through his village without molesting it, that we had put a guard there to secure the property his people had abandoned in their fright, and that they might come back in safety.  The old man searchingly eyed everything around for some little time, and gaining confidence from the peaceable appearance of the men, who were engaged in putting up the tents and preparing their evening meal, he concluded to accept our professions of friendship, and bring his people in.  Going out about half a mile from the village he gave a peculiar yell, at which between three and four hundred Indians arose simultaneously from the ground, and in answer to his signal came out of the tall grass like a swarm of locusts and soon overran our camp in search of food, for like all Indians they were hungry.  They too, proved to be Pit Rivers, and were not less repulsive than those of their tribe we had met before.  They were aware of the hostilities going on between the Rogue Rivers and the whites, but claimed that they had not taken any part in them.  I question if they had, but had our party been small, I fear we should have been received at their village in a very different manner.

From the upper Klamath Lake we marched over the divide and down the valley of the Des Chutes River to a point opposite the mountains called the Three Sisters.  Here, on September 23, the party divided, Williamson and I crossing through the crater of the Three Sisters and along the western slope of the Cascade Range, until we struck the trail on McKenzie River, which led us into the Willamette Valley not far from Eugene City.  We then marched down the Willamette Valley to Portland, Oregon, where we arrived October 9, 1855

The infantry portion of the command, escorting Lieutenant Henry L. Abbot, followed farther down the Des Chutes River, to a point opposite Mount Hood, from which it came into the Willamette Valley and then marched to Portland.  At Portland we all united, and moving across the point between the Willamette and Columbia rivers, encamped opposite Fort Vancouver, on the south bank of the latter stream, on the farm of an old settler named Switzler, who had located there many years before.

CHAPTER IV.

“OLD RED”—­SKILLFUL SHOOTING—­YAKIMA—­WAR—­A LUDICROUS
MISTAKE—­“CUT-MOUTH JOHN’S” ENCOUNTER—­FATHER PANDOZA’S
MISSION—­A SNOW-STORM—­FAILURE OF THE EXPEDITION.

Our camp on the Columbia, near Fort Vancouver, was beautifully situated on a grassy sward close to the great river; and—­as little duty was required of us after so long a journey, amusement of one kind or another, and an interchange of visits with the officers at the post, filled in the time acceptably.  We had in camp an old mountaineer guide who had accompanied us on the recent march, and who had received the sobriquet of “Old Red,” on account of the shocky and tangled mass of red hair and beard, which covered