THE TIME I MET A LION
A newspaper reporter asked me once for a story of terrible peril from our wild animals, a time "when I nearly lost my life."
My answer was, "I never had such an experience. Danger from wild animals is practically non-existent in America to-day."
"Did you never meet a Grizzly or a Mountain Lion?" he asked.
"Yes, many Grizzlies, and one or two Lions. I've had one look me over while I slept," was the answer.
And now the thrill-monger's face lighted up, he straightened his paper and stuck his pencil in his mouth by way of getting ready, and ejaculated: "Say! now you're getting it; let's hear the details. Don't spare me!"
"It was back in September, 1899," I said. "My wife and I were camping in the high Sierra near Mt. Tallac. At this season rain is unknown, so we took no tent. Each of us had a comfortable rubber bed and we placed these about a foot or two apart. In the narrow alley between we put a waterproof canvas, and on that each night we laid the guns.
"We had a couple of cowboys to look after the outfit. A fortnight had gone by with sunny skies and calm autumn weather, when one evening it began to blow. Black, lumpy clouds came up from the far-off sea; the dust went whirling in little eddies, and when the sun went down it was of a sickly yellowish. The horses were uneasy, throwing up their noses, snorting softly and pricking their ears in a nervous way.