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 had swept

my eyes around on the space below and photo graphed the world for myself, I turned and saw these tract-leaves fluttering at my feet, in the wind, in the snow, like the wings of a wounded bird. A strange, fierce fit of inspiration possessed me then. I drew my bowie-knife, drove it through the open, fluttering leaves, and pinned them to the snow, then turned to descend the mountain, with a chuckle of delight.

These wild people of the forest about the base of Mount Shasta, by their valour, their savage defiance of the white man, and many commendable traits, make good their claim to be called the first of the land. They are much nobler, physically, than any other tribes of Indians found between the Nez-Perce s of the north and the Apaches of the south. They raise no grain, rarely dig roots, but subsist chiefly on meat, acorn bread, nuts and fish.

These Indians have a great thirst for knowledge, particularly of the location and extent of countries. They are great travellers. The fact is, all Indians are great travellers. In any tribe, even in the deserts of Arizona, or the tribes of the plains, you will find guides who can lead you directly to the sea to the west, or the Sierras to the east. A traveller with them is always a guest. He repays the hospitality he receives by relating his travels and telling of the various tribes he has visited, their extent, location, and strength. No matter if the traveller is from a hostile tribe, he is treated well and allow