"I tried to repress the thought, but, hearing more of the affair and of his career, I knew that Grace could never think of him with favor, and that my mind could be easy about that. Then, Mark, I began to wonder how I should have acted, if matters had been different. Suppose that he was not such a vagabond, but had been unjustly accused, and was in danger of being hanged for some other person's fault? I knew, then, that if I stood aloof and let things take their course, I should be, in a manner, consenting to his death, and would be reaping advantage from it. It would be so like blood-money! And not for ten thousand dollars would I———”

"Why do you say ten thousand dollars?" interrupted Redfern, looking up suspiciously, as the mention of that particular sum struck a chill through him.

"Why do I say it?" responded Walt somewhat surprised at the singularity of the question. "I suppose I mentioned that sum as being the only one that, at the moment, came into my head. Any other amount would have done as well for an illustration. What I meant was, that for no sum of money would I be in the position of taking advantage of another man's death, when, perhaps, I might have rescued him. Well, as I was saying, let us imagine that things were a little different, and that by his death I could have won Grace Markham. I tell you, Mark, that I believe I should then be the most miserable man in the world. Every time I looked at her, I should feel like an assassin-as though I had only gained her by striking another man down. It would be better to have this fellow live and take her away from me, and settle down next door to me all the rest of my life-better that, a thousand times, than the other."

"Yes-yes, much better, Walt," mur

mered Redfern, sinking his head between his hands. "Go on."

"That is all, I believe. There is nothing more. Except that, having made up my mind, I must try to save him. Have I made myself understood?"

"Almost too plainly, Walt; for you have shown me how I-that is to say, you are right, and I am wrong; and—— Let us go now," and the man slowly raised himself from the ground and stood erect. All doubts, subterfuge, and subtlety were swept away. "Let us go Walt; and whether we succeed or not in saving that man, at least we shall have eased our consciences, so that—”

'My conscience, you mean, Mark. For what trouble can you be in about the matter?" "Yes, your conscience, if you will have it so. it so. Though it might be on my ownon everybody's conscience who stood idly by and let a man die for such a crime. We will go to Colonel Rollock's tent. There, I fancy, the matter must be decided. first, Walt

"Well?"

But

"Look yonder," and he pointed toward Judge Markham tent, only a few paces off. For awhile it had appeared dark and obscured; but within the last moment, a slumbering coal had suddenly lighted into flame and had leaped up, licking the dry twigs that had lain upon it, and the contagion of fiery animation had spread from top to bottom of the pile, and now the whole was in a merry blaze, with sportive crackling. The ruddy flame leaped high, covering the white canvas with a glow, and bringing into plain relief the soft folds of the white garments of one who sat therein. "Look there, Walt."

Judge has gone over to the camp on our errand. Seize the opportunity. I will go on, and you can follow in time to give me your help.”

"Yes I will go," responded Walt, mus

tering courage; and, wringing Mark by the hand--as when one takes good-by of his companions to go upon a forlorn hope-he left him, and slowly began his approach toward the Judge's tent. Leonard Kip.

CHAPTER I.

The Indian War of 1878, usually called the Piute and Bannock War, originated with a small tribe of Indians in Eastern Idaho. This tribe, the Bannocks, have often been called the Snakes. They were once considerable in numbers and remarkable for their wars, particularly with other Indians.

During the summer of 1869, there was entered into between some agents of the Government and the Bannocks at Fort Bridger, Wyoming, a sort of Indian treaty. This treaty stipulated that at any time, when the Bannocks should so elect, a reservation of public land should be given them. They were to have all the rights and privileges that had already been secured to their neighbors, the Shoshones in Wyoming.

Subsequent to the treaty a reservation some one hundred miles north of Salt Lake, within the borders of the territory of Idaho, was set apart. So far, there was good faith between those who made the promises and those who came after to execute them. But almost immediately the stipulations were modified and substantially violated; for the Indian Department directed that all "roaming Indians" in southeastern Idaho should have a home upon the same reserve.

As long as the Bannocks were more numerous than the "roaming Indians," not of

their language or habits, they made no marked disturbance. In fact the Bannocks had thousands of ponies and were nomadic, living principally by hunting the buffalo in the Yellowstone Valley. They came for the annuity goods, and departed at will. But, little by little, the Shoshones were allowed to come upon the reservation; goods, subsistence, and clothing, intended for the Bannocks, were issued to these roamers—and soon they outnumbered the lawful claimants nearly two to one.

The Bannocks, of course, grew dissatisfied, restless, and made bitter complaints that the Bridger treaty, made with them, was not kept.

People sitting in the office, at Washington regarded such frettings as of little account. Were not all Indians, Indians? What mattered it whether they were Shoshones or Bannocks? If there were room enough and supplies enough there, no Indian had a right to despise the hand that fed him:

Well, as it often happens, the Esaus were very angry with the Jacobs. The Bannocks grew more and more restless, more and more quarrelsome, and not only hated, but robbed, the more industrious and more favored Shoshones.

At last, in August, 1887, the work of revenge began. A Bannock near Fort

Hall shot and killed two white teamsters. Matters were pretty quiet, even after this outrage; till the authorities, with a view of punishing the guilty, by their slow processes came at last to look into the matter. Mr. Davidson, the Indian agent, sent his interpreter to the Bannocks with a message that they should come to his office and bring with them Bannock-Pe-tope, who was believed to be the slayer of the two teamsters. The Indians seemed to obey. They came, and brought the suspected culprit. He was delivered to the marshal, who conveyed him to prison at Malad City to await his trial.

There was thus far no open opposition; but somehow Indians always deeply demur at the white man's methods of justice, and those who looked beyond the quiet demeanor could see signs of a gathering storm. Few Indians can understand why some white men should not suffer for other white men's offenses. They were merely squaring old scores when they, through Petope, slew the two teamsters.

So we are not surprised to hear that within an hour after the marshal had gone, the suppressed wrath began to show itself. Young Alexander Rhodan, who was attempting to issue cattle to the Indians, was killed by a weapon in the hands of Nampeyogo, and other mischief was threatened.

Very properly, Fort Hall, several miles distant, was called upon for troops. The next morning, my friend, Captain Bainbridge, who had the preceding summer, during the Nez Percè escapade, co-operated with me so heartily, was on the spot with a small detachment of his company.

The murderer was demanded at the hands of the Shoshones and the Bannocks. The Shoshones said that had he been a Shoshone they would have arrested him and delivered him; but that this arrest should be made by the Bannocks. Those Bannocks who were listening feigned acquiescence and started off with apparent alacrity

to make the arrest of the guilty Indian. But when night came, the pursuers returned without Nampeyogo. They declared that he had joined his father and brothers, and that all had escaped to the country that lies beyond the Snake River.

Again pursuers were dispatched, but always with like results. The Bannocks were now plainly hostile. They were armed, and many of them finely mounted. Their handsome ponies (some of them pure white) were fat and tough.

Soon more troops came, from Fort Douglass. lass. General John E. Smith, [its commander, the general who manoeuvred so acceptably a division of the 15th Corps during the War of the Rebellion, soon followed, and held a council with the Indians. He took strong ground with the Bannocks: Bring back that murderer, or you will be regarded as treaty-breakers—yes, as hostiles : "

Still they did not comply. However, Nampeyogo did not get off. White men traced him up to a white settlement, and he was seized, tried, condemned, and executed.

Soon after the death of the fierce Nampeyogo-about the middle of January, 1878an event occurred that has been named as the actual cause of the war. But the causes were really, like those of all wars, multifarious.

General Smith had in hand on the ground three complete companies of infantry and three troops of cavalry. At dawn on the 16th of January, he had so marched his small force as to completely surround and hem in two of the Bannocks' villages. Though the Indians were armed, yet they were taken so suddenly that both villages. were captured, and upwards of fifty warriors. and some three hundred ponies were escorted to the Agency. The father and two brothers of Nampeyogo were sent to Fort Hall for detention, The remainder, after General Smith had counselled them well, were allowed their liberty. Their ponies,

For a time the Bannocks apparently acquiesced in this management, but they were angry at heart with the white man's administration of justice, and especially vexed at the loss of their rifles and ponies. They had many night-talks among themselves, and were for days hatching out plans for revenge.

As soon as the springtime gave them good weather and sufficient grass for the animals that they still had, the Bannocks left the reservation. Many of them had put in crops, but these were abandoned to the wary Shoshones, who reaped from their fields a goodly harvest.

Before following these warlike Indians into the actual campaign of 1878, let us notice them during the preceding year, in the troubles that the Government had with their natural enemies, the Nez Percès.

About a score of Bannocks were at that time employed by Colonel John Green as scouts. Accompanying the troops that had marched from Boise City to Kamiah, they joined me at the latter place, just after the battle of the Clearwater. Buffalo Horn, a handsome young Indian, covered with plumage and dressed in skins, was at their head. These Bannock scouts had hardly come to my column, and been required to march with us across the mountains from Idaho into Montana, when they, hesitating to go, began to manifest a very insubordinate spirit. However, only three broke away from us at this time. Fortunately, Fortunately, Buffalo Horn then kept on my side of the controversy.

They were, after this, quite enterprising during the long march; yet it was exceedingly difficult to restrain them from acts of brutality. For example, they came at one time suddenly upon one of Joseph's abandoned camps. Finding in it an old woman who was too sick and infirm to keep on with the hostiles, the scouts in

trophy of victory. Again, there was another example of ferocity: the same scouts had come upon General Gibbon's battle-field of Big-hole. The dead, including women and children, had been buried under the bank of a stream. The ferocious Bannocks quickly disinterred the bodies, robbed them of clothing, robes, and such various ornaments as had been buried with them; then they pierced and dishonored their naked bodies in a shocking way, and carried off their scalps. I noted at the time: "Our officers look sadly upon the scene, and then, as by a common impulse, deepen their beds (the places from which the bodies had been dug), and cover them with earth.”

On the other hand, there was good behavior. Just before Chief Joseph's notable night attack on my camp at Camas Meadows, I recorded that one of Robbin's scouts, a Bannock, the famous Buffalo Horn, who has since fought against us and been killed, at this time crept to the top of the mountain ridge, succeeded in getting upon a prominent point whence he could see Joseph's camp in the Camas Meadows below, and sent one of the Indians with a message, "Joseph with all his Indians are here." After the night attack, and as we had resumed the hot pursuit and were recovering the mules and horses which had been stolen, we had a pleasant surprise from the Bannock

reserve.

"First a gay cavalcade, riding with the free and easy grace of Indians, appeared in the distance. It proved to be the advance guard of a company of scouts from Fort Hall about one hundred miles to the southwest. Their feathers and fur-strips were flying in the breeze, and the bright colors and tasteful decorations of each man and horse added to the brilliant effect. They carried a white flag in the front rank, and rode grandly into our camp. A thrill of joy ran through our weary and almost discouraged company at this accession. The leader of the scouts, in full buckskin

dress, shaggy with strings, was a tall, pale man, with fair proportions, and slightly deaf. A stranger would see little that was remarkable in him; yet of all the scouts in our Indian campaign, none equaled this chief, Fisher. Night and day, with guides and without, with force and without, Fisher fearlessly hung upon the skirts of the enemy. The accuracy, carefulness, and fulness of his reports, to one attempting to chase Indians across a vast wilderness, were a delight.

After this, I had occasion to distrust my Indian friends; for, "next there came to us here evidences of a Bannock treachery, which culminated a year later in the murder and outrages of the Bannock Campaign."

At the foot of the mountain near Mary Lake, where Spurgin made his zig-zag road, forty horses belonging to citizen teams, which were doing the transporting work for us, were turned out to graze. During the night, these horses all mysteriously disappeared. The quartermaster's clerk, encountering some Bannock scouts who had suspiciously lingered in the rear, was treated to some very rough language by them.

Suspecting treachery, I sent at once a small detachment of mounted soldiers, who soon returned to the camp with ten of the Indian scouts as prisoners. Their leader, (that is, the leader of this party,) a halfbreed by the name of Raine, was cross and mutinous in his language. I had them all disarmed and placed in the guard-tent, and their handsome horses and rifles taken from them. I now also found on inquiry that all the Bannock scouts except one or two had deserted the brave Fisher, and had come back from him to the troops and were planning to return to Fort Hall.

An old chief of the tribe soon begged of me to let the prisoners go free, assuring me of their innocence.

I said, "What you say may be true but Indians are good to hunt horses. They follow blind trails better than white men.

Send out some of your young men, and look up some of my lost horses. I will never set the prisoners free till the horses are brought back."

The old man replied, "Yes, Indians good to hunt horses; I will send them."

In a few hours, twenty of the horses came galloping into camp, chased by his young Indians, who with the old man; then came to me and declared that these twenty were all they could possibly find.

I said, "All right. I shall never let the prisoners go till I see the other twenty horses."

The old Indian gave a grunt and shrug of the shoulders and left me. Soon after I saw him mounted and then, with his party, leave the camp. That night the remaining twenty horses overtook us, and the prisoners were released, except Raine, who was dispatched under escort to Fort Ellis.

One night we had quite a scene, in which the brother of Raine figured. It occurred in a beautiful glade near the head-waters of the Snake River. The Bannocks, our scouts, had for their tepees a slight knoll near the beautiful and clear water, not far from my bivouac. Buffalo Horn came to me and asked that the Indians might have a dance. Consent was given. The echo of the wild singing, the wierd shapes passing the fire during the dance, and the actual sense of danger, after Joseph's late night attack, appeared to impress the whole command with a feeling of awe and apprehension; there was almost a panic. Add to this, I was intending to start the command at two o'clock, and so there was an unusual stir of