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leaves into a little ball, lighting it and holding it up as it smokes and burns on the point of a stick ; if you mean danger to your friends, and wish them to fly, you hold it up till it dies out, which takes some minutes. If danger to yourself, and you need assistance, you hold up the signal and let the smoke ascend, at short intervals. If you wish some one to approach you move it backwards. If you wish only to signal your own approach you move it forward, and so on through a long list of signs.

There is a great difference in the density and colour of the smoke made by different combustibles. You know, or at least all who read ought to know as much as an Indian about a thing so simple as this, that the smoke of dry straw or grass, particularly of the wild grass of California, is so much lighter than the atmosphere of even the rarest season, that it goes straight up a long, thin, white thread, surging and veering toward heaven against the blue sky like the tail of a Chinese kite.

Another noble fellow found me here and gave me the hand of friendship; Frank Maddox, now a wealthy and influential citizen of Ummatilla, Oregon, where he has been for a succession of terms sheriff of the county.

It takes a brave man to step out from the world arrayed against you and stand by your side at such a time. Such deeds, rare as they are, make you believe in men; they make you better.

The Indian warrior at length came, stealing through