cessible sections of the forest
alongside of bridle-paths that cross the range. Sequoia seeds at first
brought from twenty to thirty dollars per pound, and therefore were
eagerly sought after. Some of the smaller fruitful trees were cut down
in the groves not protected by government, especially those of Fresno
and King's River. Most of the Sequoias, however, are of so gigantic a
size that the seedsmen have to look for the greater portion of their
supplies to the Douglas, who soon learns he is no match for these
freebooters. He is wise enough, however, to cease working the instant he
perceives them, and never fails to embrace every opportunity to recover
his burs whenever they happen to be stored in any place accessible to
him, and the busy seedsman often finds on returning to camp that the
little Douglas has exhaustively spoiled the spoiler. I know one
seed-gatherer who, whenever he robs the squirrels, scatters wheat or
barley beneath the trees as conscience-money.

The want of appreciable life remarked by so many travelers in the Sierra
forests is never felt at this time of year. Banish all the humming
insects and the birds and quadrupeds, leaving only Sir Douglas, and the
most solitary of our so-called solitudes would still throb with ardent
life. But if you should go impatiently even into the most populous of
the groves on purpose to meet him, and walk about looking up among the
branches, you would see very little of him. But lie down at the foot of
one of the trees and straightway he will come. For, in the midst of the
ordinary forest sounds, the falling of burs, piping of quails, the
screaming of the Clark Crow, and the rustling of deer and bears among
the chaparral, he is quick to detect your strange footsteps, and will
hasten to make a good, close inspection of you as soon as you are still.
First, you may hear him sounding a few notes of curious inquiry, but
more likely the first intimation of his approach will be the prickly
sounds of his feet as he descends the tree overhead, just before he
makes his savage onrush to frighten you and proclaim your presence to
every squirrel and bird in the neighborhood. If you remain perfectly
motionless, he will come nearer and nearer, and probably set your flesh
a-tingle by frisking across your body. Once, while I was seated at the
foot of a Hemlock Spruce in one of the most inaccessible of the San
Joaquin yosemites engaged in sketching, a reckless fellow came up behind
me, p