HUNTING INDIANS IN A FOG. 



107 



GROUP OF WARM SPRING INDIANS, 



the gunners could not see where they were 

 sending their shells, they soon stopped fir- 

 ing. Then came volleys of musketry and 

 the cheers of charging troops, and we had 

 the pleasure of hearing a great fight with- 



out being in it. Nor could we get in it very 

 well, for our friends were sending showers 

 of lead over us, obliging us to keep down. 

 Finally the fog broke up Gen. Wheaton's 

 attack. His men became scattered; many 

 came through the stronghold, to our lines, 

 and others fell back. Occasionally the fog 

 would lift a little, and then pot-shots at 

 short range were in order, with the disad- 

 vantage that we were in the pot, while the 

 Modocs could keep under cover. So it 

 went on until well toward evening, when 

 Gen. Wheaton managed to signal to us to 

 fall back. At dusk we returned to our camp 

 of the preceding night, where wounds were 

 dressed, and preparations made for the 

 march to our permanent camp. About 

 midnight we started. Those of our wound- 

 ed who could ride were mounted on capt- 

 ured ponies. Others were carried in 

 blankets, with a bearer at each corner. It 

 was a night of horror. The worn-out 

 bearers would frequently stumble over the 

 rough rocks, letting their burdens fall, and 

 the groans of the poor fellows, so roughly 

 handled, were heart-rending. It was after 

 sunrise when we staggered into camp at 

 Land's ranche, tired, sleepy, hungry and 

 footsore. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY G. C. DEWEY, 



AMONG THE TREE TOPS, ON SNOWSHOES. 



