The first speaker soon hangs his head and sleeps. Soon the other’s chin rests on his breast and he begins to snore. Long Jim slowly raises his head. All is quiet. There sit the two guards, sleeping. One is snoring. Jim listens. His love for his own people and for liberty burns in his heart. He has picked up many items that would be valuable. He knows that the attack will be made on the morrow. His friends
must be notified. He listens a moment, and then, cautiously laying aside his blanket, he stands erect. One of the guards sits in the gateway of the corral. The wall around him is higher than his head. He cannot see over it. Laying his hands on the stone and summoning all his strength he springs. A blaze at either end of the corral, then bang! bang! go the guns outside like the firing, of a string of China crackers, only louder. Twenty shots are fired, and still Jim does not fall. He reaches the outer picket line. Two more guns are fired off, lighting up the track for the runaway, and still he flies. The boys reload and send a parting volley in the direction Jim went.
“He ‘made it’; and a madder set of fellows you never saw. I knew they couldn’t hit him. I’ve tried that thing, and it can’t be done.” I need not tell my readers who uttered this remark.
You may suppose that this little episode, “just before the battle,” roused the camp. No such thing occurred. Gen. Gilliam, it is true, jumped to his feet, but was reassured when he was told that it was nothing—only Long Jim escaping.
Before daylight this distinguished individual was “a-tellin’ the Modocs the news,” as one of the sleeping guard declared. So he was, with his clothing pierced by half-a-dozen bullets, but “with nary a wound.”
CHAPTER XXXII.
HORIZONTAL PYROTECHNICS—THE SCALP MIRACLE—KILLED IN PETTICOATS—THE PRESENTIMENT.
It is four o’clock on the morning of Tuesday, the 14th of April. The men are silently falling into line. The mules are groaning under the heavy weight of “mounted pieces,” or loaded with stretchers and other contrivances for carrying the dead and wounded. The soldiers do not seem to realize that some of their number will return on these mules, wounded and helpless, or dead. Perhaps each one thinks and hopes that it will be some one other than himself. From the immense preparations for war it would seem that Captain Jack and his followers must be taken in a few minutes. One thousand men and seventy-two Warm Spring Indians are taking position around the ill-starred chieftain’s fortress. He is not ignorant of their presence. His old women and children are hidden away in the caves of the Lava Beds. The young women are detailed to attend the warriors with water and ammunition. The Modocs are better armed than during the last battle. Some of their guns were captured from fallen soldiers on the 17th of January. A large quantity of ammunition that was taken has been changed to suit the old rifles.