176 ADVENTURES OF DR. ALLEN. 



"Great God! Twenty-five years in the mountains,, and 

 that's the closest call I ever had yit." 



"You are not dead yet," I said, "and you are good for 

 twenty-five years more." 



Steward never got over the terrible shock and fright of 

 this affair. It preyed upon his mind continually, his hither- 

 to robust constitution failed soon after. He died alone, in 

 his cabin on Pryor Creek, and his body was found by a hun- 

 ter two or three days thereafter. Little was known of his 

 previous history, but he told me once, that he had been mar- 

 ried in the East and that family troubles had driven him to 

 the mountains to seek peace of mind. It is needless to say 

 that the adventure with the bear terminated our hunt, so I 

 skinned the animal and got one hundred and seventy-six 

 pounds of oil out of the carcass. It was the largest bear I 

 ever saw. The hide was fully nine feet square, just as it was 

 stripped from the body. 



I met John Len, an old hunter and trapper, at Benson's 

 Landing, where we made up a party of five and started up 

 Mission Creek to hunt white-tailed deer. Our first camp was 

 at the old Indian agency, which consisted of a church, sev- 

 eral framed houses and a few adobe buildings. The place 

 would have been entirely deserted, but for the presence of 

 one half-breed and his deaf and dumb squaw. The next 

 morning we drove to the canyon, where we established our 

 headquarters. The little stream was full of trout, and we 

 congratulated ourselves that if other game failed us, the 

 trout would do. After dinner we wandered off in different 

 directions, wherever our individual fancies led us, in search 

 of game. I traveled through ravines and over mountain 

 sides, until I was tired, and then sat upon a log to rest. 



The body tires from walking in this mountainous coun- 

 try, but the eye never wearies of the prospect. Suddenly 



