Winter coming on now nothing could be done until spring, so I left for
San Francisco where I had heard of the death of a friend at Burns' old
diggings on the Merced River, about seventy-five miles from Stockton,
and knowing that his life was insured in favor of his wife I went there
and secured the necessary proof of his death so that his widow got the
insurance. There was considerable hardship in this little trip of about
one week. On my return, and when within about thirty miles of Stockton,
I camped for the night at Knight's Ferry, picketed my pony out, obtained
the privilege of spreading my blankets on the ground in a tent and was
soon in a sound sleep, out of which I was awakened at about two o'clock
in the morning by feeling things considerably damp around me (for it had
been raining). I put out my hand and found I was lying in about three
inches of water. I was not long getting out of it, rolled up my
blankets, saddled my pony and left for Stockton. Here I arrived at about
nine o'clock, sold the pony, and was ready to leave at four o'clock for
San Francisco. While waiting here (Stockton) I became acquainted with a
Kentucky hunter who told me the story of his experiences of the day
previous. He said:

"I came to the place where you stayed last night, yesterday morning, and
was told that there were a number of bears in the neighborhood, and that
no one dared to hunt them. I remarked that that was my business, and I
would take a hand at it; I strapped on my revolvers and knife,
shouldered my Kentucky rifle and started out. I had not gone more than
half a mile, when I discovered one of the animals I was in search of,
and away my bullet sped striking him in the hip. I made for a tree and
he made for me! I won the race by stopping on the topmost branch, while
he howled at the base; while reloading my rifle I heard an answer to his
wailing for me or for his companion - it didn't matter which. Very soon