BEAR SHOOTING IX CALIFORNIA. 61 



ticular^ whom they addressed indiscriminately as 

 '^ Judge/^ or '^ Doc/^ He was dressed in a rusty suit 

 of black, the legs of his trousers half way up his boots, 

 and his arms thrust about two feet down them. He was 

 the most frantic chewer I ever saw; he rolled the 

 tobacco over in his mouth, and positively chewed it like 

 a cud. Down each side of his mouth ran two rivulets 

 of ''baccy juice, some of which occasionally distilled on to 

 his trousers or boots. He stood gazing at me with a 

 melancholy, half-idiotic air, like an old superannuated 

 owl. At last the oracle spoke : '' One thing, I guess, the 

 Britisher has in his favour.^^ 

 "What^sthat, Doc?" 



" If Zack^s bars should chaw him, he won't want a 

 coffin." 



Chorus of Yanks, loafers, &c. : '^ That's so, you 

 bet." 



At last I managed to slip off to bed, and dreamt I was 

 pursued by a huge grizzly. I turned to flee, when I ran 

 into the arms of old Zack, who very carefully was 

 handing me to the bear, when I cried out and woke, and 

 found that venerable gentleman shaking me by the 

 shoulder. Ten minutes for toilet, and in five more we 

 were polishing off ham and eggs ; finished, paid our 

 bill, got on our horses — pack horse in the middle — and 

 started off on as glorious a Californian morning as ever 

 was seen. 



Just as I was turning a bend in the road, I heard 

 " Say !" (the universal mode of address in America.) I 

 looked back, and who should I see but my limp friend, 

 the Doc. I had half a mind to go on ; however I 

 waited for him to come up. He looked just the same 

 — a trifle dirtier, and the rivulets a trifle larger per- 



