On reaching the place selected for our flank movement we made a dash to the left of the trail, through the widest part of the valley, and ran our horses swiftly by, but I noticed that the Indians did not seem to be disturbed by the manoeuvre and soon realized that this indifference was occasioned by the knowledge that we could not cross Hat Creek, a deep stream with vertical banks, too broad to be leaped by our horses.  We were obliged, therefore, to halt, and the Indians again made demonstrations of friendship, some of them even getting into the stream to show that they were at the ford.  Thus reassured, we regained our confidence and boldly crossed the river in the midst of them.  After we had gained the bluff on the other side of the creek, I looked down into the valley of Pit River, and could plainly see the camp of the surveying party.  Its proximity was the influence which had doubtless caused the peaceable conduct of the Indians.  Probably the only thing that saved us was their ignorance of our being in their rear, until we stumbled on them almost within sight of the large party under Williamson.

The Pit River Indians were very hostile at that time, and for many succeeding years their treachery and cruelty brought misfortune and misery to the white settlers who ventured their lives in search of home and fortune in the wild and isolated section over which these savages roamed.  Not long after Williamson’s party passed through their country, the Government was compelled to send into it a considerable force for the purpose of keeping them under control.  The outcome of this was a severe fight—­resulting in the loss of a good many lives—­between the hostiles and a party of our troops under Lieutenant George Crook.  It finally ended in the establishment of a military post in the vicinity of the battle-ground, for the permanent occupation of the country.

A great load was lifted from my heart when I found myself so near Williamson’s camp, which I joined August 4, 1855, receiving a warm welcome from the officers.  During the afternoon I relieved Lieutenant Hood of the command of the personal escort, and he was ordered to return, with twelve of the mounted men, over the trail I had followed.  I pointed out to him on the map the spot where he would find the two men left on the roadside, and he was directed to take them into Fort Reading.  They were found without difficulty, and carried in to the post.  The sick man—­Duryea—­whom I had expected never to see again, afterward became the hospital steward at Fort Yamhill, Oregon, when I was stationed there.

The Indians that I had passed at the ford came to the bluff above the camp, and arranging themselves in a squatting posture, looked down upon Williamson’s party with longing eyes, in expectation of a feast.  They were a pitiable lot, almost naked, hungry and cadaverous.  Indians are always hungry, but these poor creatures were particularly so, as their usual supply of food had grown very scarce from one cause and another.