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“ [192] and warriors come to their defence. They are not far away.”

A volley was discharged into the Indian camp. A wild and piercing yell rose up from wounded squaws and children. Soon the paint and feathers showed themselves among stones and trees. Each Indian rushed to the defence of his own lodge, and now the Whites poured in among them, and the hug of hate began. Arms, drill, and science fought for the Whites, and when the firing slackened, a rush was made with knife and bayonet. The camp was carried, and every man, woman, and child still left was sought and killed.

On crossing Bear River, we arrive at Brigham, a city of adobe houses, nestling in the midst of fruit trees. Here we find a body of Red Mormons, led by a Red bishop, on their road to Zion. Finding no comfort in their Gentile neighbours, the Horse Indians are turning more and more towards their pale-faced brethren of the Mormon church.

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