country in the vicinity is covered by scoriae, as though a volcano had
vomited the refuse of the subterranean world to disfigure nature.

The Indians came in slowly for a talk, but were insolent and defiant.
Delshay, the Tonto chief, demanded a blanket and some coffee and whisky.
The Americans had neither coffee nor whisky for their own use, and he
was quite put out about it, but partook of panole and jerked beef.

The parley was very unsatisfactory, as the Indians were surly, and made
demands which it was impossible to grant. There were about twenty-five
Indians at the council, and fifty or more on the surrounding ledges. As
the Indians became more hostile the situation became more serious, and
it was evident to the Americans that they were surrounded, and in
imminent danger of massacre.

Woolsey was not only a brave but a very intelligent man, and he saw at
once that either the Americans or the Indians were to be slaughtered, so
he said: "Boys, we have got to die or get out of this. Each of you pick
out your Indian, and I will shoot the chief for a signal."

The fusillade commenced, and all the Indians that could run stampeded.
The only American killed was Lennon, a half brother of Ammi White, my
Indian agent at the Pima villages.

Lennon had picked out his Indian and sent a bullet to his heart; but the
Indian in the agonies of death made a lunge at Lennon with his spear and
transfixed him. They both fell at the Bloody Tanks in the embrace of
death.

The Americans rescued Lennon's body, and having strapped it over a pack