Painter's brother Ben applied to myself and some others to accompany him and bury the body. When we reached the spot, we found it cut and mutilated in the most frightful manner. Ben, with the rest of us, kneeling beside it, took a solemn oath to be avenged, whenever the opportunity was afforded us. Having then buried the body, we named the valley Painter's Cañon. It holds this name to the present day. In the fall of the same year, a report spread that a man called Foreman had struck a valuable silver-mine in the vicinity of Black Rock. This was the same place, in which one of the settlers had discovered a large lump of silver ore. His name was Harding. Being on a hunting expedition at the time, and out of lead, he had run it into bullets. A tolerable degree of excitement was caused amongst us, by the confirmation of previous suppositions, we presumed was thus given. But Black Rock was more than a hundred and twenty miles beyond Susanville, on the north-west side of Queen's River Desert. Its distance prevented many from going to prospect the place. However, after two or three days' talk over the matter, old Pete Lassen, with a man named Clapp, myself, and two other of the boys, determined upon verifying this report. On the following day, therefore, striking the old Emigrant Road, and continuing it as far as Granite Creek, our little party followed the Granite range of mountains up to Stove-pipe Springs. Thence, we crossed them to the Black Rock range. On the whole of the way, recently, we had encountered wandering Indians. They had seemed very friendly. We were, however, in a section of the country which the red-skins evidently considered their rightful property. The place of encampment this night, selected by Uncle Peter, was very unfavorably situated. But when I advised him to allow me to select a more defensible location, on higher ground than that adjoining the small creek which he had chosen, the old German was obstinate. "Tamn it, my poy! Don't you 'spose I know dem vellers. Dey von't hurt old Pete. You must give dem some crub, my poy! Dat ish all dey vants." "That may be, Uncle Peter," I replied; "but I wouldn't trust the last three or four lots of red devils we have met, out of the range of my rifle." Just at this moment a party of some dozen Indians approached the little camp, and the peaceful Peter motioning them with his hand, shouted out: "Comes t'here!" Understanding his inviting action, if not his words, they flocked around him. The old Dutchman gave them some bread, meat, and tobacco. Before they left us, he added to these things some powder and caps. "A very dangerous gift," as I grumbled out in a low tone of voice. When, after having got all they could, they quitted us, I expressed my wish to Uncle Pete to stand on guard during the night. "Don't be a tamned vool!" was his reply. "I dink you ar' scared of dem Injins. If you vants, go on de hill, and leaff old Pete by himself. I hafe no vear."