LEGEND OF THE GEYSERS. 201 
asks its history. This is the legend as told by the Indians who inhabit the 
Coast Range: 
The discovery of the Geysers is a comparatively modern event.‘ From 
the time when the memory of man runneth not to the contrary” peaceful 
tribes of Indians inhabited the rich, luxuriant valley of Russian River and 
its tributaries. With hunting and fishing, with clover, wild oats, and acorns, 
with the various roots, berries, and fruits provided by Nature, they lived a 
happy, contented life. The dense chaparral which covers the mountains 
and lines the canons of the region surrounding the Geysers effectually con- 
cealed these wonderful springs. It was since the Spaniards and Mexicans 
began to settle the country and fatten their immense herds upon the rank 
herbage that the Indians were compelled to put forth greater exertions for 
food. Two of their young men were hunting on the south side of the river, 
below where Cloverdale now stands, when they caught sight of an unusually 
large grizzly bear. Simultaneously they fired their sharp-barbed arrows 
into the monster's side. He dropped as if dead, but well knowing it to be 
a habit of the grizzly to fall to the ground upon receiving the slightest 
wound, they again let fly their flint-headed shafts, and again struck the 
bear. Sorely wounded, the animal instinctively staggered toward the thick 
underbrush, leaving a trail of blood behind. Sure of their game, the hunt- 
ers followed the blood stains into the chaparral and up the canon. Here 
and there the weary monster lay down to rest for a moment, and upon 
arising left a gory pool to attest the severity of his hurt. The thews and 
sinews of the California grizzly almost give him a charmed life. The eager 
hunters would several times have given up the chase, but fresh indications 
of the bear’s weakness, the hope of so rich a prize, and the fear of the ridi- 
cule of their companions, spurred them forward. The wounded animal 
never once swerved from a direct course up the canon. Mile after mile he 
tottered straight forward, although his fast-ebbing life frequently caused 
him to stumble and fall. Just as his merciless pursuers were ready to turn 
back, baffled and discouraged, they saw him writhing in agony on a little, 
open grassy plot half a mile distant. Most of their route, until now, had 
been through close-timbered forests, thick-set with chaparral and scrub-oak. 
The sun had moved far down the heavens, and the lofty western mount- 
ain shut out his beams from the gorge. At sight of their dying game, the 
