or taken them all prisoners, for we could get no trace of them, nor have they ever been heard of since. As soon as I returned to quarters, by the consent of Capt. Mills, I detailed two men of my scout force to carry a dispatch to Col. Elliott. As the Indians were now too far west for Capt. Mills to attempt to follow them, I sent the two best men I had to bear the message to the Colonel. They made the trip in two nights, riding at night and lying over in the daytime. The next day after the Colonel received the dispatch his scouts discovered the same band of Indians, and Col. Elliott sent one company of soldiers out at once after them. The soldiers overhauled them at Clover Valley, which was about forty miles south of the emigrant trail, and attacked the redskins, but they were too much for the soldiers. In the engagement the loss to the command was sixteen men killed, and I never knew just how many were wounded or how many Indians were killed. The soldiers had to retreat. All I ever learned from this battle I learned from the dispatch bearers, as they stayed at Col. Elliott's quarters until after the soldiers had returned from the engagement.

From this on I kept scouts out south of the trail continually.

One evening one of the scouts came in and reported having seen a little band of Indians some twelve or fifteen miles south of the trail. The other three scouts that were out with him remained to watch the Indians while he came to report. The scout was not able to tell just the number, as they were some distance away. The other three scouts secreted their horses, crawled to the top of the highest hill near by and lay there in the sagebrush and with glasses watched the Indians, who were traveling almost in the direction where the scouts lay, bearing a little south, so that the scouts did not have to change their hiding place. I mounted my horse for the first time since I had been laid up, and in company with five other scouts, including the one who had brought the message to me, started to investigate the matter.

We rode to where the other three scouts had been left, and they were awaiting our arrival. They had lain on the hill and watched the Indians go into camp and then returned to where the dispatch bearer had left them.

After holding a council for about five minutes we all mounted and rode as near the Indians as we considered safe, and dismounted. Taking another scout who had been watching them, I crawled as near as we dared to their camp to try to ascertain their number. We decided that there were about fifty. It was perilous to get very close for the reason that the Indians had a number of dogs, and when we would get too near the dogs would begin to bark, and three or four Indians would raise up and look about and every Indian in the band would listen. When we returned to where we had left the other scouts they were all prepared for an attack, but I told them there were too many for us to tackle alone. Besides, they were Utes, the worst Indians in the whole country to fight.

We were now about fifteen miles from headquarters, so I dispatched two men at once to Capt. Mills in all haste, requesting him to be there by daybreak, if it were within the bounds of possibility. This being a sandy, sagebrush country, one could not ride at full speed, but the scouts made good time, nevertheless, and Capt. Mills and his command were with us before daylight. We met him about a mile from where the Indians were camped, and I told him how the ground lay and the general surroundings as best I could, and I suggested that as on account of the dogs I had not been able to locate the horses of the Indians, it would be advisable to wait until daylight to make the attack.

We waited about an hour, when the Captain said he thought it was light enough to kill Indians. He gave orders to mount, drew his men up in line and rode back and forth, up and down the line, instructing them how to proceed, saying:

"When I give the word, 'charge!' every man draw his pistol, and when within fifty yards, begin to fire. Don't fire at random, but take good aim, and when your pistols are empty draw your sabres and cut them down. Don't let one escape. Don't wait for further orders; you have them, now carry them out."

Capt. Mills rode to the left wing and asked me to take the right. I told him I thought it best that myself and the scout force should make a dash for the Indian horses as soon as he made the charge, for if we could succeed in getting the horses we need not let one Indian escape.

It was now so light that we could see their ponies on the hill just beyond their camp. All being ready, and I having instructed my assistants, the Captain ordered them to charge. I made a dash to the right with my entire scout force. This was a great surprise to the redskins. They were nearly all abed yet, except a few of the earliest risers. Those who were up made a desperate rush for their horses, but unavailingly. We got there first and stampeded the herd. Some of the horses were picketed, but we cut the ropes as fast as we came to them, and before any of the Indians could get to their horses we had them on the dead run.

Taking a circuitous route we drove the horses around between the scene of battle and head-quarters. When about a mile distant my first assistant and myself returned to the battle ground leaving the other scouts to guard the horses. We arrived at the scene just in time to see the last Indian fall. When it was good light the Indians could be seen lying around in every direction. The orderly sergeant and two privates were looking around in the sagebrush, thinking there might be some of them hiding there, and all of a sudden two young bucks started up and began to run, and for about three hundred yards they had what I thought to be the prettiest race I had ever witnessed. The two Indians on foot and the soldiers on horseback, running through the sagebrush and every man in the crowd, from the Captain down, yelling at the top of his voice. Here I did the poorest shooting that I had ever done in my life, emptying one of my revolvers and not touching an Indian. But the soldiers finally got them.

We counted the dead braves and found them to be forty-eight in number.

In this engagement Capt. Mills did not lose a man, and only one was wounded. This was the result of making the attack so early in the morning. Had it been later, after the Indians were all up, they would have made a harder fight.

The battle being over we all started for headquarters, feeling jubilant over the victory.

We reached headquarters at ten o'clock in the morning, after which Capt. Mills told us we had done enough for one day, and that all could take it easy for the rest of the day. The next morning I struck out east on the emigrant trail, sending one man north and one south of the trail, each taking three days' rations, our object being to meet emigrants, if there were any, and guard them through to Capt. Mills' quarters, as it was now time for the emigrants to come stringing along; a time that heretofore among the Indians had been considered a harvest in this section of the country.

The first day in the afternoon I rode to a high hill, took my glasses, and looking east I saw a train of emigrants stringing along. This was the first train of the season. The scout from the north and also the one from the south had got sight of them, and were pulling for the trail. We pushed on and met the train just as it was pulling into camp. I called for the captain and he came forth. I told him we were scouts for Capt. Mills, and were out for the purpose of protecting emigrants. The captain, as well as the people in the train, were very much pleased to know that they were going to have protection after that through the hostile country. They had been troubled more or less by Indians all the way through Utah, having a great deal of stock, both horses and cattle, stolen by the Indians, as they supposed, but among men who were better informed it was the supposition that they were stolen by white men, for in those days there was a set of white men in Utah much worse than Indians.

On learning that I had been in California they had many questions to ask about the gold fields of that noted country. They were expecting to find gold by the bushel when once there.

This was a large train, there being one hundred and twenty wagons all told. The next morning I sent out one of my scouts north of the train, the other one ahead, with instructions to keep from one to two miles in front, and I went south of the trail that day. This was done so that if the scouts should see a large band of Indians they could notify the emigrants and give them a chance to prepare for the battle, but we experienced no trouble on this trip.

We were two days traveling from where we met the train to Capt. Mills' quarters, and from here the Captain sent a sergeant and twenty men to guide the emigrants through to Col. Elliott's headquarters.

This kind of work was kept up for about a month, every week, and sometimes two or three trains of emigrants would pass by, but we experienced no serious trouble the remainder of the season with Indians.

During this summer the officers in looking through their glasses from different high points around, discovered a beautiful valley, which we afterwards learned was named Thousand Springs Valley. Capt. Mills came to the conclusion that this valley at this time of the year was headquarters for the Utes, and not thinking the distance was so great sent another scout and myself to investigate.

It may be well to mention the fact here, that in these regions the air is so rarified and clear that distances are very deceptive, objects appearing to be much closer than they really are.

We started with three days' rations, and on the third day in the afternoon we struck the valley, just at its mouth on the desert, but the water was warm, and we traveled some distance up the valley, finding the springs numerous, but all warm. We also found an abundance of grass and plenty of Indian sign, but not fresh. It appeared that a large number of Indians had wintered there. After looking the valley over we returned to camp, but by a different route from the one we came. We saw no Indians or fresh sign of them until the second day of the return trip, but about two o'clock we came in sight of four Indians traveling eastward. We tried to attack them, but our horses being much jaded, the Indians outrode us, so we had to give up the chase. We were of the opinion that the four Indians were scouts for a big band making its way to winter quarters.

A short distance north we secreted our horses in a ravine, and watched for the Indians from the top of a high hill until noon the next day, but all in vain, for we did not see an Indian. We returned to camp, our horses worn out and half starved. The part of country we passed over on this trip is now the most northeastern portion of Nevada, and just what it is good for I have never been able to learn.

After lying around here watching for emigrants about two weeks longer, and making two different trips east on the emigrant trail, Capt. Mills now concluded that there would be no more emigrants that fall, so we pulled up and moved to Col. Elliott's quarters. We kept scouts out on the trip, but did not see an Indian or even a fresh trail on the trip. On arriving at Col. Elliott's quarters I could see that he was not pleased with the way things had gone with his command during the summer. His men had had two engagements during the season, and had got the worst of it both times.

He had lost twenty-six men, and not a scalp to show for them.

Capt. Mills felt quite jubilant. He had over sixty Indian horses that he had captured, over sixty scalps, and had not lost a man, with the exception of the four scouts. Col. Elliott did not have much to say, but the Lieutenant declared that the Colonel was very jealous of Capt. Mills over the past summer's work.

After remaining at headquarters about a week we pulled out across the Sierra Nevada Mountains, along the same route that we had taken the fall before, somewhat earlier, and winter not having yet set in, we experienced no trouble in crossing. The first night we camped at the head of Eagle Valley, and from there to Jim Beckwith's ranche it was sixty miles.

I being over-anxious to see Jim, saddled up my Pinto horse the next morning and started for his place, making the ride in one day. On my arrival I found Jim doing a rushing business in the hotel line, but was just in the act of selling out his hotel to a man from Sacramento. Beckwith had sold all my horses during the summer at what I thought a good figure, having got fifty dollars per head all around.

The command came on two days later, pitched their tents and stayed two days, having a red hot time. The men had plenty of money, and Jim Beckwith, who was now running a saloon in connection with his hotel, had plenty of bad whiskey. The Colonel put very little restriction on his men while they remained there, allowing them to have a general spree, for they had been where there was no chance to spend their money, and the little they had was burning their pockets.

Jim Beckwith made a handsome little clean-up during the two days they were camped there.

When the Colonel was ready to pull out for San Francisco he came to me and invited me to come to the Fort and spend a few months during the winter. I told him I did not know where I would winter, but preferred to seek quarters where I could hunt for a livelihood. I told him I did not wish to put in another winter lounging around as I did the last one. The Colonel made me a proposition to come to the Fort after I had visited my friend, Jim Beckwith, saying that he would organize a hunting party among the officers and take a trip north of San Francisco on the Russian river.

The country to which we wished to go is now Sonoma County, Cal., of which Santa Rosa is the county seat. In fact the region is now called Santa Rosa Valley, and it is well named, for it is a great garden of roses and other beautiful flowers that grow indigenously and in luxurious profusion. At the head of the valley are the famous geysers of California.

The Colonel, after dividing the horses with me, started for the Fort, I agreeing to join him there in a few weeks for the hunt.

After remaining at Jim Beckwith's for a few days, he and a gentleman from Sacramento came to a trade, Jim selling out "slick and clean."

Jim had too much money to stay in the mountains. I saw $12,000 weighed out to him in gold-dust, and I don't know how much coin he had, but there were several thousand dollars of it.

"Now we will go to San Francisco for the winter," said he, "and will have a good time. You stay with me this winter, and it shan't cost you a cent."

We took our horses and started for Sacramento, making the trip in four days Here we boarded a boat for the bay.

In those days persons speaking of going to San Francisco, always spoke of it as "going to the bay."

The second morning after our arrival, I found at the feed-yard, where my horses were, a gentleman awaiting my arrival, who wanted to buy my stock.

I sold all of the horses to him except Mexico and Pinto--they were not for sale at any figure.

I stayed around the city for two weeks, until it became monotonous. Jim Beckwith had lots of money, and it looked to me as though he wanted to get rid of it--as soon as possible. He would get just so full every day, and when he was full of whiskey his tongue appeared to be loose at both ends. It now being the first of December, I saddled my horse and rode out to the Fort, and on arriving there I found all anxious for the hunt. Col. Elliott had been talking the matter up among them. It took about three days to prepare for the trip, and I kept hurrying them up, all that was in my power, for I did not want to fool around there until the good ladies took it in their heads to have another dance, as it was not a dance that I was hunting. I had had enough of that on my other visit to satisfy me for some time to come.

The hunting party made up at the Fort was ready early in December, and we pulled out, promising to be home by New Year's day, at the latest.

At this time there were no steamers running across the bay in the direction we wished to go, so we hired a tug to take us over to the mouth of Petaluma creek, near which we proposed to pitch our hunting camp. Here was live-oak timber, with now and then a redwood, and in places the chapparal was thick, and there was no end to deer sign.

We had plenty of shelter in case of storm, having two good-sized tents in the outfit and only six men, not counting the darkey cook, who, however, always does count in an expedition like that. In the party I was the only one who had ever hunted any. Three of the others had never fired a shot at larger game than a jack- rabbit. Col. Elliott had once killed a deer, of which I made mention in a preceding chapter.

The following morning after breakfast I told them to select their course for the day's hunting, and I would go in an opposite direction.

"Why do you wish to go in an opposite direction?" Lieut. Harding asked; "Why not all go together?" I replied that after we got out in the woods I did not think they could tell a man from a deer, and I did not want to be shot by a white man out here in this country.

Capt. Mills proposed that three go at a time, two officers and myself, by so doing there would be no danger.

This being satisfactory, Lieut. Harding, Capt. Mills and myself took the first turn. Neither of them had ever hunted any, and both were as ignorant in that line as I was when I started out from St Louis in company with Uncle Kit Carson, which, by the way, I had told them something about the night before, while sitting around the campfire.

When we were all ready for the hunt and had started to walk away from the tent, Capt. Mills requested the Colonel to have the horses in readiness to pack the deer in. We had not gone far until I asked them if they could not walk without making so much noise. Lieut. Harding said he did not see what difference it made how a person walked, and I had to stop and explain matters by telling them that a deer depended as much on his ears as he did on his eyes, and if we did not walk easier the deer would hear us before we could get sight of them, and it seemed to me that they had stepped on every stick along our way and had rubbed against every brush that we passed near. Having been trained to hunt since a boy of fifteen years old, it became second nature for me to slide along without making a particle of noise.

After traveling a short distance we saw four deer coming toward us, and I pointed out an opening and said: "When they get to that place I will stop them; be ready, and when I count three, fire." When the deer were all on the selected spot I gave a keen whistle, which caused them to stop and throw up their heads. I counted three and fired, but did not hear the report of the other guns. Just as I turned to see what was the trouble, Capt. Mills fired, but Lieut. Harding stood and held his gun at a "ready" and did not fire at all. He said the sight was so pretty that he did not think of his gun. I killed my deer, and the Captain wounded his by breaking one fore leg. The other deer gave a few jumps and stopped, and I took the Lieutenant's gun and shot it dead. We now had two deer and were only about a mile from camp. I left the two officers to dress the venison and I went back to camp after a horse to pack it in. While I was away, and before they had got the fallen game dressed, two other deer came along within gunshot of them. The two officers fired at them and killed one deer, both claiming the honor of the fatal shot. Now we had plenty of meat for a start, and would, no doubt, get more before we consumed that.

After arriving at camp with the deer I directed Jake, the negro cook, to get an early dinner, as I wanted to take a big hunt that afternoon.

While at the dinner table I suggested that as they could find deer anywhere around there, for they were as thick as sheep and not very wild, that they might kill that kind of game, while I would mount Pinto and prospect for larger, for I thought there were elk in that country, and if that was true we wanted some of them.

After dinner I mounted my horse and was off for an elk hunt. After riding up the river about three miles I could see any amount of sign. Dismounting and tying my horse, I took an elk trail where a band had just crossed the trail on which I was riding, and I did not follow it very far until I came in sight of the elk. There were eight in this band, and I had to take a roundabout course to get in gunshot of them, but when I finally did get a shot at them I killed an elk that carried the largest pair of horns I have ever seen, with one exception. I unjointed his neck about a foot from his head and dressed him, but left his hide on. The head and horns were all I could lift as high as the horse's back.

When I rode up to camp and the negro cook saw that head of horns he exclaimed: "Hello, Marstah; what you got dar? You must hab killed de debbil dis time, suah."

From the negro I learned that the officers had all been out, and had seen more or less deer and had done more or less shooting, but had only killed one small doe.

That night the elk fever raged high in camp, as that pair of horns had set them all wild to go elk hunting the next day. That night we ordered an early breakfast, so as to get an early start to our hunting ground.

After riding up the river the next morning, to where I had killed the elk the day before, we all dismounted and tied our horses. I asked them which they preferred, to go single or two together, and they thought it the best plan to go in couples.

Being somewhat acquainted with this kind of game, and knowing where to find them at this time of day, I told them what ridges to take to lead them to the main divide, also what our signals would be to come together.

Capt. Mills and I took up the center ridge, the two other couples going on ridges each side of us, but not in sight. After going about a mile or so we heard two gunshots to our left, and in a few moments we could hear elk running. The underbrush was so thick that it was difficult to get a shot at them on the run, so, seeing an opening that they were sure to cross, provided that they did not change their course, I had the Captain to stand by the side of a big tree and level his gun at the opening, and when an elk darkened the sight to fire, which he did, and got a fine elk. I fired also, but did not get my elk. He was as proud over killing that elk as I was over killing my first buffalo.

We hunted until about four o'clock that afternoon, and several shots were fired, but the Captain was the only one who got an elk that day. So we loaded that one, and the one I had killed the day previous, on to our horses and returned to camp with about all the meat the horses were able to carry.

The next morning I told the other men that as they now knew the elk range and how to hunt them, and could get along without me as well as not, that I would hunt for a grizzly bear, and if I could only kill a grizzly I would be ready to go home. I spent the next three days bear hunting, and saw any amount of sign, but only saw one bear and did not get a shot at it.

After being out about two weeks, and all having enough of hunting, they thought, to last them a year--as they had killed more or less deer, and one of them had killed an elk--and time being about up for the tug to come after us, we pulled up camp and started for the bay, arriving there on the 19th. The tug arrived on the 2Oth, about noon.

We reached San Francisco that evening, about dark, unloaded our baggage and meat, hired a man to watch it that night and we saddled up and rode out to the Fort.

The following morning I returned to the city, hired a team and took our baggage, as well as the meat we had killed, back to the Fort.

I was hailed several times while passing through the city by parties who wished to buy my mammoth elk horns, but I would not sell them, having already given them to Col. Elliott.

I stayed around the city until the middle of February, not knowing what to do to kill time, and loafing is the hardest work I ever did.

About this time Col. Elliott received orders to go out into southeastern Oregon, as soon as the weather would permit, and establish a fort at Klamath Lake. As soon as he received these orders he came to the city and hunted me up, and wanted me to go with him, at the same time insisting strongly on my joining his command; saying: "If you will enlist I am sure I can bring enough influence to bear to procure a Lieutenant's commission for you."

I told him emphatically that I would not enlist, as I intended to be a free man all the days of my life, "And when I scout for you," I said, "if I fail to do my duty, or shirk in the least, all you have to do is to say so, and I will quit then and there, and at the same time if you ask anything that I consider unreasonable, I will quit you cold."

The Colonel, however, accepted me as an independent scout.

I requested him to procure some one that was familiar with that country to go along as guide, but he told me that I would be around the city, and would have a better chance to find a suitable person than he would, and requested me to find a man and he would be satisfied with the selection.

During my stay in the city I saw a great many men who claimed to know all about that country, and who were anxious for the trip, but when I would question them they did not know any more about the country than I did, and I had never been in that region.

Finally the time was set to start, which was the first of June.

Before starting this time I had an understanding with Col. Elliott regarding the stock that might be captured by the scouts; he agreeing to let the scouts take the stock captured by them and divide it equally among themselves.

After having started, the Colonel was undecided as to where he would cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains. At that time there was no map of the country between California, Oregon and Nevada, but finally he decided to cross over the Beckwith Pass. After we had crossed the mountains we turned north, crossing the Truckee river where Reno now stands. From here we traveled across the sagebrush plain to Honey Lake.

So far we had no trouble with Indians, and the command stopped to let the horses rest a few days.

While lying there Col. Elliott requested me to take four other scouts and go north four days to prospect for water and grass, for this was now a strange country to all of us.

My companions were John Reilly, Fred Miller, John Boyd and George Jones, of whom there will be more said later on, and who were my companions the rest of the summer, or, as long as I was able to scout. Altogether there were twelve scouts in my company.

In the evening of the second day of our trip we camped at a nice little spring. We got into camp just at sundown, and having seen considerable Indian sign during the day, I had the boys stake their horses near the camp, and I took a look around on the ridges to see if there were any camp-fires in that part of the country. I was gone for about three hours, and the boys got quite uneasy while I was away. I only saw one Indian camp, which was northeast of our camp, and not having discovered it until after dark I was unable to tell just how far it was away. On my return I told the boys that we would have to stand guard that night, each one taking a turn of two hours, and as soon as supper was over we put the fire out so as not to give the redskins any advantage in that way. The next morning we got breakfast, and as soon as it was light George Jones and I went to the nearest ridge to look for Indians. I saw them just breaking camp, and they were about two miles away. That day we had to travel very cautiously, being in an entirely new country and knowing it to be full of hostile Indians.

That night we camped on a small stream which afterwards we found to be a tributary of McCloud's river. From what we had seen, there appeared to be plenty of water and grass, and from the Indian sign we had seen, they appeared to be in large bands, so we concluded to return to the command. The first day on our return trip, just about noon, as we were looking for a place to stop for lunch, we were discovered by about twenty Indians. The red devils made for us, and their war-whoops sounded as though they were bloodthirsty. They came pell-mell over the hills and hollows in hot pursuit of us, and I tell you things looked a little blue; only five of us and at least twenty Indians, and no telling how many there would be in a short time.

I told the boys that we would give them a round, anyway; and I had four men that were not afraid to face an Indian even in a hand-to- hand fight, if necessary; and then one feels more brave when he knows that he has got companions who will stay with him till the last dog is hung.

We rode to the top of the ridge, stopped and drew our revolvers, and when they were close enough we fired two shots apiece in succession and then put spurs to our horses and ran nearly a mile, when, on looking back, we saw that we were outriding them. We rode a mile further to the next ridge, just dropped over out of sight, and stopped and reloaded the empty chambers of our revolvers.

We knew now that we had the best horses, and the boys were all anxious to give them another round; so we waited until they were in pistol shot--as we felt more bold, knowing that if we could not whip them we could outrun them--and taking good aim this time we fired three shots each, making fifteen shots in all.

We saw a number of Indians fall to the ground, but did not stay to count them as we were just then in somewhat of a hurry.

We rode on again, they continuing to follow us. When we were far enough ahead again and in a suitable place, we stopped, reloaded and waited for them to come up, but they seemed to have changed their minds and didn't appear as anxious to ride in our company as they had on the start, for now they kept out of pistol shot. One of the boys dismounted and said: "I believe I can reach them from here," and taking a rest over his horse's back, fired and killed a horse. This caused a scattering among them, and if our horses had been fresh we would have tried to kill the whole outfit.

George Jones remarked that he guessed the red devils had enough of it already, and we rode on. They made two circles around us, keeping out of gunshot, and then rode away.

We pushed on with all haste possible, expecting that they had gone away to get reinforcements and follow us up, but that was the last we saw of them.

That night we made a dry camp, and did not build any fire for fear that they might be on our trail, and the next morning we were off very early. We rode until about ten o'clock, when we struck plenty of grass and water. Here we stopped, and one man stood guard on the hill while the others ate breakfast, and we were agreeably surprised at not seeing any more Indians on the trip.

We got back to the command the evening of the sixth day, and informed Col. Elliott that there was plenty of water as far as we went, and abundance of grass, also no end of Indian sign.

The command made preparations to move on again, and two days after our return we started, but moved slowly and cautiously, making only from ten to fifteen miles a day. Now we had twelve scouts in all, and it was our business to guard the command while traveling, and, in fact, at all times when there was a possibility of an attack, and we had to watch out north, south, east and west, lest a large band of Indians should make an attack unawares and get the better of the expedition.

We traveled in this manner until reaching the little stream spoken of, where the scouting party had turned back, not having met any trouble.

The Colonel thought it best for me to take a part of my scouts and go ahead again and prospect the country for water and grass.

After giving my other scouts particular orders to keep A sharp lookout for Indians, and to scout the country thoroughly for eight or ten miles in every direction daily, I took my same four men that were out the trip previous, four days' rations, and started out again.

All my talking did not prevent a surprise, for the second day after our departure the Indians made an attack on the herders, captured twenty-two horses in broad daylight and killed one of the herders. The same evening about sundown they made an attack on the command, and after a hard fight for an hour or more, the Indians retreated, leaving sixty dead Indians on the battlefield, there being eleven soldiers killed and twenty wounded.

On my return Col. Elliott told me not to leave the camp so far any more, for, said he, "I am satisfied if you had been here we would not have had the surprise."

I told the Colonel what kind of country we would have for the next seventy-five miles; plenty of water and grass, abundance of game and the country full of hostile Indians.

The reader will understand that this was the year 1856. The Klamath Indians and the tribe afterwards known as the Modocs, of whom mention will be made later on in this work, were one and the same tribe; and up to this time they did not know what it was to be whipped. Besides there had been but little travel through this part of the country without experiencing a great deal of trouble with those Indians.

When we pulled out for Klamath Lake we traveled from five to ten miles a day and kept scouts out in all directions. While riding along one day with my four assistants, a few miles in advance of the command, we came to a beautiful body of water which is now known as Clear Lake, which is the head of Lost river. Here we dismounted, and on looking into a brush shanty that stood on the lake shore, I saw more fish than I had ever seen before at one time. The little shanty was filled to its utmost capacity with fish, hanging there to dry for winter use. Further on we found numerous other similar shanties, all containing like quantities of drying fish. These were the Indians' dry-houses. They had caught the fish and hung them there to dry in the hot summer's sun. Such was their food in winter when the land game was scarce.

After our fill of admiring the beautiful lake and resting our horses, we mounted and started back to the command. We had gone only a short distance, when, all of a sudden, on reaching the top of a little hill, we were met by twelve Indians, who had not seen us, nor us them, until within a hundred yards of each other.

There was only one thing to do and that was to fight, for they were directly between us and the command, and the braver we were I thought the better; so I gave orders to charge, but the Indians did not stand fire. We got three of them that first round and in another hundred yards we got three more, but their horses being fresh and ours somewhat jaded, they outran us and got away.

These were the first Klamath Indians I had got close enough to, to see how their moccasins were made, and for a person engaged in the business that I was then in, it was quite essential to be able to tell the tribe an Indian belonged to by his track. And here I will state that not any two tribes cut and make their moccasins alike and at that time I could tell an Indian by his track, if he belonged to any tribe that I was familiar with.

Here we laid over three days to let our horses rest up a little. While here we had all the fish that we wanted to eat, for the lake was literally full of the finest in the land.

In a southwesterly direction we could see, by looking through our field glasses, a large valley, which Col. Elliott thought to be the country which he was ordered to go to.

The second day after leaving Clear Lake we struck another lake. We did not name it, but it has since been known as Tule Lake, and is the outlet of Lost river, but has no visible outlet itself. Here we laid over two days, after which we pulled out up the valley. Two days more and we were at Klamath Lake, and here Col. Elliott established his headquarters and started in to fortify himself against the Indians, which were very numerous in this country at that time.

John Riley, Fred Miller, John Boyd, George Jones and myself took four days' rations and started out to investigate the surrounding country north of headquarters.

The next afternoon about three o'clock we saw a band of Indians some distance away as they were passing over a somewhat uneven country. We were not just able to tell the number in the band, but thought there must be about twenty, and they were driving some loose horses.

We stopped to consider the matter as to what was best to be done. George Jones said: "Boys, we have been out all summer and have not got a single horse to pay for our trouble, and I think I could fight like the devil if there was a good band of horses at stake." The balance of the crowd seemed to think likewise, so we concluded to follow up the Indians and give them a round. We started at once, but before overtaking them they had pitched camp on the shore of Lake Klamath.

After it was quite dark, George Jones and I crawled around near the camp and counted twenty Indians.

Our intention had been to stampede the horses in stead of making an attack on the Indians, as we thought the number too great to tackle, but an investigation developed the fact that they had turned their horses into a little peninsula that ran out into the lake, and had pitched their tents so as to hold their horses in there. Riley said there was only one of two things to do, and that was to make the attack or crawfish. We were all well armed, the other four having each a six-shooter and a sabre, and I had my big knife, which was almost as good as a sabre, and two six-shooters.

We laid and watched their movements until all turned in for the night.

They were badly scattered, making it worse for us than if they had been in a bunch. We waited until about eleven o'clock, when we thought they were all asleep, and having laid our plans of attack, we all crawled up abreast to within a rod or so of where some of them were lying, and each drew his pistol and sabre.

Taking our pistols in our left hands and sabres in the right, we made a rush for them, intending to cut the first ones down with our sabres, and if we got into close quarters we could use both at the same time.

In such cases it is quite essential that a scout should be able to use his pistol in his left hand, which had been part of their drill duties before starting out scouting.

As soon as the attack was made some of the Indians arose on their feet, and we tried to cut them down as fast as they arose, but it was so dark that it was difficult to distinguish our own men from the Indians.

The Indians fought us with their tomahawks, and it was not long until we were all mixed up together, and a person had to look close before striking, for fear of making a mistake. After fighting some time I had two hand-to-hand encounters, but was victorious in both of them. Just as I had finished the second one I got a tremendous blow from behind that caught me on the shoulder, and it knocked me as blind as a bat. When I tried to rise I would stagger and fall like a drunken man. After making the third attempt to get on my feet, and seeing it was no use and being afraid my own men might mistake me for an Indian, I laid down as still as I could until the fight was ended.

About this time my shoulder commenced to pain me fearfully, and it was a hard matter for me to lie still. I could then see a very little, but to me everything was still. Just then I heard George Jones' voice. He was asking where Will was. I did not hear any reply, and a moment later he hallooed at the top of his voice. It sounded to me as though he was a long ways off, but at the same time he was within four rods of me. I made out that time to answer so he could hear me, and in a moment they were all by my side. Some one raised me up, while another ran to the lake and got his hat full of water. They removed my clothing sufficiently to exam me my wound, and found that my shoulder blade was broken in two places. When I was able to talk, the boys asked what they had better do, saying they had the last Indian killed. I said if you are sure you have them all killed, build a fire and put out guards until morning, and we will return to headquarters with the stock.

George Jones, feeling much concerned about me on account of my wound, proposed to ride to headquarters that night for the surgeon, but I told him it was not necessary, that I would be able to ride to headquarters the next day.

I took a sup of brandy, which we were never without on a trip like this, and drank a cup of coffee, after which I felt much better, but could not move my left hand or shoulder without much pain.

The next morning as soon as it was light enough to see to scalp an Indian, the boys took twenty-one scalps, and we had fifty-two horses, some of which were extraordinary good ones of that class. That was ten horses each and two over. After having counted them, George Jones said: "I think Will ought to have the two extra horses, for he is the only one that got wounded in the fight."

The boys were jubilant over their victory and the band of horses, but were very sorry to have one of their comrades so badly used up. After they had breakfast over, the saddle horses were brought in, my horse was saddled for me and they assisted me in getting on him, or rather put me on, for I was almost as helpless as a child.

My shoulder they had tied up as best they could with two handkerchiefs, and one of the boys leading my horse, we started for headquarters. We were about twenty miles from the command, but I never rode fifty miles that seemed as far as that twenty miles did. When we arrived at camp my shoulder was badly swollen, and it took the surgeon a long time to get it set just to his notion, or, at least it seemed so to me, and when he did finally get it set he gave me something to put me to sleep.

However, I was not able to ride any more that summer. All that I was able to do was to sit in camp, hear the reports of scouts as they came in and give orders.

It had been six weeks since I was hurt, and it was getting late in the fall and the weather looking somewhat blustery, I told the Colonel I thought I would go back to San Francisco and winter there.

Up to this time the surgeon had not allowed me to ride on horseback, but I had come to the conclusion that I could now stand it to ride without any serious difficulty, and I was anxious to get back before winter set in.

When I told the Colonel my intentions, he said: "How in the name of God will you get to San Francisco? If you were well and able to ride I could not spare an escort sufficient to guard you through."

"It don't matter about the escort," I said, "when I get ready I will go if I have to go alone."

"Young man," said he, "you must be insane to even think of such a thing."

"Colonel," I said, "you may call it what you please, but I mean just what I say; and I suppose that as you have been out all summer, having no chance to either send or receive any mail, that you would like to send out after that."

Said he, "I have no one to send, that could make the trip without asking a larger escort than I could spare."

I told the Colonel that I could select two men from his command, either of whom I could take and make the trip safely, or the two would make it alone with perfect safety.

The Colonel replied, "If I could only think so I certainly would ask them to go;" and he asked who the parties were to whom I had reference. I told him they were Messrs. Jones and Riley, who had been my assistant scouts the past summer.

The Colonel asked when they would be in camp. I told him they had just returned a few minutes previous. He said: "Tell them I will see them at your quarters at seven o'clock this evening." I assured him that they would be there, but up to this time I had not mentioned or even hinted at such a thing to them, but being desirous of seeing them before the Colonel had a talk with them, I set about to find them. I found them in their quarters and told them of the proposed meeting and the object, and asked them what they thought of it.

George Jones said: "As far as I am concerned, I think I can make the trip alone, for I can see an Indian just as far as he can see me, and just as quick, and I am perfectly willing to take the chances."

"And how with you, Riley?" I asked. He replied: "I will go if I can get permission."

At seven o'clock, sharp, all hands met at my tent. The Colonel opened the conversation by saying: "Gentlemen, our chief scout, Mr. Drannan, has concluded to leave us and go to San Francisco to spend the winter, and under the circumstances I don't want to see him go alone. Do you men feel like accompanying him and bringing our mail back on your return?"

George Jones said: "I can only speak for myself. I will accompany him alone and bring the mail back if no one else feels like going." At this Riley said he was willing to accompany George on the trip if necessary.

Col. Elliott straightened up and said: "Boys, I don't believe you realize the danger you will necessarily have to encounter in making this trip. Think the matter over thoroughly until to-morrow evening, by which time you will be able to give me a decided answer;" and then the Colonel departed, requesting us all to meet him in his quarters the following evening at seven o'clock, sharp. After he had gone George Jones asked me how long I thought it would take us to go to Sacramento. About fifteen days was my estimate, and I was of the opinion that we would best go an entirely different route to what we came. Before leaving my tent they had made up their minds to tackle the trip anyway, let it go as it might, and the time set to start was ten days from that.

The following evening we all went to the Colonel's tent at the hour agreed upon. He asked the boys as soon as they entered if they had made up their minds to tackle the trip, and they both told him they had. He then asked me when I would be ready to start, and I told him in ten days.

George Jones then asked the Colonel what length of time he would give him and Riley to make the trip in. "I will give you a month and a half," was the reply.

Five of us had fifty-two horses that we had captured from the Indians. I called the other four together and told them if they would let me pick six horses from the band they might have the remainder. This being agreeable, the day following the horses were driven into the corral and I selected my six. Jones and Riley put in a good portion of the day in saddling and riding them to see whether they were broke or not, and we found them all to be fairly well broken to ride.

The next day I told the Colonel that I was ready to resign my position as chief of scouts, for you will have to appoint another man, and you had just as well do it first as last.

"No," said the Colonel, "when you are ready to start, I will give you a voucher for your pay up to that time, and when you get to San Francisco you can get your money."

We commenced making preparations to start, but did not let it be generally known until the day before starting, and then everybody wanted to write a letter to send out, and by the time we were ready to start we had a pack-horse loaded with mail.

The Colonel sent a long letter to his wife, and told me a lot of stuff to tell the other officers, of which I did not remember one- fourth.

Finally we were rigged up and ready to start, but we had a hard time to get away, for Dick Jones wanted me to tell Jim Johnson so and so. Another had some word to send to a friend, whose name I had never heard before, and never thought of after I was out of sight.

After shaking hands all around, and Col. Elliott telling me a lot of stuff to tell his wife and numerous other ladies which he knew I would not repeat the half of, for he knew that there was not another man in San Francisco that hated to try to talk to ladies as much as I did. If we had not jarred loose and rode off I suppose we would have been there all day, and we would have had enough word to carry in our heads, that had it been written, would have made a book that Webster's Unabridged Dictionary would be small compared with it, and again shaking hands we waved our hats at the many soldiers standing around and rode away.

On our return trip we took the divide between the Klamath River and Yule Lake. I had told Col. Elliott before starting that I intended to pass west of the snowy butte instead of east of it, as we did coming in.

This butte has since been called Shasta Mountain, and it is one of the grandest sights that ever the eye of man beheld. It flouts the skies with its peaks of everlasting snow, gleaming like a vast opal under the sunshine, or peeping out in rainbow-tinted glints, from among the rifts of the clouds that rake along its sides. Often long streams of glittering white stretch from its peaks, far out into space, and these are called "snow-banners."

My object in passing west of Shasta was to strike the headwaters of the Sacramento and follow that river to the city of Sacramento. Late in the evening of the fifth day we struck a beautiful region, since known as the Shasta Valley.

While we were looking ahead through our field glasses and laying out our route for the next day, we discovered a great cloud of dust, which seemed to be not more than five or six miles away, and just beyond a low range of hills that we could overlook. We secreted our horses and watched the dust, but we had not watched long before about sixty horses came in sight, driven by five Indians. We could note that there were a number of mules in the band, and that two of the redskins carried rifles.

We were not long in making up our minds that this was stolen property, and that they had done murder and had taken the stock and were getting away as fast as they could. Otherwise they would not have those rifles.

In those days Indians knew very little about using guns, and the mules we knew did not belong to them, for they did not have any mules, only as they could steal them from the emigrants.

We watched them until they came to a nice little stream, where they stopped, staked their saddle-horses out, and as it was almost night, we were confident from their movements that they were going into camp. Being not more than three miles from where we were, we staked out horses on the grass, ate a cold lunch, and it now being dark we started afoot for the Indian camp.

We did not get in sight of the Indians any more until within a quarter of a mile of their camp.

They had a little fire of sagebrush and had not lain down yet, but were watching the horses very closely. They stayed up until about eleven o'clock, and every few minutes some of them would go out to where the horses were feeding and look all around.

The moon being full, it was a very bright night, and we could see well.

Finally the horses all got quiet, and the Indians, after building up a little more fire, all laid down by it for a nap.

After they had lain there some little time, I told the boys now was our time, for as soon as one of them woke up he would go out to the horses again.

George Jones requested me not to take any hand in the fight for fear I might get my shoulder hurt over again, as it was not well by any means. I told him I would not unless I thought it really necessary; but if it was I would give them a shot anyway, just for luck. I gave George Jones one of my revolvers, so he took a revolver in each hand, and Riley had a revolver in his left and his sabre in his right hand. We now started to crawl up to where the Indians were no doubt fast asleep.

I crawled up with the balance, in case the boys got in close quarters, thinking that a shot might help them, but George Jones assured me that by taking one of my revolvers they would get three the first shot and then they would have three more shots for the other two, so that before any of them got to their feet we would have them all.

It being an unusually bright, moonlight night, we were able when near them, by the aid also of the little fire which was yet burning, to get their exact position, which was a great help in making an attack.

When within ten feet of the Indians, Jones and Riley both rose to their feet and fired three shots, Jones firing both pistols at once, and they killed two Indians as they lay and killed the third one as he raised to his feet.

The other two ran, not offering to fight at all, but Jones and Riley got them before they had gone further than a few steps.

This fight occurred about sixteen miles east of Yreka, near Little Shasta. We rebuilt the fire by throwing some sagebrush on, and in their outfit we found two scalps taken from white men, and which looked to have been taken in the last twenty-four hours; two rifles, but no amunition, and I don't think they would have known how to use them if they had had amunition. They were armed with bows and arrows, and some had knives.

I stayed and looked after the captured horses while the other boys went back after our own horses. On their return I laid down and slept awhile, but the other boys did not lie down at all that night, for there was not much night left by the time they got in with our horses.

The following morning, as soon as it was light enough to see, we counted the horses and found there were fifty-five of them.

After getting our breakfast we started back on the trail the Indians had come, that being the course we wished to go. We traveled hard all day, and just at night we came to a little stream running across the valley, that we had looked at through the glasses the evening before. Here we went into camp for the night, and on looking across the valley on the opposite side of the river we could see through the field glasses a number of little wreaths of smoke curling up into the air, and they were scattered along the foothills here and there for several miles.

I knew at once they were not from Indian fires, for I could not see a lodge, and they were too badly scattered to be an Indian village.

Just what it was we could not make out, but we stopped on the little stream that night, which is now called Shasta river. I slept but very little, as my broken shoulder was commencing to bother me again from riding. I was up and down all night long, and was around among the horses many times.

The next morning we were up and had our breakfast and started very early. We had not gone more than two miles, when, on looking ahead, we saw twelve men coming on horseback. Through my glasses I saw they were white men, and told the boys so. George Jones could not believe they were white men until he looked through the glass, when he said: "Well, I'll be d--d if they ain't white men."

We altered our course so as to meet them, and less than a half hour's ride brought us face to face.

There was a man by the name of Wm. McConnell riding in the lead, and on meeting us the first word uttered by any of the party was by McConnell. He said: "Where in the name of God did you get those horses?" While I was telling him where and how we came in possession of them, George Jones took the five Indian scalps from the pack and said:

"And there is something else we got at the same time we got the horses."

Then he took the two white men's scalps from the pack, also the two rifles, and they were also satisfied that the scalps were the scalps of the two white men who had been herding this same band of horses and mules, for the hair was similar in color to that of the two herders. One of them had dark brown hair and the other one had rather light hair.

From this company of men we learned that near us there was a mining camp, the stock belonged to the miners, and that the two men killed had been herding the horses and mules about three miles away from camp. This was a new camp called Greenhorn Gulch.

The herders always brought the horses to camp every night, but the last two nights they had failed to bring the stock in, and this man McConnell had raised the crowd to hunt the stock, being satisfied that the two herders were killed and the stock driven away by the Indians.

After giving them a brief outline of our little fight with the Indians, our business there, etc., McConnell asked us how much the miners would have to pay us for our trouble. I told him that we did not make any charge, but that if the miners felt that it was worth anything to them to have their horses brought back, they could pay us just what they felt like giving. McConnell said for us to ride back to camp with them and he would call a miners' meeting that afternoon and state the case to the miners, and he was satisfied they would do what was right.

We drove the stock to where they were accustomed to being corralled at night and corralled them, and made camp for the night, for I was needing rest, very much, on account of my shoulder.

This man McConnell was erecting a store building about half way between Greenhorn Gulch and a new discovery that had recently been made, some two or three miles off.

About two o'clock Mr. McConnell came to our camp and told us to come along with him to a certain miner's cabin, and that the miners would all be there and we would see what could be done. When we got to the cabin, sure enough every miner was there.

Mr. McConnell called the house to order, stated the object of the meeting and made quite a little speech. He told the miners that we had brought the stock home, told where and how we came in possession of it, and that he, as well as eleven other men that were present, had seen the five Indian scalps, also two scalps of white men that he was confident were the scalps of the two herders, and had also seen their two rifles.

After Mr. McConnell had addressed the crowd in a very genteel manner he set a hat on the newly constructed miners' table and said: "Now, gentlemen, how much will each of you give? I will give twenty dollars." At the same time he threw twenty dollars in for a starter, The other miners followed suit, all contributing liberally, and the amount raised reached three hundred and fifty dollars.

After the money was counted they asked us if we were satisfied with that amount.

We told them that we were, and that if they had not given us anything it would have been all right, for we only considered that we had done our duty, which we would expect any man to do for us under like circumstances.

The morning following, before starting out again, we obtained information from Mr. McConnell concerning our trip down to Sacramento that was of great value to us. He directed us by way of Scott's Valley, and told us we need not have any fear of trouble with the Indians, which was a great relief to us at that time.

We found it a splendid trail, and made the trip from the mining camp to Sacramento in nine days. Mr. McConnell thought it would take us twelve days, but having plenty of horses along we could change when we liked, and by doing so could make good time.

The next day after arriving at Sacramento we got our horses on pasture, and the following morning took the boat for San Francisco.

The next morning after arriving at San Francisco we went to the Miners' Restaurant to see my old friend, Healey, and they were all very glad to see us.

After breakfast we hired a team and started to the Fort with our baggage.

They were all greatly astonished when we told them that we had made the trip alone.

As soon as I arrived at the Fort I went to see the surgeon, and he told me that my shoulder was in a dangerous condition, and that I would have to stay around the Fort so that he could see me at least every other day for several weeks.

There was a great commotion at the Fort when the news spread abroad that we had arrived from Fort Klamath, for every one that had a friend away with Col. Elliott's command expected a letter, and we had to have a postmaster appointed to distribute the mail.

During my stay at the Fort I made my home at Mrs. Elliott's.

While I was away with Col. Elliott, Jim Beckwith had been at the Fort a number of times, and each time had left a letter for me requesting me to come to see him as soon as I got back.

After resting a few days I started to the city to look Jim up, and found him without any trouble. His money was about all gone, and he was anxious for me to go to the mountains with him on a trapping expedition the coming winter, saying he was tired of laying around doing nothing but drink whiskey.

We made arrangements to start in two or three weeks from that time, provided my shoulder would permit. Jim agreed to go to Sacramento when we were ready to start and get my horses, and I returned to the Fort to have my broken shoulder taken care of.

Now, as I have said before, I don't think there was ever a young man that suffered from bashfulness as I did during what time I was in the company of ladies.

At that time I thought Mrs. Elliott was doing all she could to tease me, but since I have grown older and learned a little more about civilization, I am convinced that it was for my own good, thinking that I might overcome my timidity to a certain extent by having me go in society. Nearly every day while at the Fort she would either ask me in the afternoon to go in company with her to visit some lady friend, or would want me to stay at her house to receive some lady company, and frequently I have accompanied her to a neighbor's house where there were young ladies, and I would have given every horse that I owned to have been away. But Mrs. Elliott had been almost like a mother to me, and I could not refuse to go with her when she requested me to do so. After I had been at the Fort about two weeks Mrs. Elliott said she was going to give another party, but I told her I had a lawful excuse this time for not dancing, as the surgeon would not allow me to dance on account of my shoulder. Among the balance of Mrs. Elliott's lady friends was Lieut. Jackson's wife, who, by the way, was one of the loveliest and best women I have ever met. Her husband had been ordered the past summer out to Arizona, and was at that time establishing a new fort, which was known afterwards as Fort Yuma.

Mrs. Jackson was expecting to go soon to join her husband at Fort Yuma, and as I was going on to the waters of the Gila, trapping, she insisted on my waiting and going in company with them. Finally, after stopping around the Fort three weeks, the surgeon told me by a certain time, which was nearly a week, I might start out, and if I was careful I would be perfectly safe.

I went down to the city, and Jim Beckwith and I agreed on the time to start, after which I returned to the Fort.

The evening before I was to start, every army officer at the Fort, there being twenty-eight in number, and every lady, married and single, came to Mrs. Elliott's house. When I asked her what all this meant, she said: "I suppose they have come to bid you good- bye." But it was not long until I knew the object of the meeting, for some one in the crowd sang out: "Choose partners for a quadrille!" and in a jiffy there was a double set on the floor, and the floor manager said: "All ready."

The musicians took their seats, and the same prompter stood there that prompted for them the time I attended that other party of Mrs. Elliott's.

The music started up, and I commenced to realize that I was attending a party, or the party was attending me, one of the two. They danced nearly all night, and had what they called a nice time, while I sat back in one corner scared half to death for fear they would call "ladies' choice;" and I knew Mrs. Elliott or some other lady was sure to come for me, and as my shoulder was getting most well, I was afraid that I could not get clear on the plea of being a cripple.

When the party broke up, Mrs. Jackson insisted on my paying them a visit at Fort Yuma, as it would not be a great ways from where I was going to trap the coming winter.

The next morning when I rode off, and different ones were waving me adieu, Mrs. Elliott told me to be sure and pay them a visit when I came to the city.

The same day that I left the Fort, Jim Beckwith came down to the boat bringing my horses, twelve in number, and after buying our outfit for camping, provisions, and so on, we bought quite a lot of beads, blankets, cheap rings and such goods as we could trade to the Indians for furs.

The following day we pulled for the trapping region, by way of the old San Jose mission, and from there to the old mission of San Gabriel, thence across the Mojave desert. From there we struck out for the mouth of the Gila river, and crossed just where it empties into the Colorado. We then traveled up what is known as Salt river, some distance from where we crossed the Gila. This was early in January, and we found plenty of beaver that were easy to catch.

No trapping had been done in that region for several years. Besides, we thought at the time, and it so proved, that we were entirely out of the way of hostile Indians.

Here we put in two months trapping, with splendid success. Then, as it was getting too late in the season to trap, Jim proposed that we take our little stock of goods, or a portion of it, and visit the Pima tribe of Indians, which we found to be not as great a distance away as we had supposed, it being only about forty miles to their village.

They all knew us and were glad to see us. The chief and some other of the head men were out on their annual hunt, and we did not get to see them, as we only stayed two days, during which time they treated us the very best they knew how. They had plenty of vegetables such as turnips, onions, potatoes, sweet potatoes, etc.

While on this visit a certain young Indian got to be a great friend to me, but I am sorry to say that I have forgotten his name. He had a sister whose name was Nawasa, who also got to be a warm friend of mine, and I must say, that, although an Indian, she was a lady in her way, and I thought, really, that she was the best looking Indian I had ever seen.

The evening that we were to start back to our camp, Nawasa came to me and told me in Spanish that her brother wanted to see me, and that he had something to tell me. I started off with her, and after we had gone a short distance I asked her where her brother was, and she pointed to a bunch of bushes, saying he was there.

On my arrival at the spot I asked him what he wished to say to me. I knew he had something private and important to say, otherwise he would not have called me to an out-of-the-way place like that.

He raised to his feet and looked around to see if there was any one in sight, and said in Spanish:, "Sit down here, me and my sister have something to tell you."

He started in by saying that the Apaches were very bad Indians, and that they had killed many of my friends; which showed that he considered all white people my friends.

"Six or seven years ago," he continued, "they killed a man, his wife, and two boys, and took two girls prisoners. A long time ago the smallest girl died and the big girl buried her."

At this, Nawasa spoke and said: "Many times I have gone with her to the village and heard her sing a pretty song, but I could not understand a word of it."

I asked if this girl was living yet.

Nawasa said: "Yes, I see her every few days."

I asked her what size the girl was, and from what I could learn she was almost grown.

I asked her if the girl was satisfied, and she thought she was not, saying she was held a prisoner and had to do the work for the Indian families, or lodges, as she termed them. She said the work consisted of getting the wood and water, and whatever little cooking was to be done.

The reader will understand that while the, Apaches were hostile toward the whites, and the Pimas were not, yet the two tribes were always on peacable terms. But I could see at a glance that those two Indians felt a deep interest in that white girl. I asked Nawasa how far it was to where the white girl was. After studying awhile, she said it was about six hours, meaning six hours' ride.

I asked her when she would see the girl again, and she made me understand that if it would please me, or be of any benefit to the girl, she could see her most any day, saying that she went near the village to gather huckleberries, this being the time of year the red huckleberries are ripe in this country.

I told them that I would come back in four days, and then I would go with them to that place to gather huckleberries.

I wanted to look over the ground before laying my plans for taking the girl, provided she wished to leave the Indians.

This ended the conversation, so we went back to camp, where I found Jim Beckwith and a crowd of Indians joking, smoking and having a good time generally, for, as I have said before, this was the most sociable tribe of Indians that I ever saw.

On our arrival at camp, Jim asked me in Spanish where I had been, and when he saw the Indian girl, said: "Oh, I see; you have been off courting;" and then he and the Indians had a laugh at my expense.

I did not say anything to Jim about what I had heard until the next day.

We started early in order to make the trip in one day. I told him the story just as I had it from the two Indians, and told him that I was going to try to get the girl away from the Apaches if she wanted to leave them.

I rode along some distance, apparently in a deep study, and he finally turned to me and said:

"I think you had better let that gal alone, for then. Apaches is the wust Injuns in the hull country. If you make the attempt and they ever git on your track, they'll run you down in spite o' you."

To the readers of this book I will say I never was more astonished in my life, than I was to hear Jim Beckwith talk as he did. In all the time that I had been with him, this was the first time I had ever seen the slightest indication of his showing the white feather, as we termed it. It seemed to me he had lost all his nerve.

I said: "Jim, my mind is made up; if that white girl is dissatisfied and wants to leave the Indians, I am going to make the attempt, and trust to luck for the balance."

From that time until the day I was to go back to the village, he tried in every way he could think of to persuade me not to make the attempt, but I told him there was no use talking, that I looked upon it as being my duty, knowing that the girl was a slave to those Indians.

On the day appointed I saddled Mexico and started for the Pima village. I met the two young Indians about two miles from the village, where they had come to meet me, and they were both riding one horse, Nawasa riding behind her brother. When I met them she jumped off from behind her brother and said she wanted to try my horse to see how he rode, and she got on Mexico behind me and rode to camp.

I stayed at the village that night, and the next morning the three of us started out to gather huckleberries.

After we were on the ground and were busying ourselves gathering berries, Nawasa said:

"If you will go on that little hill"--pointing to a hill near by-- "at noon to-morrow, I will bring the white girl here to this tree, and you can see her for yourself."

She made me promise her not to go any nearer the Apache camp at this time, for, said she, "If they suspect anything wrong, the white girl will be traded off to the Indians in Mexico for a slave."

After making arrangements to meet the next day, Nawasa rode off toward the Apache town, and her brother and I rode back to the Pima village.

The following day I rode back in company with my young Indian friend to within two or three miles of the berry-patch, where we separated, and I rode out to the ridge that Nawasa had pointed out to me the day previous.

I saw them standing by the tree, as she had said. I put my glass to my eyes and saw sure enough that it was a white girl with Nawasa, and that she looked very sad.

I then rode back to the Pima village. That same night the two young Indians both came home, but they would not say a word while at camp. It seemed that they would not under any consideration have let any of the other Indians know what they were up to, so the next morning when I started home they took their horses and rode with me about two miles.

After we had got away from the village some distance, I asked Nawasa if the white girl still wanted to leave the Apaches, and she said, "Yes, she would like very much to leave them, but was afraid; as the Apaches had told her that if she ever tried to get away and was caught, she would be sold to the Mexican Indians as a slave, and there she would have to work in the fields, which would be much harder work than she has to do where she is."

I told Nawasa that if she would bring the white girl out on the same ridge that I had rode on, I would give her five strings of beads, and I would give her one string to give to the white girl. She promised that she would try, and that she would do her best.

I agreed to be back in eight days and see what arrangements had been made, and to let her know when I would be ready to take the girl.

When I got back, Jim asked me what I would do with the girl if I was successful in getting her away from the Indians. I told him I would take her to Fort Yuma.

"And what in the name of God will you do with her when you get to Fort Yuma?" said Jim.

I told him that if Mrs. Jackson was there, which I was confident she was, that I would leave the girl with her, and that I had no fears but that the girl would ba taken care of in the very best manner that Mrs. Jackson could provide for her.

Jim said: "If the girl is satisfied with the Injuns, why don't you let her alone? She don't know anything but Injun ways, and she never will."

I told him that my mind was thoroughly made up, and I would rescue that girl from the Indians or lose my scalp in the attempt. And now don't say any more about it, for it will do no good.

He said: "Go ahead and do as you please, as you have always got to have your own way about things, anyhow."

I said: "Yes, Jim; when I know I am right, I propose to have my own way."

This ended the conversation, for the time being, at least, for Jim saw that I was determined in the matter, and he said no more about it.

On the day appointed I took my two favorite saddle-horses and rode over to the Pima village. I started very early and arrived at the village about four o'clock in the afternoon.

After knocking about the village for a little while, my two Indian friends proposed that we take a ride.

Of course I knew the horseback ride was only a ruse to get a chance to tell me the plans laid by herself and the white girl for her escape, although she said that she just wanted to try my Pinto horse to see how he would ride.

And here I will say that I don't believe there was another Indian in that village who had any idea of the scheme that was being worked up between myself and those two Indians, for they would never say a word to me while within earshot of any of the tribe.

The other Indians thought I was courting Nawasa, and it was always the custom among those Indians for a young couple never to ride out alone.

It has always been a mystery to me why those young Pimas took such a deep interest in the white girl, for they were merely untutored Indians, having only a few years since seen the first white man, and had not seen many since then.

But those two young Indians seemed to be as kind-hearted persons as I ever met, and were the most intelligent Indians I ever saw, who were not educated, and I often regretted that I did not take them to some school and have them educated, for it would have been a great benefit to the people on the plains at that time.

But to go on with my story. We took our ride, and as soon as we were well away from the village Nawasa fold me that she had seen the white girl and completed plans for her escape. She said that after making arrangements with the girl, she--Nawasa--had not gone to the Apache village, but had met the girl at the huckleberry patch most every day.

She said: "The girl will come to the berry-patch every day until we go there for her, provided the Indians with whom she lived would let her go, that she might be there to-morrow, and she might not come till the next day. The girl is willing to go with you, and we will go to the berry-patch to-morrow and wait till she comes."

The next morning the three of us started out ostensibly to pick berries.

After we were out of sight of the village the young Indian man took my Pinto horse and started in the direction of Fort Yuma, it being understood that he was to stop about half way between Fort Yuma and the place where we would meet the girl. He was to wait there until the middle of the afternoon, and if we were not there by that time he was to return to camp.

Nawasa and I went on to the berry-patch, but the white girl was not there. We had not waited long, however, until Nawasa looked up and said in Spanish, "There she comes now."

I looked and saw the girl running. She did not discover us until she was within about fifty yards of us, and when she saw us she stopped very suddenly and hung her head.

I did not know at the time whether she was ashamed or whether she had been with the Indians so long that she was really afraid of a white person; but Nawasa was not long in getting to her, and the girl would look at me and then look back, as though she had a notion to go back to the Apache village.

When I rode up to where she was, she dropped her head and would not look up for some little time.

I saw that her face was badly tattooed, but her body was not, and as she stood there, apparently undecided what to do, she was to me an object of pity, and her dejected countenance would, I think, have appealed strongly to even Jim Bridger's heart.

I told Nawasa to help her on behind me, for we must be off quick. Nawasa said: "She don't want to go." I then spoke to the white girl in Spanish, and said: "My dear girl, why do you hesitate? Get up behind me and I will take you to your own people. Why do you want to stay here and be a slave for those Indians?"

I wish I could give in detail the persuasive language used by that untutored but kind-hearted Indian girl, to get her to leave the Apaches. She would tell her that if she would only go with me that I would take her to her own people, and would tell her how happy she would be with them.

After a great deal of persuasion, as I sat on my horse I reached down and took her by one arm and told the Indian girl to help her up behind me. She took her by the foot and helped her on my horse, and mounting her own horse we flew out of that section about as fast as our horses were able to carry us.

I was riding Mexico, and he was one of the swiftest horses in that country, and he had great endurance, also.

We rode some distance before I said anything to the girl, though Nawasa had kept along at our side, talking to her all the time to keep her spirits up. Finally I spoke to her in the English language, but it was some time before I could get her to utter a word; I don't know whether it was through fear or bashfulness.

Four miles' ride brought us out of the timber into an open prairie, with low hills covered with bunch-grass, and here and there a bunch of prickly pears, so rank that one dared not attempt to ride through them. There were little mountain streams running through the country, with no kind of timber but willows, strewn here and there along the banks.

On we went, over the hills and across the valleys, putting our horses down to what they could stand and at the same time keeping a sharp lookout behind to see if the Indians were trailing us.

Our course for the first twenty miles, to where we met the young Indian, was a little north of west, and from there almost due west.

About two o'clock we arrived at the point where we were to meet the young Indian, and found him there, waiting.

We dismounted, and I was not long in changing my saddle from Mexico to my Pinto horse. This horse would weigh nearly eleven hundred pounds, and had good life and splendid bottom.

By this time the white girl was beginning to talk some.

After having my saddle changed and on my horse, the Indian girl told her she would go no farther with us. She told Nawasa that she was afraid to go with me, as she was afraid that I would take her to Mexico and sell her for a slave, where she would have to work in the fields. But Nawasa assured her there was no danger, saying: "Esta umbra mooly ah-me-go," meaning, "This man is a great friend of mine;" and she again told her not to be afraid, for I would take her to her own people.

This seemed to give her some encouragement.

After the young Indian had shown me the direction to Fort Yuma, by landmarks, etc., I asked him how far it was.

He stepped out by the side of my horse, and after taking a good look at him, said in Spanish: "About three hours, or perhaps three and a half." I then told Nawasa to help the girl up again, and she did so.

When we were about to start, the two Indians came up to us and said: "Adios anlyose," which means, "Good-bye, my friend;" at the same time shaking hands with us both.

After riding a short distance I commenced talking to her in our own language.

It seemed that she had almost forgotten English, and when she would try to talk it she could not join the words together so as to make much sense of it. It was hard to understand her, but between English and Spanish together she could manage to talk so that I was able to understand her. However, her English seemed to improve by degrees, and I asked her if she would not be glad to get back to her own people, so they could dress her up and make a lady of her.

I do not believe that the poor girl had really thought of or realized her nude condition.

She said: "No, I can never be a white girl," and at the same time commenced crying, and said in broken English, "Now I remember seeing my mother dressed all nice, and plenty more women all dressed nice." It seemed after talking to her in her own language a short time she could call back to memory things that she had forgotten altogether.

I asked her how long since she was taken by the Indians. She had to study some time before she could answer, but finally in broken English, intermingled with Spanish, she said she thought seven years.

I asked if she was taken alone. She said, no, she had a little sister taken at the same time she was. I asked her where the little sister was, and she replied that she had died, and she thought she had been dead about three years.

I asked her if the Indians had killed her father and mother. She said: "Yes, and my little brother, too; and burned our wagon and all that was in it."

Then I said to her: "I don't see how you can love those Indians who had killed your father, mother and brother." She replied that she had no one else to love.

I then said to her, "You will soon be among friends, for I am taking you to a woman that will be as good to you as your own mother was," and at that moment we hove in sight of the Fort. I pointed to the Fort, and told her there was where the woman lived that I was taking her to.

We were now safe from an attack from the Apaches, and only a few minutes later I drew rein at Fort Yuma.

I first rode up to the guard, whose beat was in front of the Commander's tent, and asked where Lieut. Jackson's quarters were. He pointed to a tent not far from where we then were, saying: "That is his tent, and his wife is there, too."

As I rode to the Lieutenant's quarters, all eyes were turned in our direction. Mrs. Jackson came to the door of the tent and recognized me at once, and her first words were: "Chief, in the name of common sense, where are you from, and who is this you have with you?"

I said: "Mrs. Jackson, this is a girl I rescued from the Indians. She has no parents and no relatives, that she knows of, and I have brought her to you, thinking you would be a friend to her."

The reply of that noble woman was, "I will, with all my heart," and at that she assisted the girl in getting off the horse and led her into her own tent.

By this time Lieut. Jackson and all the officers of the Fort were there, and it seemed to me that the Lieutenant would never quit shaking my hand, and when he went to introduce me to the other officers who were present, laughingly said.

"What shall I call you? I have known you as the 'Boy Scout,' also as the 'Chief of Scouts.' I have known you when you were giving lessons in hunting, and now you have come in from a hostile Indian country with a white girl riding behind you. What shall I call you?"

I said: "Lieutenant, call me Will Drannan, the trapper, for I am now engaged in that business."

"Yes, I see you are," responded the Lieutenant with a hearty laugh, "and I see you have had splendid success in your new enterprise." He then asked me if I had trapped the girl.

I told him that I did not trap her, but that I got her away just the same.

The Lieutenant then introduced me to the officers, and had the orderly take charge of my horses. I was never kept more busy in my life answering questions than I was for the next two hours, relative to the girl and my plan of rescuing her.

Among the officers was a captain by the name of Asa Moore, who had heard all about this massacre only a short time after it occurred, and he said he thought there were some of the relatives living somewhere in California, but he did not know just what part of the state.

I had forgotten to say that on our way to the Fort I asked her name. It seemed at first that she had forgotten it, but after studying some little time she tried to speak the name, which at that time I understood to be Otus, but I have learned since that her name was Olive Oatman. She did not seem to remember her given name. The Indians had a name for her, but I have forgotten what it was.

Lieut. Jackson invited us into his tent, but when we got to the door it was barred.

Mrs. Jackson asked us to wait a few minutes until she got some clothes on Will's girl.

A few minutes later, when we were called into supper, Mrs. Jackson had washed the girl and had her dressed in calico.

Mrs. Jackson told us that after she got her dressed, the girl sat down and wept bitterly and said she did not know how to wear such clothing.

I remained at the Fort two days, and I must say that this girl improved both in talking and in manners during the time I was there far beyond our expectations.

When she would appear down-hearted or discouraged Mrs. Jackson would talk to her in such a kind and motherly manner that the girl would cheer up at once and would be anxious to try to make something of herself.

After spending two days at the Fort, and knowing that Jim Beckwith would be uneasy about me, I commenced making preparations to return.

Mrs. Jackson promised me that she would give the girl the very best care possible while she remained with her, and if she could hear of any of her relatives she would see that she got to them safely.

With this understanding I left the girl with Mrs. Jackson, but before I was ready to start the Lieutenant came to me and asked if I did not want a job of scouting. I told him that I did not at present, that I was going to Santa Fe and did not know when I would return again.

He then handed me a letter of recommendation, saying, "If you ever happen to want a position scouting, just show this letter and it will be of some benefit to you," and he assured me that if at any time he could assist me in any manner he would cheerfully do so.

When I was ready to start, Miss Oatman asked Mrs. Jackson what she should say to me. Mrs. Jackson told her to tell me good-bye, and tell me that she was very thankful to me for all I had done for her. But the poor girl could not remember it all. She could only remember the words "Good-bye, I thank you," at the same time shaking hands with me.

This was the last I ever saw of the girl, but have heard various reports concerning her since. I have been told that Mrs. Jackson raised money at the Fort to send her to San Francisco to have the tattoo marks removed from her face by the celebrated Dr. Fuller of that city, but they having been formed with vegetable matter, he was unable to remove them. I was also informed that she was afterwards sent to New York for the same purpose, but with no better success.

Only a short time ago, since coming to Idaho, I heard that she had really found some of her relatives somewhere in the state of Oregon, where she remained and raised a family; while a still later report is that she is married to a rich merchant and is living somewhere in the state of New York.

I have often thought of this poor girl since, and it has always been a question in my mind whether I did right in taking her away from the Indians after she had been with them so long; but if I did do right, and she or any of her relatives should by chance see this work and glance over its pages, I wish to say that to that kind-hearted Indian girl of the Pima tribe, Nawasa by name, and her brother belong the the praise of rescuing Olive Oatman from the Apache Indians.

In the first place, had it not been for her and her brother, I would never have known of the girl, and even after I knew she was there, I could not have done anything without Nawasa's assistance, for she could not have worked more faithfully and earnestly if there had been a thousand dollars in the operation for her.

On my return trip I rode the first day to the Pima village and remained there that night.

I hired my young Indian friend to go among the Apaches and trade beads for furs, and he went home with me.

Nawasa was very anxious to know how I got through with the girl, but did not dare say anything while in camp; so the next morning when her brother and I were leaving she caught a horse and rode with us some distance. As soon as we were out of hearing of the other Indians, she and her brother commenced asking all sorts of questions concerning the girl; whether I thought she would be happy with her own people or not.

Those Indians had learned in some way that somewhere, a long distance away, the white people had great villages, and Nawasa asked if I thought the white girl would be taken to the large cities.

The young Indian and I arrived at our camp about four o'clock that afternoon and found Jim Beckwith in a splendid humor, for he was glad to see me. He had given up all hope of ever seeing me again, for he thought the Apaches had followed me up and killed me. I told him what I had brought the young Indian for, and he was well pleased with the arrangement.

We fitted him out with beads that cost us twenty dollars, and tin pans and blankets, agreeing to come to his village in two weeks for our furs.

When the two weeks were up we took our pack-horses and went to the village, and to our surprise he had traded off the beads and blankets to much better advantage than we could have done ourselves.

For this favor we gave him in compensation two pairs of blankets, four brass finger rings and four strings of beads; and the young fellow thought he had been well treated for his trouble.

It was now getting late in the season, and after buying all the furs the Pima tribe had we commenced making preparations to pull out for Taos, as we had about all the furs we could pack on our horses to advantage, having fourteen pack-horses in all.

We packed up and started, and made the trip without anything of consequence happening on the way. We did not see any hostile Indians and had very good success, only losing one pack and horse while crossing a little stream, the name of which I have forgotten; and arrived at Taos in the latter part of June.

It was late in the afternoon when we rode up to Uncle Kit Carson's home. He and his wife and little child were out on the porch, and as soon as we rode up, both recognized Jim Beckwith, but neither of them knew me, for when they had seen me last I was almost a beardless boy, and now I had quite a crop of beard and was a man of twenty-five years of age.

"Hello, Jim!" were Uncle Kit's first words, and he and his wife came out to the gate to shake hands with him.

"Well, how are you, anyhow; and how have you been since you left, and who is this you have with you?" said Uncle Kit, the last in a low tone of voice.

I had dismounted some yards distant, and on the opposite side of the pack-horse from them. Jim told Uncle Kit that I was a discouraged miner that he had picked up in California, saying: "He don't amount to very much, but I needed some one for company and to help me through with the pack-train, so I brought him along."

By this time I had made my way through the bunch of pack-horses and walked up to Uncle Kit and spoke to him, and I think I got the worst shaking up that I had had for a long time, and I don't think there ever was a father more pleased to see his son return than Uncle Kit was to see me.

Our horses were turned over to the hired man, who took care of them, and the next two days were spent in visiting Uncle Kit and his wife. Of course I had to tell them of the hardships I had undergone during my absence from home; my adventures, narrow escapes, etc.

I learned that Mr. Hughes had died during my absence; I also learned that Johnnie West was at Bent's Fort.

After resting two days we packed up again and started for Bent's Fort. Uncle Kit went along with us to assist in making a good sale of our furs, and we arrived there just in time, as the last train was going out for the season, and we sold them for a good price.

Here I met Jim Bridger, Johnnie West and a number of other acquaintances and friends who supposed I had been killed and scalped by the Indians. I was sorry to learn that Johnnie West, like the majority of the old frontiersmen, had fallen into the habit of drinking up every dollar that he earned.

While we were here, Uncle Kit made a proposition that himself, Jim Beckwith, Jim Bridger and myself take a trip to the head of the Missouri river and put in the winter trapping.

He said he wanted to make this trip and then quit the business, saying: "I have business enough at home to attend to, but I have always had an anxiety to take a trip to the headwaters of the Missouri river."

The four of us returned to Taos, arriving there just in time to celebrate the Fourth of July, arriving on the second, and now I was home again in my fine buckskin suit. The night of the fourth we all attended a big fandango, and had a huge time. I was somewhat over my bashfulness by this time, and by the assistance of Mrs. Carson and two or three other ladies present, I was enabled to get through in pretty good shape. After that night's dancing, I felt that if I were back at the Fort, where I tried to dance my first set, I would show them how dancing first began.