Among the Rocky Mountains, on one occasion, while J. Wesley Jones, Esq., with a few of his artist companions, were stopping in the rear of their main company for the purpose of daguerreotyping for his pantascope some remarkably strange rocks, a war party of Indians suddenly sprang from behind the rocks, and, giving a frightful yell, advanced with lances poised ready for battle, when the artist, with great coolness, turned upon them his camera, and somewhat mystically waving over the instrument the black clothes in which his pictures were wrapped, held his lighted cigar in somewhat frightful proximity to the instrument. The savages had heard strange stories of "thunder on wheels," which had, in one terrific burst, swept away whole parties of red skins. Panic stricken, they paused a moment, then veered to the right with eye fixed upon the dreadful instrument. But the strange "mortar" followed them; its dangerous point ever keeping them in a direct line. Pop!-pop!-pop! went a revolver from beneath the instrument. This was but the prelude of the death waging storm about to burst upon them! They could no longer stand this, but with a simultaneous yell broke away towards the rocks. Bang!-bang! went the artist's guns after them. Strange, terrific sounds were reverberated through the mountain gorges, and echoed back by the cavernous rocksyells and shrieks and rumbling thunders. The smoke cleared away, and the artists were alone. No time was lost in rejoining the caravan; and, the danger being over, it became often the subject of merriment around the camp firesJones' charge among the Indians with the daguerreotype instrument!
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