his stake rope, but did not break it. He snorted
and stamped at a great rate. The loose horses did not leave camp, but
kept up a constant running and snorting for some time. When Chauvin came
back, he found that a bear had come down from the mountains near by,
torn down and partially devoured one of the deer we had killed the night
before, not one hundred yards from where I lay in bed.

Don Elogio de Celis, a well known citizen of Los Angeles, was camped in
a canyon about a mile west of us. That afternoon he killed a grizzly
bear of pretty good proportions, and we all supposed that he was the
marauder who had visited our camp that morning.

While I was laid up Chauvin got two more bucks, several tree squirrels
and some mountain quail. We made plenty of jerky, while living off the
fat of the land.

About four or five days after I was stung, the swelling went down
sufficiently for me to see again, but I had lost my appetite for further
hunting, especially as Chauvin had had several long tramps without any
luck. We stayed in camp a couple of days longer, then, as signs of a
rainstorm were prevalent, we packed up and left camp very early one
morning, and the first day got back to Newhall. The next morning, when
we reached San Fernando, as I was not feeling any too well, I took the
train for Los Angeles, so as to avoid the hot, dusty ride in by wagon.

For many months Chauvin repeated to our friends the extraordinary
circumstances of my lip and eyes swelling up from a yellow jacket's
sting on the finger. He had hunted and trapped all his life, but could
not get over that one incident.

What we had expected to be a pleasant outing proved to be rather a hard
experience, but we were too old at the game not to have enjoyed it, and
do you realize that after we got rested up, we felt better for our
experience? Life in the open, the change of air, the excitement of
hunting, all united in sweeping the cobwebs from our brains and left us
better prepared for the battle of life than we were before we started.

Professor "Lo," Philosopher

My Interview with an Educated Indian in the Wilds of Oregon:

In the summer of 1902 I was camping, in company with the late Judge
Sterry of Los Angeles, on Spring Creek in the Klamath Indian Reservation
in Southeast Oregon. Spring Creek rises out, of lava rocks and flows in
a southeasterly direction, carrying over 200,000 inches of the clearest,
coldest water I ever saw. In fact, its wate