I was dying, morally; I was starving to death for
counsel and kind words after what had just been
said and done. My heart was filling full of bitter
ness. But perhaps he did not understand me.
Lockhart was in better temper the next morning. He told me, which no doubt was the truth, that the whole town and settlements were in a blaze of excitement about the massacre, and that I was liable to be shot by almost any one, unless I by a prudent course of conduct put down the suspicions against me.
I asked to be allowed to return to Soda Springs, but he insisted that the only safe thing for me to do was to join the expedition already on the way against the Indians. I saw that he was deter mined I should do this, and consented. He gave me a letter a very friendly letter to Joseph Rogers, a son of one of the men who had been murdered in Pit River Valley, and then with the expedition. It was an open and very complimentary letter. But other letters were sent in the hands of the two men who were sent with me.
These were men, I was told, belonging to the expedition, who had not yet left town, and would be glad to show me the way to the camp ; but the truth was, I was still a prisoner, and these men were my keepers.
Very soon and very early we rode out of town against the rising sun, past the grave-yard and past the gallows to Avar d Mount Shasta.
