n
Day country north of Bridge Creek, where they robbed a settler named
Clarno of a number of cattle and horses and started back. Howard Maupin
then lived at Antelope valley, 15 miles from the Clarno place. The
Indians attempted to capture his horses in the night, but were
frustrated by the watchfulness of the dogs that gave the alarm. The
horses were corralled, and Maupin and his son and a young German stood
guard all night. The next morning Jim Clark and John Attebury arrived at
the station, and it was determined to follow and punish the Indians and
recover the stolen stock. They followed the trail into the rough brakes
of Trout Creek and located the camp. The Indians had halted in a small
basin on the mountain side through which ran a small branch, bordered
with willows, where they had killed an ox and were enjoying a feast. The
five men approached as near as possible and then leaving their horses
made their way up the ravine upon which the unsuspecting savages were
camped. Howard Maupin was armed with a Henry rifle, a present to the old
hero from General George Crook. Silently the men made their way up the
rough and rugged ravine until they lay concealed seventy yards away.
Taking deadly aim the five men fired, killing four Indians. The Indians
fled to the protection of a rugged cliff of rocks, but Maupin's rifle
kept following them with deadly effect. One Indian was picked out as the
chief and fell at the crack of the rifle. He raised on his hands and
halloed to the others until they reached the shelter of the rocks. It
required two more shots to finish him, and thus died Polina, or Penina,
the leader of the Snakes and scourge of the white man. The shot from
Howard Maupin's repeating rifle closed the Snake, or Shoshone war, and
peace reigned until their great uprising under Chief Egan in 1877.

For a year or more, or until the spring of 1868, I followed the hum-drum
life of a printer. A call of duty compelled me to lay all else aside to
care for an invalid brother, Judge J. M. Thompson. He was dying of
chronic dyspepsia. Physicians had given him up. He was a mere shadow,
and while we had little hope of recovery, we determined to take him into
the mountains. As soon, therefore, as spring opened we made our
preparations. Our provisions consisted of unbolted flour and salt.
Nothing else was taken--no tea, coffee, or indeed anything else save
our bedding, guns and ammunition. We journeyed up the McKinzie fork of
the Wil