# Life Amongst the Modocs: Unwritten History/Chapter 26

CHAPTER XXVI.
A BLOODY MEETING.
COULD not endure to remain in camp. I went down the river and rested there, and thought what I now should do. I began to recover strength and resolution. I said, if I was right at first I am still right. I resolved to return; but no Indian w^uld venture to go back again, and I went alone. Leaving my horse on a ranch I entered Yreka, and took the stage to Deadwood. I at once went to the Indian camp, and told them of our loss. They, supersti tious like the others, resolved to gather up their effects and supplies and return through the moun tains to the McCloud.
After seeing my old white friends a few hours, I was told that Bill Hirst, the famous man-killer and desperado, with whom I had unfortunately previously become involved, had accused me of being with the Indians, and also taking, or having a hand in taking, his horse. ​
I cleaned and prepared my pistols for this man. At another time I might have been disposed to avoid this fellow. Now I wanted to meet him. It was not particularly for what he had said or done, but he had long been the terror of the camp; and with something of a spirit of chivalry and determi nation to revenge some wrongs of men less ready to fight, I quietly resolved to meet this man in mortal combat. Of course my own desperate condition contributed to make me reckless, and tenfold more ready to resent an insult. If I bore myself well in the scene that followed it was owing more to that, perhaps, than to manly valour.
As the men gathered into Deadwood camp, Hirst among the others, I entered the main saloon and called the boys to the bar in a long red and blue-shirted line. We took a drink, and then, after the fashion of the time, I drew a revolver, and declared myself chief of the town. This is the way a man proceeded in those days who had a wrong to avenge. If his enemy was in camp this was his signal to "heel" himself and come upon the ground. I passed from one saloon to another, making this same declaration until toward midnight. While standing with a knot of miners at the bar of Dean s billiard saloon, Hirst entered the far end of the establishment ; a tall, splendid fellow, with his hat pushed far back from his brow, flashing eyes, and a pistol in his hand.
Not a sound was heard but the resolute tread of Hirst, as he advanced partly toward me and partly ​
toward the billiard table, while the men at play quietly fell back and left the red and white balls dotting the green cloth.
Those around me sidled away right and left, and I stood alone. Hirst advanced to the table, darting his restless, keen eyes at me every second, and, standing against and leaning over the table, all the time watching me like a cat, he punched the billiard balls savagely with the muzzle of his pistol. He then drew back from the table, tossed his head, whistled something, and moved in my direction.
My hand was on my pistol. The hammer was raised and my finger touched the trigger; but Hirst, without advancing further or saying a word, quietly turned out at a side door, and I saw no more of him that night.
I had done nothing, said nothing, but answering to the rough code and etiquette of the camp, the victory was mine ; for when a man enters a room where his antagonist is, it is his place to make the first demonstration. This Hirst did not openly do ; still no doubt he had done enough to satisfy his ambi tion for that evening, and it was evident the end was not yet. It was also evident, brave and reckless as he was, that he sought rather to maintain his reputa tion for recklessness than to meet me as he had met so many others.
I went down the creek that night, after this event, with my white friends, the gentlemen who kept the library, and retired. ​
The next morning we took a walk about the mining claim, returned, sat down in the shadow of the cabin with a few friends who had gathered in, and were talking over the little event of the evening before, when Hirst and an officer came riding gaily down the road, followed by several other gentlemen on horseback, who were coming down to see the result of a second meeting.
The cabins stood on the opposite side of the stream from the road, and ditches had to be crossed by the horsemen to reach us. The officer and Hirst both splendid horsemen as well as famous pistol- shots leapt the ditches and came darting over ; but the others, whoever they were, as they had an open view from where they stood, felt that they were quite near enough, and reined their horses.
The men I was then with, and with whom I had spent the night, were the most peaceful, noble, and gentlemanly fellows in the camp, and I had no wish to make their cabins the scene of a tragedy. I was equally unwilling to submit to Hirst in any form or manner, and hastily shaking hands with my friends as the men advanced up the hill, I made off up the mountain, perhaps fifty yards in advance of the horsemen, and on foot.
Pistols flourished in the air, the men started for ward almost upon me, and it looked as if I was to be shot down and trampled under foot. The hill side was steep and rocky, and the mettlesome little Mexican horses refused to rush upon me across the ​
steep and broken ground, but began to spin round like tops, and would not advance up the hill.
Some hard, iron-clad oaths, and then shot after shot. I turned, drew a pistol, and the battle com menced in earnest. The officer was unhorsed, and lay bleeding on the ground from a frightful wound, while Hirst, further down the hill, could only fire random shots over the head of his restless and plunging horse. It lasted but a few moments.
These men were both famous as pistol shots ; but they were not, here, equal to their reputation, and that was because they were shooting on a range they had never yet tried. They had only practised on the level ground or in a well-arranged gallery, and when it came to shooting up hill they were helpless ; and so it often happens with others. There are other men, again, who are dead pistol shots when allowed to draw deliberately and take aim slowly and fire at leisure ; but when compelled to use the pistol instantly in some imminent peril, the only time they are ever really required to use it, they are slow, awkward, and embarrassed.
Let us for a moment follow the fortunes of these two men before us : the one lying bleeding on the ground, and the other flying down and across the hill, firing, and trying to hold his spirited horse to the work.