That evening the officers held a council and it was decided that in case the following morning was fair, Col.  Miller and the Colonel from California whose name I do not remember, myself, and two soldiers would make the attempt to enter the cave, I going as a guide more than anything else.

Next morning about ten o’clock when the fog had raised and the sun came out most beautifully, we made the start for the cave.  Although I had never been inside of the cave, I had no serious trouble in finding the main entrance to it, but we found it so dark inside that we had to use lanterns.  We had not proceeded far until we could see the fire.  I proposed to the others that as I was acquainted with the Indians to let me advance alone, and I can truthfully say that just such another sight I never saw before nor since.  There was a number of wounded Indians lying around; here were the bones of their horses that they had killed and eaten, and a smell so offensive that it was really a hard task for me to stay there long enough to tell them what we wanted of them.  As soon as I commenced talking to them the squaws and children began making their appearance from every direction.

I told them my business, and if they would go with me they would be fed.  They were not only willing, but anxious to go.

By this time the other men were there, and when they were all gathered up Col.  Miller sent two men back to camp for stretchers to carry the wounded Indians to headquarters.  They were all taken out that day.  I do not remember the number of wounded bucks that were in the cave, but there were thirty-two squaws and forty children.

Now the bloody little Modoc war that had lasted so long at the cost of many lives, was brought to an end.  This was glorious news to the surviving ones among the volunteers, and the next day they were making preparations to return to their respective homes, or rather Jacksonville, where they would be discharged, and they again could say their lives were their own.  This being the last days of June and my services not needed any more, I asked the General when the hanging would take place.  He said that it would be about the twentieth of July.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

An interested boy.—­The execution of the Modoc leaders.—­Newspaper messengers.—­A very sudden deputy sheriff.—­A bad man wound up.

I went from there to Yreka to rest up a while.  During my stay there, one morning while I was waiting for my breakfast, I was glancing over the morning paper, when a bright-eyed little boy about nine years old, entered the restaurant, walked up in front of me and said:  “Is this Capt.  Drannan, the scout?” I said:  “Yes, my little man.  What can I do for you?” He said:  “I am going to school and I have to write a composition to read in school, and my mother told me to see you and you might be able to assist me in getting up a piece on the Modoc war.”  I asked the bright little fellow his name.  He said his name was Johnny Whitney.  “Where is your father and what does he follow for a living?” “My father is dead, and my mother takes in washing to support herself and children.”