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trail to the South. Delaware Tom is there, dressed like the rest in a robe of skins, going to avenge the death of the accomplished young chief of the Walla Wallas.

There are only forty men, but a courier flies to Sutter's fort. Breathless he passes the Indian guards

"A thousand Walla Wallas are marching from Oregon to avenge the death of their young chief."

The guests leap from their wine-bowls. Artillery is primed and mounted. Runners gallop to Sonoma for reinforcements. Word even reaches Monterey. Commodore Stockton hastens to San Francisco, and preparations for defence are hurried to the North.

Meanwhile, Pio-pio-mox-mox, whose numbers have been so greatly exaggerated, is defiling down the canyon with vengeance in his heart. But his eyes are open. He hears for the first time that the old regime is over, that Sutter is out of power, and the Americans rule on the Sacramento.

"Then if the Bostons rule, to the Bostons will I present my claim for justice," said the indomitable old chief of the Walla Wallas.

Colonel Fremont met him in council, and promised redress. Under this persuasion the Walla Walla chief and his followers enlisted under Fremont's banner, and Delaware Tom, valued for his fluent use of English, became a trusted bearer of despatches and a member of Fremont's body-guard.

General Castro retreated to the South. Fremont followed on his trail and marched into Monterey.

The anxious Spaniards beheld a cloud of dust roll up beyond the city. From behind their grated windows the timid women beheld the long line of mounted Americans advancing up the street with Fremont at