CHAPTER III.
A DEATH-STRUGGLE.
In the vicinity of the sea-shore, and as far inland as Soledad, the temperature was delightfully cool and bracing; but beyond the first turning-point of mountains to the southward a marked change was perceptible. Although the sun was not more than two hours high, the heat was intense. The rich black soil, which had been thoroughly saturated with the winter rains, was now baked nearly as hard as stone, and was cracked open in deep fissures, rendering the trail in some places quite difficult even for the practiced feet of the mule. Every thing like vegetation was parched to a crisp with the scorching rays of the sun. The bed of the river was quite dry, and no sign of moisture was visible for many miles. The rich fields of wild oats were no longer to be seen, but dried and cracking wastes of wild mustard, sage-weed, and bunch grass. In some places deserts of sand, without a particle of vegetation, and incrusted with saline deposits, stretched along the base of the mountains as far as the eye could reach. The glare on these plains of alkali (as they were commonly called) was absolutely blinding. Toward noon, so intense was the heat, I thought it impossible to endure it another hour. A dry, hot cloud of dust rose from the parched earth, and hung around me like the fiery breath of an oven. Neither tree nor shrub was to be seen any where along the wayside. As I toiled wearily along, scarcely able to get my mule out of a walk, I thought of Denham and Clapperton, the brothers Lander, Mungo Park, and all the great African explorers, and wondered how they could have endured for weeks and months what I found it so hard to bear for a few hours. There was no respite; nothing in the world to alleviate the burning heat; not even a stunted shrub to creep under. And yet, thought I, this is but a flash in the pan to the deserts of Africa. Not that the heat is more intense there; for I believe it is admitted that the thermometer rises higher in California than in any other part of the world. I have known it to be 130° Fahrenheit in the mines, and have been told that in the gulches of some of the foot-hills of the Sierra Nevada it has been known to reach 150°. The official table published by Congress shows that the maximum heat at Fort Miller is 118°, while at Fort Yuma, on the Colorado, it does not exceed 110°. In the narrative of the voyages of Lord Anson, written by his chaplain, it is conceded that the heat is greater in California, owing to local causes, than at any known point between the tropics. But very different is it in Africa, or any tropical country, in this respect—that the climate of California is never oppressive, whatever may be the temperature. The nights are delightfully cool, and the mornings peculiarly fresh and bracing. Hence the suffering from heat is never protracted beyond a few hours. At all events, not to go into any farther dissertation upon climate, I found it quite warm enough on the present occasion, and would have been very glad to accept the loan of an umbrella had any body been at hand to offer it to me.
About an hour before sunset, as I was riding slowly along, enjoying the approaching shades of evening, I discovered for the first time that my mule was lame. I had traveled very leisurely on account of the heat, making not over thirty miles. The nearest water, as the young Spaniard, Sobranis, had informed me, was at a point yet distant about five miles. I saw that it was necessary to hurry, and began to spur my mule in the hope of being able to reach this camping place; but I soon perceived that the poor animal was not only lame, but badly foundered—at least it seemed so then, though my convictions on that point were somewhat shaken by what subsequently occurred. I had succeeded, after considerable spurring, in getting him into a lope, when he suddenly stumbled and threw me over his head. The shock of the fall stunned me for a few moments, but fortunately I was not hurt. I must have turned a complete somersault. As soon as consciousness returned I found that I was lying on my back in the middle of the road, the mule quietly grazing within ten feet. I got up a little bewildered, shook off some of the dust, and started to regain the bridle; but, to my great surprise, the mule put back his ears, kicked up his heels, and ran off at a rate of speed that I deemed a foundered animal entirely incapable of achieving. There was not the slightest symptom of lameness in his gait. He "loped" as freely as if he had just begun his journey. In vain I shouted and ran after him. Sometimes he seemed absolutely to enjoy my helpless condition, and would permit me to approach within two or three feet, but never to get hold of the bridle. Every attempt of that kind he resented by whirling suddenly and kicking at me with both heels, so that once or twice it was a miracle how I escaped. For the first time since morning, notwithstanding the heat of the clay, my skin became moist. A profuse sweat broke out all over me, and I was parched with a burning thirst. It was thirty miles from Soledad, the nearest inhabited place that I knew of, and even if I felt disposed to turn back it would have been at great risk and inconvenience. My blankets, coat, pistol, and papers—the whole of incalculable importance to me—were firmly strapped behind the saddle, and there was no way of getting at them without securing the mule. Upon reflection, it seemed best to follow him to the watering-place. He must be pretty thirsty after his hard day's journey in the sun, and would not be likely to pass that. I therefore walked on as fast as possible, keeping the mule as near in the trail as his stubborn nature would permit. It was not without difficulty, however, that I could discern the right trail, for it was frequently intersected by others, and occasionally became lost in patches of sand and sage-brush.
In this way, with considerable toil, I had advanced about two miles, when I discovered that a large band of Spanish cattle, which had been visible for some time in the distance, began to close in toward the line of my route, evidently with the intention of cutting me off. Their gestures were quite hostile enough to inspire a solitary and unarmed footman with uneasiness. A fierce-looking bull led the way, followed by a lowing regiment of stags, steers, and cows, crowding one upon the other in their furious charge. As they advanced, the leader occasionally stopped to tear up the earth and shake his horns; but the mass kept crowding on, their tails switching high in the air, and uttering the most fearful bellowing, while they tossed their horns and stared wildly, as if in mingled rage and astonishment. I had heard too much of the wild cattle of California, and their hostility toward men on foot at this season of the year, not to become at once sensible of my dangerous position.
The nearest tree was half a mile to the left, on the margin of a dry creek. There was a grove of small oaks winding for some distance along the banks of the creek; but between the spot where I stood and this place of security scattering bands of cattle were grazing. However, there was no time to hesitate upon a choice of difficulties. Two or three hundred wild cattle rushing furiously toward one in an open plain assist him in coming to a very rapid conclusion. I know of no position in which human strength is of so little avail—the tremendous aggregation of brute force opposed to one feeble pair of arms seems so utterly irresistible. I confess instinct lent me a helping hand in this emergency. Scarcely conscious of the act, I ran with all my might for the nearest tree. The thundering of heavy hoofs after me, and the furious bellowing that resounded over the plain, spread a contagion among the grazing herds on the way, and with one accord they joined in the chase. It is in no spirit of boastfulness that I assert the fact, but I certainly made that half mile in as few minutes as ever the same distance was made by mortal man. When I reached the tree I looked back. The advance body of the cattle were within a hundred yards, bearing down in a whirlwind of dust. I lost no time in making my retreat secure. As the enemy rushed in, tearing up the earth and glaring at me with their fierce, wild eyes, I had gained the fork of the tree, about six feet from the ground, and felt very thankful that I was beyond their reach. Still there was something fearful in being blockaded in such a place for the night. An intolerable thirst parched my throat. The effects of the exertion were scarcely perceptible at first, but as I regained my breath it seemed impossible to exist an hour longer without water. In this valley the climate is so intensely dry during the summer heats that the juices of the system are quickly absorbed, and the skin becomes like a sheet of parchment. My head felt as if compressed in a band of iron; my tongue was dry and swollen. I would have given all I possessed, or ever hoped to possess, for a single glass of water.
While in this position, with the prospect of a dreary night before me, and suffering the keenest physical anguish, a very singular circumstance occurred to relieve me of farther apprehension respecting the cattle, though it suggested a new danger for which I was equally unprepared. A fine young bull had descended the bed of the creek in search of a water-hole. While pushing his way through the bushes he was suddenly attacked by a grizzly bear. The struggle was terrific. I could see the tops of the bushes sway violently to and fro, and hear the heavy crash of drift-wood as the two powerful animals writhed in their fierce embrace. A cloud of dust rose from the spot. It was not distant over a hundred yards from the tree in which I had taken refuge. Scarcely two minutes elapsed before the bull broke through the bushes. His head was covered with blood, and great flakes of flesh hung from his fore shoulders; but, instead of manifesting signs of defeat, he seemed literally to glow with defiant rage. Instinct had taught him to seek an open space. A more splendid specimen of an animal I never saw; lithe and wiry, yet wonderfully massive about the shoulders, combining the rarest qualities of strength and symmetry. For a moment he stood glaring at the bushes, his head erect, his eyes flashing, his nostrils distended, and his whole form fixed and rigid. But scarcely had I time to glance at him when a huge bear, the largest and most formidable I ever saw in a wild state, broke through the opening.
A trial of brute force that baffles description now ensued. Badly as I had been treated by the cattle, my sympathies were greatly in favor of the bull, which seemed to me to be much the nobler animal of the two. He did not wait to meet the charge, but, lowering his head, boldly rushed upon his savage adversary. The grizzly was active and wary. He no sooner got within reach of the bull's horns than he seized them in his powerful grasp, keeping the head to the ground by main strength and the tremendous weight of his body, while he bit at the nose with his teeth, and raked stripes of flesh from the shoulders with his hind paws. The two animals must have been of very nearly equal weight. On the one side there was the advantage of superior agility and two sets of weapons—the teeth and claws; but on the other, greater powers of endurance and more inflexible courage. The position thus assumed was maintained for some time—the bull struggling desperately to free his head, while the blood streamed from his nostrils—the bear straining every muscle to drag him to the ground. No advantage seemed to be gained on either side. The result of the battle evidently depended on the merest accident.
