During all this time the scattered forces of the department were being concentrated and sent in pursuit.  That indomitable old Scotch hero and Indian fighter, Bernard—­who had risen from a government blacksmith to the rank of Colonel of cavalry—­who believed that the best way to subdue Indians was to fight and kill them and not to run them to death—­was following with four companies of cavalry, numbering 136 men.  Behind him was Gen. Howard, with 400 infantry, but with his ox teams and dilatory tactics managed to herd them two days ahead.  As the cavalry under Bernard drew near, the Indians called in all detached parties and concentrated their forces.  On the 7th of June Pete French joined Bernard with 65 ranchers and cowboys.

Bernard had been ordered by Gen. Howard not to attack, but to wait until he came up.  At old Camp Curry, on the western side of Harney Valley, or more properly speaking, on Silver Creek, on the evening of the 7th, Bernard’s scouts reported the Indians encamped in the valley, at the Baker ranch, seven miles away.  In spite of orders, Bernard, always spoiling for a fight, determined to make the attack at daylight.  His four companies numbered 136 men, besides French’s volunteers.  Bernard had no confidence in the French contingent and declined to permit them to accompany his command in the attack.  He directed French, however, to make a dash for the horse herd and if possible capture the animals, while with his regulars he would charge the main camp.  Bernard afterwards, in explanation of his disobedience of orders, claimed that he was misled by his scouts.

Bernard broke camp two hours before daylight, or about two o’clock in the morning.  He reached the camp just at break of day.  Evidently the Indians were not prepared for him, and “Little Bearskin Dick,” one of the chiefs, rode out with a white flag in his hand.  Bernard had already made a talk to his men, especially to the recruits, telling them they might as well be killed by the Indians as by him, as he would kill the first man that flinched.  As Dick rode up, Bernard spoke to a sargeant and asked him if he was going to “let the black rascal ride over him.”  Instantly several carbines rang out and “Little Bearskin Dick” for the first time in his life was a “good Indian.”

At the same instant the bugle sounded the charge, and the troops bore down upon the encampment, firing their rifles first and then drawing their revolvers and firing as they swept through the great camp.  But Bernard had not been fully informed regarding the lay of the camp.  After sweeping through he discovered to his dismay that the Indians were encamped on the margin of an impenetrable swamp—­in a semi-circle, as it were, and he could go no farther.  Nothing dismayed, the column wheeled and rode helter-skelter back the road they had come, this time his men using their sabres.  When clear of the camp Bernard turned his attention to the men under Pete French.  The latter had gotten into a “hot box,” two of his men had been killed and one or two wounded and required help.  Bernard was not slow in giving it, and when all were safely joined, Bernard dismounted his men and fought the Indians for several hours with his carbines.