A description of the fight would be impossible for me, as I only could detail that portion of it in which I was bodily concerned. It may be sufficient to say, that the first pitched battle with the red man, in which I was concerned, lasted for perhaps some fifteen minutes. The savages then seemed to have enough of it, and retired in admirable disorder. The right term would possibly be this--they ran away. Dashing out after them, we followed the flying red-skins for some distance, and I had the satisfaction of raising my first hair, or in the language of the East, taking my first scalp. An Indian, who concealed himself behind a large rock, discharged four arrows at me almost with the continuous rapidity of the lightning in the tempest we had so recently experienced. But what might be good for the goose might be equally good for the gander. Rocks were at a fairly large discount in that city of them. Taking advantage of one of these, I seized the opportunity afforded me by an unguarded movement of the enemy and dropped him with a bullet through his brain. Some three more dead Indians lay scattered round the wagons, while only one of our men had received any hurt. He was an Irishman, who had received a shot in the right side. It had been made with a ragged ball, which had torn his flesh frightfully. However, the wound did not prove fatal. The City of Rocks was now quiet enough, and shortly after Captain Crim gave orders for again starting. Very necessarily, we were too fully employed in discussing our first Indian fight (or more properly perhaps I was, as several of my companions had crossed the Plains before) to indulge in a prolonged examination of the quaint, natural architecture through which we were moving. On arriving at sundown near Goose Creek, our captain decided upon an extended examination of the country round, before entering the cañon. His reason for this was, that, on two previous occasions, the Indians had in this locality robbed him of all his horses, leaving him to find his way to California on foot. Little wisdom exceeds that which is taught us by past misfortune. At least, I may safely swear that I have generally found this to be the case. Our men were accordingly divided into three parties, of tolerably equal numbers. One had the care of the train and horses. Another had to pass across the mountains on the right, and the last, those on the left of the cañon. Crim did me the honor of detailing me in command of the second party, because his past experience had convinced him this was the side from which most danger might be expected, and as he was pleased to observe, I "had not only pluck enough for anything, but plenty of prudence." In the first part of this compliment, I completely justify his eulogy. The second portion of it may be subject to more question, especially when my youth is remembered. My party consisted of twenty-eight of the best men connected with the train, amongst whom were Brighton Bill.