Nevertheless, I was in no position to indulge either in wrath or sorrow. My present course was to be determined on. After a brief counsel with myself, I decided on continuing my flight through that part of the country settlers called the Desert. Few trees or rising hills marked this. Consequently I should here have less chance of risking a second Indian ambuscade. Indeed, on approaching Granite Creek, surrounding indications betrayed the presence of red-skins in the neighborhood, and although in want of water for myself and the animal I was mounted on, I preferred taking my chances on the comparatively barren plain. [Illustration: "The monument erected to Peter Lassen in Honey Lake Valley."--_Page 103._] Providentially, about nightfall I reached a spring. Here I dismounted, and gave my horse some two hours' rest. Remounting, I then continued my way, piloting myself by the stars, as a fugitive on the Plains has frequently to do, if, as in the present case, although there was no moon, the night is clear enough to afford such a series of guide-posts to the wanderer. Sunrise brought me to Smoke Creek. After another short rest, I again pulled out for Susanville. The last fifty miles was hard work for the worn-out and jaded animal, whose enduring bottom had so largely contributed to my escape. All in Susanville and around it were struck with horror, when I detailed the circumstances of the slaughter, from which I was the sole survivor. A large portion of the prominent settlers, amongst which Governor Roop was the most influential, coincided with me in denouncing all further treaties with the treacherous Indians, whether Pah-utes or of any other tribe. However, some who had families, and were not unreasonably apprehensive for their safety in the event of a continuous struggle, warmly opposed our views. At this time, they believed that the red-skins around us numbered some eight or ten thousand. In the face of their opposition, with the co-operation of Governor Roop, I determined upon a plan of action.