SCOURGE OF THE SANTA MONICA MOUNTAINS 



471 



sands in the river, and who would reach up 

 from below and, seizing the feet of the unfor- 

 tunate animal who ventured into their lair, 

 would drag it down slowly but irresistibly, 

 struggling and screaming, into the depths 

 below. Not all of the animals had heard of 

 this rumor, and still fewer believed it. But 

 many of them avoided the spot merely be- 

 cause of its weird uncanny surroundings, and 

 only under stress of thirst in a dry season 

 would they venture to drink here. There 

 was often water here when there was none 

 to be had elsewhere, perhaps because water 

 came up with the oil and gas, perhaps because 

 a light rain which elsewhere soaked into the 

 dry soil would here collect in pools on the 

 impervious asphalt. The elephants and mas- 

 todons, however, long-lived, shrewd, and 

 highly superstitious, looked upon the place 

 with horror, and could not be induced to 

 venture into its vicinity. Once indeed, it was 

 said, a party of elephants — but that is 

 another story. 



But the ground sloths knew nothing of the 

 sinister reputation of the Black Pools. Nor 

 perhaps would they have understood and 

 avoided them had they known, for the shim- 

 mer and smell of water was enough to draw 

 them to drink, and only an unbearably alka- 

 line taste might have kept them away. More- 

 over they, like the bison, were comparative 

 newcomers in the country, although they 

 had come from the opposite direction, work- 

 ing their way up from the far south across the 

 rugged Mexican plateaus and hills. 



They continued their leisurely progress 

 through the brush, crossed the bare black 

 ground around the pools, and splashed into 

 the largest one to drink. 



For a moment nothing happened. They 

 seemed to be standing on fairly firm although 

 soft bottom. Then, slowly the bottom began 

 to yield and their feet to sink in, and in terror 

 they hastily turned to find firmer footing. 

 But their feet, once through the crust, could 

 not be withdrawn. They were held with 

 incredible tenacity; if by desperate effort 

 they dragged out one foot all covered by the 

 sticky asphalt, it served only to sink the other 

 limbs deeper and hold them more firmly. 

 Little by little, in bawling terror, they were 

 being dragged relentlessly down. 



Meanwhile the great sabre-tooth tiger had 

 been making his way silently but rapidly, 

 taking advantage of every rock or bit of 

 brush that might conceal his approach, across 

 the valley toward his intended prey. He had 



come up near behind them when they reached 

 the asphalt pool and now stood lurking in the 

 edge of the brush, ready to rush out and spring 

 upon them as they drank. His eyes blazed 

 in triumph as he noted that first one, then 

 both, were in some kind of difficulty and their 

 movements hampered. With a fierce roar 

 he leaped out from the thicket, flashed across 

 the bare ground between, and sprang upon 

 the back of the nearest ground sloth, and, 

 digging his great claws into its hide, struck 

 his fangs deep into its neck. Perhaps his 

 aim was bad, his hold a little disturbed by 

 the now rapid sinking of his victim into 

 the oozy black depths of the pool. The 

 sloth with a desperate wrench of its body 

 shook him off to one side and he rolled over 

 upon the surface of the asphalt. In a mo- 

 ment he regained his feet, and turned to 

 strike again at the neck of the animal at his 

 side, already sunk more than half below the 

 surface. But in that moment the demon of 

 the Black Pools seized him and held him in its 

 dreadful clutch, first by the fore feet, then the 

 hind feet as well. Strive as he might he 

 could not release more than one foot at a 

 time, and that but for the moment. He for- 

 got all thoughts of prey and turned with a 

 choking snarl to drag himself out. But it 

 was too late. The fierce sabre-tooth, the 

 tyrant of hill and valley, the dreadful scourge 

 of the prehistoric world that we have looked 

 upon for a moment, was hopelessly doomed to 

 follow his intended victim to an awful and 

 lingering death in the black and sticky depths 

 of the asphalt pool, from which rose now, 

 faster and faster, bubbles of oil and malodor- 

 ous gas as the struggling animals sank lower 

 and lower beneath the surface. 



The screams of the terrified animals had 

 been heard far and wide over the valley, 

 and the sight of their struggles had attracted 

 the great birds that were soaring high above 

 in the air. One by one they came dropping 

 down — vultures, condors, eagles, and smaller 

 birds of prey, and formed a hopping flapping 

 ring, pressing forward to share in the expected 

 feast. A pack of wolves, the great extinct 

 wolf of California, was following up a near 

 trail, but attracted by the disturbance 

 came trotting over to the scene. The leader 

 recognized with savage joy the predicament 

 of the sabre-tooth, his dreaded rival, before 

 whose fierce snarl and menacing claw he had 

 more than once been reluctantly driven from 

 an expected banquet. The hour of his re- 

 venge was now at hand. He came forward, 



