Northern California was the home of the Modoc tribe of Indians. The remains of their ancient villages, found along the shores of the lakes, the streams, and the forest springs, attest the fact of the former greatness of this now almost extinct tribe.

They had ever been an obstinate, treacherous, and unconquerable race, and their decline is explained by their frequent wars with the fierce tribes around them, as well as with the early white settlers of Northern California and Oregon. Emigrant trains were obliged to pass through dark canons and under precipitous cliffs, whence these warriors would suddenly rush upon them, slaughter the emigrants, and capture their supplies.

On October 14, 1864, when the old chief Schonchin buried the hatchet, and agreed to war with the pale-faces no more, he said, mournfully,

"Once my people were like the sands along you shore. Now I call to them, and only the wind answers. Four hundred strong young men went with me to the war with the whites; only eighty are left. We will be good, if the white man will let us and be his friends forever." The old chief kept his word.

By the treaty made at this time, the Modocs, Snakes, and Klamaths agreed to repair to a reservation set apart for them in Southern Oregon. They all went, except a strong band of Modocs, under Captain Jack, who remained at their old home near Clear Lake, about sixty miles from Klamath, without being seriously disturbed until 7869.

In that year this band was induced to go to the reservation, but the Klamaths, their hereditary enemies, picked a quarrel with them, and they soon returned to their old home. As they positively refused to go back to the reservation, the military were called upon. Pursued by the soldiers, they took refuge in the remarkable natural formation known as the Lava Beds, from whence they bade defiance to the troops.

This lava valley is bounded by walls of more than one thousand feet in height. At numerous points are seen miniature volcanic rents, formed by the bursting out of steam or gases from below, and in some places there are subterranean galleries or caverns, having a diameter of fifteen or twenty feet, extending indefinitely in either direction. These rents or chimneys probably communicate with subterranean passages. They were wholly inaccessible to the troops. The Indians knew perfectly the paths leading through these fearful chasms.

After the troops had done all they could to drive out the Indians, without attaining their object, the job was turned over to the Peace Commissioners, who were instructed to effect their removal to the Coast Reservation in Oregon. Several "talks" were held with Captain Jack and his leading men, but without result, the Indians assuming a defiant attitude.

On the morning of April 11, 1873, the commissioners, General E. R. S. Canby, A. B. Meacham, Rev. Dr. E. Thomas, Mr. Dyer. and Riddle, the interpreter, and his squaw, went by agreement to a. spot about three-fourths of a mile from their camp, where they met Captain Jack, Schonchin (son of the old chief), Boston Charley, and five other leading Modocs. They had no guns, but each was provided with pistols.

The party sat down in a circle. Mr. Meacham opened the "talk," and was followed by General Canby and Doctor Thomas. What they said was intended to pacify the Indians. When the last speaker had ended, John Schonchin began a reply, but had said but a few words when, as if they were the signal for an attack, the work of massacre begun.

In less than a minute a dozen shots had been fired, and the affair was over. The first shot was fired by Captain Jack himself, who shot and killed General Canby. Mr. Meacham was shot by Schonchin, and Doctor Thomas by Boston Charley. Mr. Dyer barely escaped, being fired at twice. Riddle, the interpreter, and his squaw also escaped.

The troops immediately rushed to the spot, when they found the dead bodies of General Canby and Doctor Thomas. Meacham, who was badly wounded over the left eye by a pistol-shot, was taken to the camp, and afterwards recovered. The murderers escaped in safety to the Lava Beds.

In the following May, Boston Charley gave himself up, and volunteered to guide the troops to Captain Jack's stronghold. This led to the capture of the entire band, a number of whom, while being transported in wagons to head-quarters, were murdered by Oregon volunteers. In July the trial of the prisoners took place, and Captain Jack, Schonchin, Boston Charley, and Hooker Jim were executed at Fort Klamath. They richly deserved their fate for their treacherous deed.

The small remainder of the Modoc tribe are now on a reservation in the Indian Territory.

Troubles between the Indians and their white neighbors caused the Government, early in 1877, to order the removal of Chief Joseph and his band of Nez Percés from their home in the Wallowa Valley, Oregon, to the Lapwai Reservation in Idaho, where, since 1863, the larger part of the tribe had resided. Joseph, with about five hundred Indians, rightfully claimed the Wallowa Valley under the treaty of 1855, and it had also been conceded to them by President Grant in 18T3. Two years later this concession was revoked, and, "in the interests of peace," General Howard was directed to "induce" Joseph to remove.

When the commissioners, appointed in 1876 to effect this object, asked Joseph to abandon the valley, the chief replied,

"I was made of its earth and grew up upon its bosom. As my mother and nurse, it is too sacred in my affections to be valued by or sold for silver and gold. . . . I ask nothing of the President. I am able to take care of myself and disposed to live peaceably. I and my band have suffered wrong, rather than do wrong. One of our number was wickedly slain by a white man last summer, but I would not avenge his death. But, unavenged by me, the voice of that brother's blood would call the dust of their fathers back, to purple the land, in protest of this great wrong."

Both physically and mentally the Nez Percés are a fine race. Their agent says of them, "Of all the Indians I have ever seen, they are by far the most intelligent, truthful, and truly religious. Their chief, Joseph, is a man of courage, intelligence, quick perception, and other qualities sufficient to rank him much above the average man, white or red."

The attempt to remove these Indians was resisted, and some of the whites who had settled on their lands were killed. General Howard at once sent two companies of United States cavalry, under Captain Perry, to the scene of disturbance. This officer was ambushed and defeated at White Bird Canon, losing a lieutenant and thirty-three men—one-third of his force. Finding the Indians posted in a deep ravine on the Clearwater River, near the month of Cottonwood Creek, General Howard attacked and defeated them, capturing their camp and much of their provisions. Twenty-three warriors were killed, a larger number wounded, and some prisoners were taken. His loss was thirteen killed, and two officers and twenty men wounded.

Joseph now began his famous retreat eastward, towards the buffalo country, with Howard in close pursuit, taking what is called the Lolo trail, through a pass of the Bitter Root Mountains, into Idaho. The long pursuit continued across plains, over mountains, and through forests, much of the way being a desolate and exceedingly difficult country for one thousand three hundred miles, and it lasted seventy-five days. The Indians were accompanied by their women and children. They took with them a large herd of ponies, which supplied then with remounts whenever they were hard pressed.

Colonel Gibbons, who, with one hundred and fifty men, attacked the Indians on Wisdom River, Montana, was greatly outmatched, and was placed upon the defensive, losing twenty-nine officers and men killed and wounded. His entire force would have been killed or captured but for Howard's approach. At Camas Prairie, the Indians turned upon Howard, and succeeded in stampeding and running off his pack -train. Colonel Sturgis had a fight with them on the Yellowstone, below the mouth of Clark's Fork.

The Indians had reached the Missouri River, near Cow Island, on September 22. They would, perhaps, have accomplished their purpose of joining Sitting Bull in the British Dominions had not Colonel Miles, with his comparatively fresh troops, been so situated that by moving promptly he could easily pursue and intercept them. That officer, marching across the country from Tongue River, crossed the Missouri, and on September 30th overtook the Nez Percés at Bear Paw Mountain, near the mouth of Eagle Creek, when a severe engagement took place, in which the Indians lost six of their leading chiefs and twenty-five warriors, besides forty-six wounded. Miles lost two officers and twenty men killed; four officers and thirty-eight men wounded. General Howard came up during the contest, but took no part in it. The band soon afterwards surrendered, and is now in the Indian Territory. Thus ended one of the most remarkable Indian wars on record.

"Throughout this extraordinary campaign," says General Sherman, "the Indians displayed a courage and skill that elicited universal praise. They abstained from scalping, let captive women go free, did not murder indiscriminately as usual, and fought with scientific skill, using advance and rear guards, skirmish lines, and field fortifications."

In closing this chapter we must not omit some mention of the man who, after Daniel Boone, takes the highest rank in our border annals as a pioneer, guide, and Indian fighter. Like Boone, Kit Carson had, in addition to the skill, sagacity, courage, and self-reliance common to his class, the still rarer qualities of modesty, sobriety, disinterestedness, and perfect self-control.

Christopher—commonly called "Kit"—Carson was a native of Kentucky. His early life was occupied in hunting and trapping, and he became famous for his skill in these pursuits, and as a reliable guide and leader. Later he accompanied Fremont in this capacity in his explorations of the Rocky Mountains, and in his narrative the latter speaks in the highest terms of Carson. Though small in stature, Carson was broad-chested, compact in form, and remarkably quick and active, and what he lacked in strength he made up in agility. During the Civil War, in which he attained the rank of brevet brigadier-general, he rendered great service to the Union in New Mexico, Colorado, and the Indian Territory.

We must content ourselves with a single example of Carson's heroism and disinterestedness—a feat worthy the best days of chivalry—performed while accompanying Fremont's second expedition.

One day a man and a boy, Mexicans—all who had escaped from an Indian onslaught on a party of six—arrived in camp. The wife of the man and the parents of the boy were of this party, and they were full of anxiety to learn the fate of their relatives. Thirty horses belonging to the party had fallen into the hands of the Indians.

Touched by the grief of the survivors, Carson and a companion named Godey resolved to pursue these robbers of the desert, and deliver the captives if alive, or avenge them if dead. They followed the trail all day, and at night by the light of the moon, until it entered a defile and became difficult to trace. Afraid of losing it, at midnight they tied their horses and lay down to sleep in silence and darkness. At daylight they resumed the pursuit, and about sunrise discovered the Indians. Dismounting, and tying their horses, they crept cautiously to a rising ground, from the crest of which they perceived an encampment of four lodges close by.

Proceeding quietly, they had got within thirty or forty yards when a movement among the horses discovered them to the Indians. Raising a war-shout, the two avengers instantly charged into their camp, regardless of the number of enemies that four lodges would imply. The Indians received them with a volley of arrows, shot from their long-bows, one of which pierced through Godey's shirt-collar, barely missing his neck; the two men discharged their rifles with steady aim, and rushed in. Two Indians were stretched on the ground; the rest fled, except a lad who was captured.

Masters of the camp, they found that preparations had been made to feast a large party. Several of the best of the captured horses had been killed, skinned, and cut up, for these Indians made no other use of their surplus horses than to eat them. Releasing the boy, they gathered up the surviving horses, fifteen in number, and returned to camp, which they reached in the afternoon of the same day. They had travelled a hundred miles in the pursuit and retreat, and all in thirty hours. The remainder of the unfortunate Mexican party had all been massacred.

This was a most remarkable instance of successful daring and disinterested achievement. Two men, in a savage desert, pursue day and night an unknown body of Indians into the defiles of an unknown mountain, attack them at sight, without counting their numbers, putting them to flight—and for what? To punish a band of savage marauders, and to avenge the wrongs of Mexicans whom they did not know.

—For valuable and interesting details of recent Indian wars, refer to "Our Wild Indians," by General R. I. Dodge.