Of course the services of a
doctor were always accepted when an Indian fell ill; otherwise the
invalid's death would surely ensue, brought about by the evil
influence that was unpropitiated. Latterly it had become quite the
thing, when a patient died, for the doctor to flee to our camp--it
was so convenient and so much safer than elsewhere--and my cellar was
a favorite place of refuge from the infuriated friends of the
deceased.
Among the most notable of these doctors was an Indian named Sam
Patch, who several times sought asylum in any cellar, and being a
most profound diplomat, managed on each occasion and with little
delay to negotiate a peaceful settlement and go forth in safety to
resume the practice of his nefarious profession. I often hoped he
would be caught before reaching the post, but he seemed to know
intuitively when the time had come to take leg-bail, for his advent
at the garrison generally preceded by but a few hours the death of
some poor dupe.
Finally these peculiar customs brought about the punishment of a
noted doctress of the Rogue River tribe, a woman who was constantly
working in this professional way, and who had found a victim of such
prominence among the Rogue Rivers that his unlooked for death brought
down on her the wrath of all. She had made him so ill, they
believed, as to bring him to death's door notwithstanding the many
ponies that had been given her to cease the incantations, and it was
the conviction of all that she had finally caused the man's death
from some ulterior and indiscernible motive.
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