"The subsequent facts were related to the writer by his highly esteemed friend, Mr. Donald Grant, a native of bonnie Scotland, who was one of our party to the mines, and an eye witness to the scene; not having left on his return to San Francisco till the following day. "Arriving in the Culloma valley with their prisoners, the mountaineers and miners had a grand revel and jollification to celebrate their achievement. During the day most of the prisoners were released, but a few squaws and seven warriors were retained. The latter were questioned and examined relative to their participation in the murder of the Oregonians. Nothing being elicited to prove their guilt, it was nevertheless determined that they should die; because being bad looking and strong warriors, it was believed they were participators in the murders. Accordingly the consumption of champaigne and brandy continued till sunset. At that hour the seven Indians were brought forth, and knowing well their fate, one of them put up his hand as a signal, and all leaped along the valley in rapid flight. Quick as thought the rifles began to crack in every direction, while old Greenwood raving around his cabin remonstrated at the deed, tossed his arms aloft with violent denunciation; and stooping down gathered the dust in his palms, and sprinkled it on his head, swearing he was innocent of their blood. Meantime, John Greenwood stood beside the old man in stoic silence, too brave to participate in the massacre, but too much of a crow to utter his disapproval. But frantic with excitement the others thought only of revenge, and the balls whistling in every direction laid five of the warriors dead in the valley and mortally wounding another, only one escaping unscathed. The dying rays of the sun deserting the bloody scene, yet lingered on the mountain top, and the smoke of the discharge rolled in thick volume, like a pall over the corpses of the slain, while that solitary warrior turned from his distant height, to gaze after his companions, a moment in vain. But his heart quivered with vengeance, and the thin white locks of the old man in the valley, still mingled with the gray twilight, like the sackcloth and ashes of despair. "And this is what they call fighting the Indians! A few days before only, we saw a young mountaineer wild with rage, threaten the life of an American who had ventured to suggest, that the murders committed by these Indians were provoked by many previous murders by the whites, and that they should be avenged by the death of the _guilty_ among the Indians, and not by an _indiscriminate_ slaughter." We cannot think highly of the civilization of the white men who take such unmerciful and indiscriminate revenge as this. Such are not the means to gain the Indians over to a peace. Revenge only breeds revenge; and those who commit such slaughter in retaliation for the murder of one or two men must look to the consequences.