gments of a deer. "Now," I said
to myself, "I've got it. A bear has killed this deer and has
eaten part of it and will come back for the rest." You know
a bear does this sometimes. But when I hunted for bear tracks
there wasn't a sign of a bear. Then I assumed that some hunter
had been along, killed a doe (contrary to law), had eaten what
he could and hidden the rest, covering the hide with leaves
and these branches. But then I knew a hunter would cut off
those branches with a knife, and these were torn off. The
blood spattered about, the torn-off boughs and the fact
that there were no tracks puzzled me, and I felt there was a
mystery and, probably, a tragedy.

But a day or two later I met a woodsman friend of mine, and I
took him to the spot. He explained the whole thing clearly.
As soon as he saw it he said, "That's a mountain-lion."
"But," said I, "Where's his tracks?" "He didn't make any," he
replied, "he surprised the doe by crawling along the vines.
I've found calves and deer hidden like this before, and I've
seen clear traces of the panthers, and once I watched one as
he killed, ate and then hid his prey. But as you know he won't
touch it after it begins to decompose, but a bear will. And
that's the reason we generally think it is a bear that does
the killing, when in reality it is a mountain lion who has
had his fill and left the remains for other predatory animals,
while he has gone off to hunt for a fresh kill."

Occasionally sheep-herders report considerable devastations from
mountain-lions and bear to the Forest Rangers. James Bryden, who
grazes his sheep on the Tahoe reserve near Downieville, lost sixteen
sheep in one night in July, 1911.

There are three kinds each of chipmunks and ground-squirrels. All of
the former have striped backs and do more or less climbing of trees.
Of their friendliness, greediness, and even sociability--where nuts
are in evidence or anticipated--I have written fully in the chapter on
Tahoe Tavern. Of the three ground-squirrels the largest is the common
ground-squirrel of the valleys of California. It is gray, somewhat
spotted on the back, and has a whitish collar and a bushy tail. The
next in size is the "picket-pin", so called from his habit of sitting
bolt upright on his haunches and remaining steadfast there, without
the slightest movement, until danger threatens, when he whisks