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 Big Father in Washington; if they have only three sacks, they still have to send one. Every fourth load of hay goes to the Big Father at Washington, yet he does not give my people the seed. The head-farmer, who is called Mush-rush, never shows my people how to work. This is why they said, “Why does the Big Father want us to pay him when he does not give us the seed? We have to pay for the seed ourselves.” Both the agent and farmer told my people they would have to pay it or the Big Father would take away their wagons. So my people talked it over and said, “We will pay it.” Later they got up a paper, which the agent and the farmer wanted my people to sign. The sub-chief would not put his hand to the pen. He said to the agent,—

“I have been working for so many years, and I have never received anything as yet. You say it is supplies you are sending me and my people; but I am sick and tired of lies, and I won’t sign any paper.” Of course our agent, Mr. MacMasters, told him to leave the reservation. His wagon was taken from him. At this my people sent me down to San Francisco to tell the commanding officer. I did so. I gave Gen. McDowell a full account of the doings, and he reported him to the authorities. The following spring my poor brother Natchez went to the agent and asked him to help him to a plough, and to give him a set of harness. He told my brother to go away. “You and your sister,” he said, “talk about me all the time. I don’t want you and your sister here.” At this my poor brother got angry and said to him, “This is my reservation, not yours. I am going to stay here just as long as I like. My poor father and I never got so much as an old rag from any agent that ever came here.” At this our minister got angry, and telegraphed to the soldiers to come and take brother and carry him to the Acotrass Islands. He wrote