the firing, hurried forward, and seeing the Indians pouring out of the rocks, began discharging their rifles upon them. By this the savages were entirely demoralized. The only space left was the river itself, and into its tumultuous current they began to precipitate themselves, the miners still firing upon them as they struggled in the water, until the river ran red. The slaughter must have been very great. Yet of all this, though but a few miles away, Case knew nothing. He placed his camp for the night in a sink, so that any Indians creeping up must be seen, and kept guard himself, with his ear to the ground, so as to hear any stealthy steps approaching. He saw or heard nothing. Nevertheless, the next morning, when one of his men went to the river for water, he reported upon his return that there were the footprints of as many as five hundred Indians upon the sand bar of the river, where the night before there were none to be seen. This, Case found to be about so, and with hands on the trigger, and hearts ready for anything, the little company started out, expecting an ambuscade at any moment. Case's advice to his men was, "If we are attacked, keep close together. If you divide up, we are lost." But they had not gone far before they heard a shot, and soon were greeted by the advance of Newell's men; and the next moment were met by Newell himself, who told them of the fight, and that the country was full of hostile Indians; but Weston and Howard were not far ahead, and the best thing for them was to shove forward and overtake them. Accordingly, Case shoved forward, passing hour after hour in the depths of the canyons, and hearing almost continually the Indians calling to one another from the mountains now on this side and now on that. But still they were not attacked. They were often upon the trail of the white men, but they, too, were shoving ahead, and not until the Rogue River Valley was passed and the
