us who are not on guard, lie down in our blankets, feet towards the fire.  Our rifles are placed in the hollow of the left arm; our revolvers at our back, ready for instant use.  The sky is our covering, the earth our support.  The guard patrols on the outside the circle, outside the horses.  We go to sleep to dream of home and friends, and often to be awakened by the quick sharp bark of the cayote, the howling of the grey wolf, or what is far worse, the almost infernal war-whoop of the Indian.

My orders to each man, in case of an attack, were not to rise.  The guard also, as they came inside the circle of pack saddles, were to throw themselves flat on the ground.  Those that were in their blankets were to roll over on their stomachs, and then when they saw an Indian to ’blaze away.’  When we were on the line and expected trouble, we would build a fire and at dark, after supper, move away slowly for one or two miles, and lie down without any fires, and in this way cheat Mr. Indian.

Sometimes after working all day we were obliged to fight for our lives all the latter part of the night; for this is the time which the Indian chooses for his fighting, as a general rule.  Notwithstanding these apparent drawbacks, I must say that the life of a mountain man or trapper, had ever indescribable charms for me.

And now in conclusion, let me give you an account of my last Indian fight, which happened in the year 1859, on the Colorado river, near what is now called Fort Mohave.  At that time the Indians in that region had seen but few white men, and they had obtained but about half a dozen old guns.  I, having surveyed a large portion of the country previously, was chosen to act as guide to Colonel Hoffman, who was to be escorted by fifty dragoons from Fort Tejou, near Los Angelos, to Fort Yuma.  I, not then being acquainted with the country upon the Colorado river down to the fort, the celebrated scout and trapper Joe Walker, was to go with us, to act as guide after we had passed through that portion of the country with which I was acquainted.

Joe was a tall, large man, six feet high and weighing over two hundred pounds.  We slept together in the same blankets, and many a night have I laid awake, listening to his stories of fights with the Indians and his hair-breadth escapes.

I shall pass rapidly over our journey across the mountains and along the valley of the Mohave river.  Away we go across Soda Lake, which is dry, and the surface of which as far northward as the eye can extend, is covered with saleratus, white as the driven snow.  If you should see at a distance anything coming towards you, it would seem to approach bottom upwards; if an animal, the feet would be in the air.

But on we go to the Granite springs, thence we pass on to Piyute Creek.  Slowly we ascend the mountains from which we are to descend to the Colorado river.  Colonel Hoffman orders a halt, for the smoke of Indian fires is seen ascending for miles along the banks of the majestic river.  Having got all things prepared for either peace or war, we march down into the valley.  The Indians have undoubtedly caught sight of us, for suddenly the smoke disappears, all the fires apparently being extinguished.  We press on and soon reach the banks of the river.