Fortunately, one of his shoes came off, and the bear stopped to examine and tear it in pieces, and here no doubt discontinued the chase, as he was not seen afterwards, though momentarily expected by the hunter in his flight to camp.
The hero of this adventure was a Texan, that was regarded by those who knew him best as a brave man, but upon this occasion he was without side arms, and, as he said, “was taken at a disadvantage.” The Major joked him a little upon his continued speed, but “Texas Joe” took it in good part, and replied that the Major, “or any other blank fool, would have run just as he did.” A few of us went back with Joe, and found his rifle unharmed. The tracks of his pursuers were distinctly visible, but no one evinced any desire to follow them up.
We considered his escape a most remarkable one.
A little after dark all the scouts came in, and reported that no Indians had been seen, nor very fresh signs discovered, but that a few tracks were observed upon the San Joaquin trail.
The news was not encouraging, and some were a little despondent, but as usual, a hearty supper and the social pipe restored the younger men to their thoughtless gayety. My recollections bring to mind many pleasant hours around the camp-fires of the “Mariposa Battalion.” Many of the members of that organization were men of more than ordinary culture and general intelligence; but they had been led out from civilization into the golden tide, and had acquired a reckless air and carriage, peculiar to a free life in the mountains of California.
The beauty of the little valley in which we were camped had so attracted my attention, that while seated by the camp-fire in the evening, enjoying my meal, I spoke of it in the general conversation, and found that others had discovered a “claim” for a future rancho, if the subjection of the Indians should make it desirable. The scouts mentioned the fact of there being an abundance of game as far as they had been, but that of course they dare not shoot, lest the Indians might be alarmed. These men were provided with venison by Hays and myself, while many a squirrel, jack rabbit, quail and pigeon was spitted and roasted by other less fortunate hunters. Our deer were divided among immediate friends and associates, and Captain Boling slyly remarked that “the Major’s appetite is about as good as an Indian’s.” Major Savage seemed to enjoy the conversation in praise of this region, and in reply to the assertion that this was the best hunting ground we had yet seen, said: “Where you find game plenty, you will find Indians not far off. This belt of country beats the region of the Yosemite or the Poho-no Meadows for game, if the Indians tell the truth; and with the exception of the Kern River country, it is the best south of the Tuolumne River. It abounds in grizzlies and cinnamon bears, and there are some black bears. Deer are very plenty, and a good variety of small game—such as crane, grouse, quail, pigeons, road-runners, squirrels and rabbits—besides, in their season, water fowl. This territory of the Chow-chillas has plenty of black oak acorns (their favorite acorn), and besides this, there are plenty of other supplies of bulbous roots, tubers, grasses and clover. In a word, there is everything here for the game animals and birds, as well as for the Indians.”
I now thought I had a turn on the Major, for he was quite enthusiastic, and I said: “Major, you have made out another Indian Paradise; I thought you a skeptic.” With a smile as if in remembrance of our conversation in the Yosemite, he replied: “Doc, I don’t believe these Chow-chilla devils will leave here without a fight, for they seem to be concentrating; but we are going to drive them out with a ‘flaming brand.’ I think we shall find some of them to-morrow, if we expect good luck.” Turning to Captain Boling he continued, “Captain, we must make an early move in the morning; and to-morrow we must be careful not to flush our game before we get within rifle-shot. You had better caution the guards to be vigilant, for we may have a visit from their scouts to-night, if only to stampede our horses.”
Taking this as a hint that it was time to turn in, I rolled myself in my blankets. My sleep was not delayed by any thoughts of danger to the camp,—though I would have admitted the danger of loss of animals—but I was awakened by a stir in camp, and from hearing the Major called.
Sandino, the Mission Indian interpreter, had just come in from head-quarters, guiding an escort that had been sent for the Major. The Sergeant in command handed a letter to Savage, who, after reading it at the camp fire, remarked to Captain Boling, “the commissioners have sent for me to come back to head-quarters; we will talk over matters in the morning, after we have had our sleep.” He was snoring before I slept again.
In the morning Major Savage stated that he had been sent for by the Commissioners to aid in treating with a delegation of Kah-we-ah Indians sent in by Capt. Kuykendall, and regretted to leave us just at that time, when we were in the vicinity of the game we were after. That we would now be under the command of Captain Boling, etc. The Major made us a nice little speech. It was short, and was the only one he ever made to us. He then drew an outline map of the country, and explained to Captain Boling the course and plans he had adopted, but which were to be varied as the judgment of the Captain should deem to his advantage. He repeatedly enjoined the Captain to guard against surprise, by keeping scouts in advance and upon flank.