and showed no disposition to wantonly mangle an apparently dead man.
Since the forty she-bears came out of the wilderness and ate up a drove
of small boys for guying a holy man, who was unduly sensitive about his
personal dignity, the female of the ursine species, however, has been
notorious for ill-temper and vindictive pertinacity, and she maintains
that reputation to this day.

In the summer of 1850, G. W. Applegate and his brother John were mining
at Horse Shoe Bar on the American River. The nearest base of supplies
at that time was Georgetown, eighteen miles distant by trail. One
evening in early summer, having run short of provisions, George and his
brother started to walk to that camp to make purchases. Darkness soon
overtook them and while descending into Canyon Creek they heard a bear
snort at some distance behind. In a few moments they heard it again,
louder than before, and John rather anxiously remarked that he thought
the bear was following them. George thought not, but in a few seconds
after crossing the stream and beginning the ascent upon the other side,
both distinctly heard him come--splash, splash, splash--through the
water directly upon their trail.

It was as dark as Erebus, and they were without weapons larger than
pocket knives--a serious position with an angry Grizzly dogging their
steps. Their first thought was to climb a tree, but knowing they were
not far from the cabin of a man named Work, they took to their heels
and did their best running to reach that haven of refuge ahead of their
formidable follower. They reached the cabin, rushed in, slammed and
fastened the door behind them, and with breathless intervals gasped out
their tale. Work kept a bar for the sale of whiskey, and he and his
son, a stout young man, with two or three miners, were sitting on rude
seats around a whiskey barrel playing cards when the two frightened men