For excitement, the frequent Indian uprisings, and more frequent Indian scares, afforded abundant material upon which the young enterprising and adventurous spirits of the day could work off their surplus energies.  Hunting, too, afforded a pleasurable and profitable pastime to the young when not engaged in the work of building houses, barns, and fences, and the boy of ten who could not pick off the head of a grouse or pheasant at thirty or forty yards was only fit to be “tied to mama’s apron string.”  In times of danger age was no bar, the boy of 14 marched side by side with the gray haired volunteer, or remained at home to protect “mother and the children.”  I well remember once when the neighborhood was thrown into a turmoil of excitement.  A large grizzly bear had left his mountain lair and was playing havoc with the cattle and other stock in the valley.  News reached the school house and my father at once dismissed school, hurrying to join those in pursuit of the robber.  Arriving at home he mounted his horse, and taking his rifle and revolver galloped away to join the neighbors.  Now, I wanted to go and see the fight, but was curtly told to stay at home.  No sooner, however, than my father had got fairly started than I mounted a pony and followed.  I was warned that punishment would follow.  But what cared I for punishment at such a time?  Go I would, though promised a dozen whippings.

The bear had taken shelter on a small mountain stream that coursed through the valley, and was bordered on either side by a narrow strip of ash, thorn, and rose bushes, while beyond this was the level prairie.  In spite of scores of men and dogs the huge beast made progress towards the mountains.  Baying dogs and the quick snarl of the rifles marked the rapid progress of the beast which at length reached a wooded ravine near the home of “Squire” Miller, that led up the mountain, where a mile above an old Indian was camped.  The bear evidently came upon him unawares, but whether he was asleep or was getting water from the small stream, was never known, for, with one sweep of his mighty paw, the grizzly completely disemboweled the Indian, strewing his entrails fifteen feet on the ground.  Half a mile above the body of the Indian the fatal shot, among many, was delivered and the chase was over.

As the neighbors gathered triumphantly around the dead body of the monarch of the Oregon forest I saw for the first time sitting on a horse, a boy destined to make a name in the world of letters, C. H. or “Joaquin” Miller.  I remember him as a slender, light haired boy, several years my senior.  During subsequent years it was given me to see much of this boy, at school, in the mines and later as an apprentice in the Eugene City Herald, a newspaper of which he was the editor.

Chapter III.

The Indian Outbreak of 1855.