Sunrise brought me to Smoke Creek. After another short rest, I again pulled out for Susanville.
The last fifty miles was hard work for the worn-out and jaded animal, whose enduring bottom had so largely contributed to my escape.
All in Susanville and around it were struck with horror, when I detailed the circumstances of the slaughter, from which I was the sole survivor. A large portion of the prominent settlers, amongst which Governor Roop was the most influential, coincided with me in denouncing all further treaties with the treacherous Indians, whether Pah-utes or of any other tribe.
However, some who had families, and were not unreasonably apprehensive for their safety in the event of a continuous struggle, warmly opposed our views. At this time, they believed that the red-skins around us numbered some eight or ten thousand.
In the face of their opposition, with the co-operation of Governor Roop, I determined upon a plan of action.
The first man I spoke to about joining me was Harry Arnold. He was a good shot, and a man of dauntless courage—not knowing what an impossibility might be. Not only did he consent to work with me, but gave me invaluable assistance in drawing together such tough and determined fellows as each of us could rely upon. Amongst these was Ben Painter, Luther Spencer, David Blanchard, my old friend Brighton Bill, Butch' Hasbrouck, and a number of others, as good men as ever rammed a ball down a rifle. In all, on the succeeding day, when we compared notes, we found twenty-four men had signed the roll, and pledged themselves to readiness at twenty minutes' notice. Both agreeing these were enough, we met on the following day in Willow Creek Valley, some fourteen to sixteen miles north of Susanville, where we completed our organization. The company was to take the name of the Buckskin Rangers, of which I was to be the captain. Harry Arnold and Ben Painter were chosen as my first and second lieutenants, while every one else was to act as an orderly sergeant, as well as his own commissary. Our agreement was that we should all dress in buckskin, at our own expense. Indeed, every man was to furnish his entire fit-out, complete for active service.
It will afterwards be seen, what this active service actually meant.
The next thing we had to do, was to select our horses. Jack Bird, settled at the lower end of Honey Lake, owned a large stock. Besides presenting me with one of his own special favorites, to which he had given the name of the Tipton Slasher, he contributed to mounting the Rangers, most liberally.
The animal he gave me was a dapple iron-gray, partly of Spanish stock, with fine clean limbs, and of great speed and endurance. When Jack gave it to me, he said:
"Look here, Mose! if you ever let a darned red-skin catch you, it will be when you are not on Tip's back."