get himself settled. Ivan had explained where they might look, for Jack had surely taken off for the woods up on the mountains beyond the ford or else for the rocks down on the west side of the lake.
Then, back at Yainax, Ivan waited. For days there was no word, only silence. The troopers, he reckoned, were out looking, but nothing, evidently, was going to come of it. Then word came by a singed and blackened messenger passing through. July 4, Yreka, the man said. There had been the reading of the Declaration of Independence, the speech, the fantastics parade -- all had finished. The celebration had gone awry in the night. Fire. Half the whole downtown district up in flames. Hotels, haberdashers, feed stores, the works. All night long everyone had joined in the battle: miners, sheepmen, women and children, Chinamen and Indians. In the morning, all the townsfolk and their visitors had looked, dismayed, at the many blocks of ruins.
That was it, though, for Ivan. Of course!, he had thought as soon as the man had finished. That was where someone would find Jack. He would still be hanging around the excitement, as would be every loose Indian for miles around. Now they could get him! He sat down and wrote to the sheriff of Siskiyou County, California, at Yreka:
Yainax, July 5, 1871
Sir.
Five Modoc Indians known respectively as “Captain Jack”, “Dandy Jim”, “Boston”, “Goldback” and “Wa-cal-um-chucks”, are charged with the murder of an Indian named “Com-po-twas”. The murder was committed near Klamath Reservation on the 19th day of June 1871. As all these parties belong upon Klamath Reservation, I do most respectfully call upon you to arrest the accused, if they be found in the city of Yreka, holding them until they can be turned over to Major Jackson, USA Commander of Fort Klamath.
Very Respectfully, Sir, Your
Most Humble Servant.
Ivan D. Applegate
Coms. in charge of Snake and Modoc Indians
He re-read the letter, then stepped out of the office and into the road. Looking up and down it, he could only identify Snakes. Finally, he called one of the older boys over to him.
“You know any Modocs?” he asked. “Seen any of them here today?”
“Up by canteen. One,” the boy said.
“Sprague River or Lost River? You know?”
When the boy shook his head that he didn’t, Ivan continued:
“Go see. Fetch him,” he said. “Here, you take this.” He handed the boy a silver coin from his pocket. “You find him, you keep it. But show him it. Say Ivan’s got more like that for him. Say bring horse. Tell him Ivan wants him to deliver a letter.”
#72
Only a couple of blocks down the street, the shells of the buildings were still smoking as Rosborough’s clerk penned the words the judge had dictated.
Yreka, California, July 5, 1871
We, the undersigned, have had an interview with the Modoc Chief known as Capt. Jack. He wishes us to make known to whom it may concern that he will not resist the soldiers, nor in any way disturb the settlers in the Modoc country.
A.M. Rosborough, Judge 9th Judicial Dist., State of California
Jesse Applegate
Henry F. Miller (of) Tule Lake
John S. Miller of Jacksonville, Oregon
“Much good may it do him!” Jesse Applegate said grudgingly when he signed it. “Killing that medicine man: our young fellow just burned his bridges, unless I’m mistaken.”
“Don’t talk about things burning!” Henry Miller exclaimed.
After Jack left, Jesse got up and reached for his hat. He turned to the others and said, “Month ago I finished drawing up a plan for Meacham, and he just sent it on back to Washington. Lost River, Tule Lake Modoc Reservation.”
“That ought to keep out settlers! Who’d want to live by that?” John Miller asked.
“Not many, I’m beginning to think,” said Jesse.
“I don’t know,” said Henry. “I put in a word for them. They got as much right there as anyone, I believe. Ask Steele if I didn’t say so.”
“Now though…,” Rosborough said.
“Now, if they pick up Jack, things will open up around Lost River,” Jesse said. “His people will go back up to Klamath.”
“You sound relieved there,” Henry offered.
“Might be at that!” Jesse said, clamping on his hat. “I’m going over to the ranch.”
#73
All morning long they had trailed him as he and three of his men worked the last of his sheep down to where they could get onto the old road. Jesse Applegate had been looking off to the south, surveying in his mind what he and Jesse Carr had talked about, when he spotted them. The Indians were filing along an outcropping that paralleled his path; then when he looked again they were gone. Every so often they would reappear, though, still heading in the same direction. They showed no sign of trying to close with him, and after a while he stopped paying them much attention. They had to be Modocs, even though he couldn’t tell which ones. They were never close enough for him to be sure. No one else would be out here, though, on a line toward Clear Lake. He took them for a group headed out to scare up antelope, and so he, too, settled down, minding his own business, watching the dogs nurse the sheep along. He had enough to think about anyway, reviewing what remained to be done. Jesse Carr’s ambitions were beginning to scare him. Jesse Applegate was accustomed to doing the big thinking around these parts, but Carr outdistanced even him, step for step, inch for inch.
The surveying: Jesse Applegate thought he understood the project when he started out to do it. Securing the area around Clear Lake was a very big idea. He had led Carr out to show him all the springs and the creek beds that cut through the land, dry now, as was usual; pointed out the other natural features. Then, when he had things drawn up, in a preliminary kind of way, he had laid out the rough map between them, with Clear Lake right in the middle, the left edge along the ridge of hills that separated it from Tule Lake.
“Good,” Carr had said. “But where’s the rest of it?”
“What ‘rest’?” Jesse Applegate had asked.
“The rest over to Tule Lake. On up to where Lost River comes in.”
“What do you mean?” Applegate had asked. “That’s taken.”
“Who said?” Carr had asked.
“Why lots of people. Land. Miller. Brotherton. Boddy. Crawley.” He had ticked off the names of the ranches as they occurred going north along the Tule Lake shore and then west, over toward where Lost River emptied in.
“They haven’t all claimed yet,” Carr had responded matter-of-factly.
“Well, no. Maybe they’re not finished up legally.”
“Not even started, some of them. I looked. And they haven’t put up their money.”
“But they’re settled. The places are worked.”
“That may be, but the titles are, you might say, still clouded. Anyway, if I can qualify them as ‘Swamp Lands’ I can claim them. I reckon I will be able to do that. That’s legal. Dollar an acre, just like this.” He had swung his arm in an arc across the