III. 



MY FIRST GRIZZLY. 



One of Fremont's men, Mountain Jo* 

 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 



36 



