Captain Boling sat for some time apparently watching the blazing logs before him. He took no part in the discussion of Indian affairs, which continued to be the engrossing subject among the wakeful ones, whose numbers gradually diminished until Spencer and one or two others beside myself only remained at our fire. The Captain then said: “I do not despair of success in causing this tribe to make peace, although I cannot see any very flattering prospects of our being able to corral them, or force an immediate surrender. They do not seem inclined to fight us, and we cannot follow them among the rocks in those almost impassable cañons with any probability of taking them. Bare-footed they rapidly pass without danger over slippery rocks that we, leather-shod, can only pass at the peril of our lives. My mishap of to-day is but a single illustration of many that would follow were we to attempt to chase them along the dizzy heights they pass over. Being lightly clad, or not at all, they swim the river to and fro at will, and thus render futile any attempt to pursue them up the river, unless we divide the force and beat up on both sides at the same time. I have thought this matter over, and have reached the conclusion that, unless some lucky accident throws them into our hands, I see but one course to pursue, and that is to destroy their camps and supplies, and then return to head-quarters.” After having had the bandages arranged on his swollen arm he bade us good night, and sought such repose as his bruised limbs and disappointed ambition would permit. Having ended our discussions, we came to the sage conclusion that Captain Boling was in command, and duty required our obedience to his orders. Satisfied with this decision, we readily dropped off to sleep.