III.
MY FIRST GRIZZLY.

One of Fremont’s men, Mountain Joe
had taken a fancy to me down in Oregon,
and finally, to put three volumes in three
lines, I turned up as partner in his Soda
Springs ranch on the Sacramento, where
the famous Shasta-water is now bottled, I
believe. Then the Indians broke out,
burned us up and we followed and fought
them in Castle rocks, and I was shot down.
Then my father came on to watch by my
side, where I lay, under protection of
soldiers, at the mouth of Shot Creek can-
yon.

As the manzanita berries began to turn
the mountain sides red and the brown pine
quills to sift down their perfumed carpets
at our feet, I began to feel some strength
and wanted to fight, but I had had enough

of Indians. I wanted to fight grizzly bears
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