The Indian guides were of the opinion that the dreaded Tlamaths were “very little” before the white men and the gun-that-speaks-twice. Lieutenant Frémont determined to keep up the first impression made; therefore, as this afternoon and the next morning no Tlamaths had come near, he resolved to visit them. Arrayed for peace or war, out into the lake-meadow boldly rode the company.
The smoke place was distant and obscure, until when within half a mile of it a collection of low round huts could be distinguished, with Indians perched atop, watching.
“These hyar guides want us to form line, trapper fashion, an’ ride down in style,” explained Kit Carson.
To humor the guides, who were proud of their company, the Frémont men ranged themselves in a long front, and proceeded at a pace, while the guides galloped ahead to meet two Indians now approaching from the village.
They were the village chief and his wife; and they had come out, on behalf of their alarmed people, to live or die at the mercy of the mysterious strangers.
The Tlamath chief, handsome of face and soft of voice, thankful that his life was spared, conducted the powerful strangers to his village. This was composed of a few large woven-grass huts, entered by doors in the rounded tops. Grass were the huts; grass the shoes and the caps of the inmates, and grass were the mats and baskets of the furnishings. Fish was the food. Therefore well did the Klamath—whom Lieutenant Frémont styles Tlamath—call themselves “People of the Lake,” for by rushes and fish the lake supplied them with their necessities of life.
Sharp-nosed, prick-eared, woolly, wolfish dogs were sitting, with their masters and mistresses, upon the roofs of the huts; and as companion to Oliver’s dog the men purchased a puppy, whom they named “Tlamath.”
Now the two guides from the mission at the Dalles concluded that they had come as far as was required of them; they would turn homeward. Lieutenant Frémont asked the Tlamath chief for Tlamath guides onward; but the handsome, soft-spoken Tlamath chief shook his head, and by signs indicated that he had no horses, the snow on the mountains was deep, and his family were sick. He could not go, and it seemed that he had none of his young men to send, either.
Therefore, the next morning, the Frémont and Carson company started out, to make their own trail. Snow was falling, the sky was dark, and for a mile and a half they crossed the narrow end of the lake-meadow, where amidst the frozen grass were ponds of ice upon which the pack animals slipped and floundered.
The travel was east, pointed for another “large water” which the Indians said would be found in that direction, after a few days’ journey. Thus, from the lake-meadow, which was not really Klamath Lake of Southern Oregon, but was only Klamath Marsh, north of the lake proper, the company again entered the great pine forest. Here some of the trees were five and six feet through, at the base.