250 MULE-HUNTING EXPEDITION. 



May 11th. Shotgun Creek; my camp is on 

 the side of a steep mountain, and, about a 

 mile farther on, is another stream, Mary's Creek. 

 Camped on this stream was a small pack-train, 

 that had been with stores to some mining-station. 

 I heard wolves barking and howling all night, 

 and twice I drove them out of my camp with a 

 fire-log. The next morning, as I passed the 

 camp of the packers, they were in sad grief. The 

 rascally wolves had pulled down one of their 

 mules, and torn it almost to pieces. I rode up 

 in the wood to see its mangled remains. The 

 ravenous beasts must have fixed on its haunches, 

 and ripped it up whilst it lived. I was sadly 

 grieved for the poor beast that had come to so 

 untimely an end, and for the man who had lost 

 him at least 30/. worth. 



For two more days I followed up the course of 

 the Sacramento, and crossed it for the last time. 

 Standing at the ford, and looking straight up the 

 valley, the scenery is wild and beautiful in the 

 extreme ; on either side sharp pinnacle-like rocks 

 shoot up into all sorts of fantastic shapes, dotted 

 with the sugar-pine, scrub-oak, and manzanata 

 in front ; and blocking up, as it were, the end 

 of the valley, stood Mount Shasta, at this time 

 covered to its base with snow. 



