to San Diego, from the Sierra to the sea," and he was encountered by
mighty hunters in every county in California and killed in most of them.

Old Clubfoot's first fatal misadventure was in Siskiyou, where he was
caught in a trap and shot by two intrepid men, who stuffed his skin and
sent it to San Francisco for exhibition at a fair. He had degenerated
to a mangy, yellow beast of about 500 pounds weight, with a coat like a
wornout doormat, and but for a card labelling him as "Old Reelfoot,"
and exploiting the prowess of his slayers, his old friends never would
have known him.

Clubfoot's first reincarnation took place in Ventura, about 600 miles
from the scene of his death. He appeared in a sheep camp at night,
sending the herders up the tallest trees in terror, and scattered the
flock all over a wide-spreading mountain. The herders spent the best
part of a week in gathering the lost sheep, but after the most thorough
search of which they were capable, some fifty odd were still missing.
When the superintendent came around on his monthly tour of inspection,
the herders told him the story of the lost sheep, and he did not know
whether to believe it or suspect the herders of illicit traffic in
mutton.

Knowing the mountain well, however, and having in mind some places
which might easily be overlooked by the herders, the superintendent
concluded to make an attempt to clear up the mystery for his own
satisfaction. For two or three days he sought in vain for the trail of
the missing sheep, visiting several likely places unknown to the
herders, and he was about to give up the search when his mind pulled
out of a dusty pigeon-hole of memory a faded picture of a queer nook in
the mountain, into which he had stumbled many years before in chase of