Bill, the sirloin-eater, did not show up till after breakfast, looking like he had been sick for four months.
The morning was clear and bright. Not a cloud in sight. The soldiers and Oregon volunteers advanced on the Modoc stronghold very slow and cautious. Not an Indian was in sight. Finally the troops reached a place where they found plenty of fresh tracks. The soldiers halted to take observations. The volunteers led by their captain, Nat Beswick, passed by the troops. Some of the volunteers were saying: "I know them black devils would run when they learned that we volunteers would get after them. We want Injuns. Show us your Injuns, and we will show you some dead ones." The volunteers had not gone more than fifty yards after passing the soldiers when a shot rang out in front of the advancing volunteers. That shot was the beginning of a hard day's battle.
After the first shot, everyone stood still, although Nat Beswick was rolling around in front of his men cursing the Indians with everything he could think of. Finally Beswick shouted to his men thus: "Dm your souls; get me out of here. Can't you see I am shot; my thigh is broke." Two of his men jumped and raised him up. Just then the Indians opened a heavy fire on the volunteers and soldiers. The soldiers and volunteers were fired on so suddenly, when they were not expecting it. It was all confusion with them for quite a lapse of time. At last they rallied, and beginning firing, it was not long till the battlefield was enveloped in smoke. Then to help the matter, a big bank of fog came from the south and settled over the two opposing contestants, and lay over the battlefield all that 17th day of January, 1873.
The Indians being at home in the Lava Beds, knew the natural fortifications. They had the advantage over their enemy. The volunteers and soldiers fired volley after volley into the rocks and fog, but never an Indian could they see. They fired at the sound of the Modoc shots. The fog lifted up high in the afternoon just for a minute or two. The troops and volunteers greeted it with loud cheers. The bugle called charge. Every man went forward with his gun grasped tight, eager to sight a Modoc. The Indians kept up a heavy fire on
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