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 nd bitter

war. I had hoped their desperate situation had made them a unit with but one single object. I was disap pointed.

For some time I had been the nominal war-chief of the Modocs, for since the Ben Wright massacre, where their great chief was killed, they had had no fit leader in battle, but policy dictated that in order to keep down jealousies, I should not at once push the Modocs too much to the front. The three tribes had never fought together before for many genera tions, though they had often fought against each other, and everything depended on unity and good will. The results of the day were discouraging enough.

They retreated far up a cahon, plunging toward the river, and there in a great cave by a dim camp fire refreshed themselves on a few dried roots and venison ; then after a long smoke in silence, the chief slowly rose and opened a council of war. Many speeches were made, but they mostly consisted in boasts of personal achievements. They talked them selves into sudden and high confidence, which I knew any little reverse would dispel. They were assured of success by signs, they said, and dreams, as well as by the events of the day. The spirits of their fathers had fought with them and for them.

I spoke last of all, and spoke in no encouraging spirit. I tried to tell them first how things stood, and how desperate and determined they must be before the great object a recognition of o