The day following, the father of this Indian woman was richer by two horses. The cabin of Frank Riddle put on a brighter air. The mistress assumed charge of the camp-kettle and the frying-pan. The tin plates were cast aside, and dishes of finer mould mounted the tables at the command of a pair of brown hands.
Riddle, having broken his vows, and forsaken his boyhood idol, set to work now to make the untamed girl worthy to fill the place in his heart from which she had driven another. She was apt at learning, and soon only the semblance of a squaw remained in the dusky cheeks and brown hands. Seven years pass, and Frank Riddle and his woman Tobey appear in the Modoc council on Lost river, December, 1869.
Tobey and Riddle.
We made the opening speech in that council, setting forth the reasons for our visit and producing the treaty of 1864. Here Captain Jack began to manifest the same kind of disposition that has been so prominent in his subsequent intercourse with government officials,—a careful, cautious kind of diplomacy, that does not come to a point, but continually seeks to shirk responsibility.
He denied that he was a party to the treaty of October, 1864, or that he signed the paper. Doctor McKay, old Chief Schonchin, and sub-Chief Blo of Klamath were brought forward, and his allegations disproved completely; we fully and clearly establishing the fact that he was present at that treaty council, and that he put his hand to the pen, when his mark was made; that he accepted and shared with the other Indians the goods issued by Superintendent Huntington in confirmation of the treaty. The
amount of goods issued I cannot state; but I find that Huntington had an appropriation of $20,000, to meet the expenses of said treaty council, and, I doubt not, issued $5,000 or $10,000 worth of goods. All agree that it was a liberal supply of goods, and I believe it to be true.
Captain Jack, seeing that “he was cornered,” began to quibble about what part of the Reservation he was to go on to. This was met with the proposition that he could have any unoccupied land. Finding his objections all fairly met, he finally said, that, if he could live near his friend, Link-river Jack, he would go. We began to “breathe easy,” feeling that the victory was ours, when the Modoc medicine-man arose, and simply said, “Me-ki-gam-bla-ke-tu,” (We won’t go there); when, presto! from exultation every countenance was changed to an expression of anxiety, and every hand grasped a revolver.
The moment was fraught with peril. The least wavering then, on our part, would have precipitated a fight, the result of which would have been doubtful as to how many, and who, of our party would have come out alive. It is quite certain that, had a fight ensued, what has since startled our people would have been anticipated, and that the name of Captain Jack would have passed away with but little notice from among the savage heroes.