# A La California/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.
TAMALPAIS.
Where it is Situated.—Some Speculation as to the Signification of the name and its Possible Origin.—Our Start for the Mountains.—The Trip to San Rafael and Adventures by the Way.—Ascending the Mountain.—First Blood.—The View of the Bay and City of San Francisco.—Mount Diablo puts in an Appearance.—At the Summit.—A Bear-faced Fraud.—Fine Study of a Fog-Bank.—A Faithless Guide.—Wandering in the Mist.—Out of the Woods.—An Afternoon's Sport.—A Painful Subject.—Adios, Tamalpais.
MT. TAMALPAIS-FROM EASTERN SLOPE OF ANGEL ISLAND.
​and dear to every Spanish-American epicure, known as tamals. "Tamal-pais" may possibly mean simply "tamal country," or as we would say, "the country of tamals" from somebody having in early days produced tamals there. Tamales—or Tomales—Bay, lying in the rear of Mount Tamalpais, on the ocean side, helps to give a color of probability to this proposed solution of the question. However that may be, the mountain has been known as Tamalpais since the time when the memory of man runneth not to the contrary, and it may be after all merely an Indian name signifying nothing at all, like Alabama, Ohio, and Iowa. Quien sabe?
The mountain looks well from any point of view, in summer or in winter; but its outlines seem boldest, and the dim blue haze, which envelops it always, the softest and most beautiful I think, when looked upon from the Bay of San Francisco, or the heights of Telegraph or Russian Hill. It stands in Marin County, or rather it is Marin County; for take away Tamalpais, and what is left of Marin County would hardly fill a wheelbarrow.
We three—Dr. Murphy, the eminent physician of San Francisco, Lloyd, the rising young criminal lawyer, and myself—had looked with longing eyes in that direction, even as Moses looked toward the Promised Land, for months and years, and at last the longing to go over there and explore the mysterious fastnesses of the mountain became too great for further repression. We knew that quail, deer, hare, and rabbits abounded there, that deer were often killed there, that California lions had been seen there, ​that grizzly bears were numerous there years ago, and as one was never known to die of his own volition and none were known to have ever been killed there, it was a fair inference that they were there still. Were we not all mighty hunters, and was not that a field in which to display talents and accomplishments such as ours ? The only reflection in connection with our projected trip, which gave us uneasiness, was as to its probable effect on the game market,—a fall in prices which would inevitably ruin all the pothunters in the State and all the wholesale game-dealers in San Francisco being looked upon as a foregone conclusion. We were duly sorry for it, but how could we help it?
The Doctor is an ambitious and sanguinary man, his professional experience having given him a taste for blood; and he went in for big game. I don't think he would have discounted the proceeds of that foray at anything less than a grizzly, a pair of California lions, half a dozen wild-cats, and a wagon load of deer ; and I know that he had hopes of hare and small game almost without limit. He was armed with a Henry rifle, five hundred rounds of cartridges, and a butcher-knife with a blade sixteen inches in length. Lloyd took a No. 8 stub and twist double-barrelled gun,—which by rights should have been mounted on a swivel in a boat, or on a raft,—two hundred and fifty Ely's wire cartridges, a bag of B B shot, half a keg of powder,—he hesitated a long time as to whether he should fill up the keg, but finally concluded that in case he run out he could buy more at San Rafael,—and an army size Colt's ​revolver. I, who am of a more modest and less ambitious turn of mind, took along only a light No. 14 double-barrelled gun, which once upon a time had done fearful execution at both ends in the Great Winnebago Swamp in Illinois, a flask of powder, one of shot, and a bottle or two of California wine, which had been boiled to concentrate the strength and save freight. Each had marked out a particular line of destruction for himself to follow,—each one equally confident of achieving a mighty triumph in his way. The pathway of our life is strewn with the wrecks of fond hopes blighted and promises unfulfilled; it pains me to reflect upon the harvest of such wrecks which my most intimate friends were called upon to gather on that ever memorable occasion. I doubt if I promised less than one thousand dozen quail, and larger game in proportion; but I call Heaven to witness that I did so honestly, and with the very best intentions as to fulfilling my engagements. It is some consolation to a tax-payer to feel that the pavement of a certain nameless place will not require renewal or repair for many years to come.
We were to go on horseback, starting at 2 p.m. from San Francisco, on the 2d of September. I rode my old pet, a half-breed mare, Juanita, which the accursed, sneaking Chimahuepis Indians stole from my side as I slept, a year later, on the banks of the Colorado River. Lloyd bestrode a fiery, untamed, mouse-colored steed, received from a client subsequently hanged,—he shed no tears over his grave; and the Doctor galloped on the road to ​glory and renown on a livery hack warranted to be 'just lightning," and better able to make good the warranty than any other four-legged brute on the top of the earth, to the best of my knowledge and belief. From the plaza to the boat-landing—about half a mile—the journey was comparatively uneventful, the Doctor having merely run down an old woman at the crossing of Battery and Washington Streets, while Lloyd's horse, having collided with a passing vehicle, got even by wheeling suddenly and letting fly his heels at me viciously, one hitting the saddle and nearly knocking me out of it, the other making a deep indentation in the barrel of my gun and sending it flying some ten feet out of my hand. I killed nobody myself. We disembarked in safety at San Ouentin; many of Lloyd's clients had done the same in years gone by,—the State Prison is located half a mile from that landing.
Here the trouble began. The Doctor, by reason of his greater age and presumably riper judgment and greater discretion, was entrusted with the transportation of the saddle-bags, in which were packed a chicken-luncheon, a lot of ammunition, and a few bottles. He hung them across the back of his saddle, gravely mounted to his seat, grasped his deadly rifle firmly, and gave the signal for the start in a loud clear voice: Vamos! It was as even a start as I ever saw on a race-track, all three horses bounding about ten feet at the first jump. Mousey, Lloyd's horse, shot a little ahead; Juanita followed close on his flank; and Whitey, the Doctor's incomparable mustang, dropped a trifle in the ​rear. At the end of forty rods there came a sudden change in the order of the procession. Lloyd's horse had run away with him, and, from sheer force of habit, taken the left-hand road toward the State Prison, instead of the right-hand one leading to San Rafael. The Doctor seeing the mistake called out "No! no!" at the top of his voice. His intelligent mustang, from an excess of zeal to obey orders, had both ears erect and open, expecting that our speed would not last and the order "whoa" would be given. In the excitement of the moment he mistook the word, or feared that he might have mistaken it, and to make a sure thing put out his fore legs, stiff-kneed, which movement by a horse of playful disposition is termed "bucking." Horse and rider in such cases generally find it difficult to continue in company, and so part, as the best of friends sometimes must. That is just what the Doctor and his mustang did, at the moment I turned my head. Following the Doctor something rose gracefully from the rear of the saddle, described a gentle curve in the air, and landed with a loud thud and a sharp jingle on the hard road, a few feet ahead of him. It was the saddle-bags, and the jingle sounded suspiciously like that of broken glass—which we found no difficulty in ascertaining that it was. Juanita, not caring to run over the Doctor, jumped backward suddenly, and in doing so left me sitting unsupported in the air. I make it a rule not to war against nature's laws. Those laws say that in such cases one must come down. The ground in that particular locality is very solid, as I ascertained beyond a doubt. ​Juanita walked up to the saddle-bags, sniffed at them with distended nostrils and eyes opened wide with horror. Well might she do so! The escaping fluid made the leather curl up like a burned boot, and as I held them up the liquor ran from them much as you may see it run from a clam fresh dug from the sand.
A startling thought suggested itself, and I was on the point of dropping them when the Doctor rolled over in the dust and called out, "Oh, never fear; there ain't going to be a second explosion; the powder is in a tin case on the other side!" I felt reassured and comforted, and proceeded to replace them upon the Doctor's saddle and tie them on. None of the horses appeared to have been seriously hurt.
ON THE ROAD
​enabled to dismount without an effort; but Juanita having naught save her own sweet will to guide her since I had lost the rein, turned aside, went through a picket-fence, caromed on a market-vegetable cart which stood in the field, and went down with a crash which sounded in my sensitive ears like that which will in due time announce the final dissolution of the universe. When I recovered my senses I was sitting in a potato-patch, solitary in my glory, like Marius, with the ruins of Carthage around me. Thus we made our triumphal entry into San Rafael.
We repaired to the hotel, bound up and anointed our smarting wounds, sent out a party to gather in our traps, which had been scattered all along the road, then held a council of war. We did not feel much like going forward, in truth, but then we were ashamed to go back, and advance we must. With much inquiry and diligent search, we found a native who knew the trail to the top of Tamalpais, and was willing, for a consideration, to pilot us there next day. The sum demanded for his services was more than he had honestly earned before in his entire lifetime, but we needed him, and were at his mercy.
Sunrise saw us all in the saddle. We found that during the night, lumps of the size of acorns, hickory nuts, even black walnuts, had grown on those saddles just where we found it most inconvenient to have them, but were forced to grin and bear the infliction as best we might. After a half-mile ride through the fields, we came in sight of a flock of quail running along in the road ahead, and a halt along the entire ​line was ordered. Lloyd, having the biggest gun, was ordered to dismount and deploy as skirmisher. With trailed shotgun he crept through an acre or two of dusty chaparral, and came to a halt at last on the flank and within twenty yards of the unsuspecting enemy. We saw him rise slowly and deliberately, bring his murderous weapon to bear, take deadly aim—it seemed to us, waiting there in breathless expectation, that it took him an hour at least to do it—then discharge both barrels at once. There was a shock and concussion like the explosion of a mine, a deep reverberation rolling away and dying in a thousand echoes in the gorges of the mountain. But the gunner, where was he? Lying prone upon his back in the bushes, kicking up as much dust as is raised by an ordinary threshing machine in full operation, as he kicked right and left in his agony. When he arose at last his upper lip was of the thickness of a fifty-cent sirloin steak, and his nose was bleeding profusely. He ventured the opinion that he must have been .stung by hornets while he was down. If such was the case, it was a very unmanly and cowardly thing for the hornets to do; that is all I have to say on the subject. When the shot from his gun struck the dust in the road and raised it in a cloud, I looked to see at least a dozen quail lying in the agonies of death in the road, as it subsided. In place thereof I saw the entire covey on the wing for the chaparral higher up on the mountainside. There were plenty of feathers in the road, however, which showed that he must have startled them considerably. ​As next in rank I then took up the fight, and discharged both barrels at the flying enemy, as I sat on horseback, Juanita dancing a break-down jig as I did so. One bird came down with a crippled wing, but made tracks for the bushes the moment it touched the ground. Before he reached cover, the Doctor, who represented the artillery, sent half a dozen bullets from his Henry rifle whizzing after him, making it very lively indeed for him, but not even knocking out a feather. Just then a ranchero's dog came trotting down the road, and calling him to us, I pointed to the clump of chaparral in which the wounded quail had taken refuge, clapping my hands and shouting "sic him! sic him!" with all my might at the same time. Thus encouraged, our volunteer corps went in. and to our infinite satisfaction we heard that miserable quail piping like a sick chicken in a moment more. "We've got him! We've got him!" we shouted in chorus. We were in error again; the dog had got him, and a brief observation of his movements satisfied us that he meant to keep him too. The infamous brute absolutely had the audacity to walk out of the bushes with our quail in his mouth, right before our eyes, and refusing with a savage growl to surrender it to me, trot deliberately off down the road, toward the residence of his master. "Here, doggy! Come, doggy! O, the nice doggy! pretty doggy!" etc., we repeated in the most persuasive and endearing accents, only to provoke his visible contempt, and increase the derisive elevation of his vertebrae and the rate of his speed. What kind of ​an education must such a dog have had? let me ask in all seriousness. The Doctor could stand it no longer, but drew a bead and let drive a bullet full at his head. The bullet went just wide enough of the mark to accomplish the desired result. Dropping the quail with a savage growl he darted off on a run, howling and yelping with the full power of his lungs at every jump. To corral that quail, our first trophy, was the work of a moment. It is safe to say that we lost no time in wringing his neck after our hands were on him.
Then a change came over the spirit of our dream. Our firing and the subsequent howling of the base, ungrateful cur, had attracted the attention of his baser owner, and he put in an appearance very suddenly and unexpectedly. Flourishing a hayfork threateningly, he demanded to know which thief had been trying to kill his valuable and intelligent "animal."
Lloyd, who had just concluded the operation of washing his face in a spring, thereby apparently repeating the miracle of Cana, feeling that this was adding insult to injury, volunteered in clear and forcible language to "put a head on him," then and there, in three seconds, if he "would just lay down that pitchfork." "If the head you would put on me would resemble the one you carry around, I would sooner be shot down dead on the spot, and be out of misery at once, than take it! You look as if you were in the murder line, anyhow, and perhaps you might as well go right on with your infamous work as it is!" was the delicate and gentlemanly ​reply of the irate tiller of the soil. We—the Doctor and myself—argued the case more temperately, and eventually the aggrieved owner of that lop-eared cur became so far mollified as to accept of a drink from the bottle of new whisky, which we had procured at San Rafael, after our first disaster on the road. When he took the bottle from his lips, his eyes were fall of tears, his lips were purple, and he gasped convulsively for breath. We felt that we were avenged, and, remounting, rode silently away up the trail, carrying our dead and wounded with us.
Out of the dusty carriage-road, at last we entered the narrow bridle-trail, which winds up the steep mountain-side, through the rocky malpais, covered with wide fields of the bitter chemisal, which spreads over the whole upper part of the mountain. This bitter shrub, of the leaves of which no living creature will eat, grows only on ground which will support nothing else, and is worthless for every purpose save that of holding the earth together. The sun was well up in the heavens and the air growing oppressively warm, when we passed above the timbered belt, and entered this chemisal country. We halted and looked back. In the southeast, San Francisco, lying overstretched, a tawny giant upon the gray hills of the peninsula, showed dimly through the veil of yellow dust, dun-colored smoke, and thin, luminous vapor which overhung it. Down to the south-ward, almost at our feet, lay the Golden Gate, the Presidio of San Francisco, and the straits leading up from the ocean to the Bay of San Francisco, with the ​rock fortress of Alcatraz presenting its tier above tier of black cannon, standing like the sentinel at the gateway, keeping grim watch and ward at the western portal of a mighty land. A huge, black- hulled steamer was heading out through the Golden Gate into the blue Pacific, bound for the Columbia, Victoria, Mexico, Panama, or possibly to far-off lands on the other edge of the world, beyond our western horizon. White sails gleamed here and there over the whole Bay of San Francisco, and over its broad surface white-hulled ferry and river steamers could be seen plowing their way. The Bay of San Pablo was a duck-pond at our feet—the Straits of Carquinez dwindling away to a mere silver thread in the distance—and the Bay of Suisun only a whitey-brown patch in the landscape farther north. Oakland, and all her sister towns along the eastern shore of the Bay of San Francisco, looked out here and there from the midst of embowering trees. Mount Diablo, clad in garments of dun and straw color, rose high into the blue sky on the eastward, seeming to ascend as we ascended, and grow taller and more gigantic at every step; following us up, as it were, and bullying us as we went, as if determined that we should not be permitted to look down upon him nor receive a diminished idea of his importance. Northward and northeastward, stretching out leagues on leagues from his base, were the wide, dark tule swamps, and half-submerged islands of the Sacramento and San Joaquin, bordered by bright, straw-colored valleys, stretching away to the point where the dark green line of the summits of the Sierra Nevada melted into ​and blended with the blue cloudless sky of autumn, upon the farther verge of the horizon. We looked down upon the homes of two hundred thousand toiling, active and busy people. The homes of millions of happy, contented, abundantly blessed people, will in a few years fill that broad land on which we gazed with deep and silent admiration that morning. If I were a painter, I would unroll my canvas at that point, and paint you such a picture as you should stand before and gaze upon with unspeakable delight from morn to night. I am not—more is the pity! For half an hour the glorious scene held us enchanted; then the destructive element in our nature asserted its supremacy again, and we began to talk of deeds of blood once more.
"Manuel, when we engaged you as our guide, you promised on the honor of a descendant of conquering Castile, and the faith of a Christiano, to show us at least the track of a grizzly bear! Do it!"
Manuel, with a brow slightly clouded, arose slowly, mounted his horse a little hesitatingly, and led us onward up the steep acclivity. Half a mile brought us to a saddle-back, on one side of .which there was a narrow grass-plat. Looking carefully along the other side, among the chemisal, broken rocks, and coarse gravelly soil, he discovered at length a track, at which he pointed in silent triumph. A painter desiring to catch the smile of benign ecstasy which illumined the countenance of the beloved disciple, would have found fame and fortune in the face of Manuel at that moment, had he the talent to catch the expression, ​transcribe it faithfully, and hand it down to a devout and admiring posterity. Few and short were the words we spoke. The Doctor, with countenance grave and stern, refilled the magazine of his rifle with cartridges, and borrowed Lloyd's revolver. When I make my appearance upon the boards in the great character of "William Tell," I shall recall to mind the attitude and expression of the Doctor at that moment; and with such a model have never a fear but that the gods in the gallery will bestow their applause until the roof rings again. Lloyd took up a position immediately in rear of the Doctor, with his teeth firm set, and his double-barreled No. 8 stub-and-twist grasped pretty firmly in both hands. For myself, I determined that, come what might, I would not see the poor horses victimized for our folly, and I would stay by them, and get them out of danger as quickly at their legs could carry them, on the first appearance of the infuriated grizzly. One of the most prominent features of my character has ever been a certain watchful forethought, which would have made me invaluable as the commander of an army. Had I commanded at Bull Run—but then, I did not command at Bull Run, and the history of that unfortunate affair has already been written!
As I was proceeding to mount and ride off with the horses, I chanced to look at the bear track, where it crossed the soft bit of grassy ground on the side of the hog-back, opposite where Manuel had pointed it out in the hard, rocky soil; and with the bluntness of an impulsive and ingenuous nature, thoughtlessly re​marked that the Tamalpais grizzlies had the good sense to follow the example of the horses thereabouts, and wear sharp heel- corks. The Doctor heard the remark, and coming back to where I stood, examined the track carefully. I heard him utter something in a deep undertone, which I am sure was not an invocation of the blessing on the head of that descendant of the old Castilians. Manuel's quick ears caught it, and with an expression of general disgust as he looked at the whole party, and a glance of malignant hate at me, he turned his horse's head toward the summit of the mountain, and rode off without a word. For the next half hour no one of us spoke a word—out hearts were two full.
​After lunch, we went over the ground once more, bagging a few more quail, and then climbed to the summit of the mountain and looked down on the blue, illimitable Pacific; that is to say, we looked down the steep western slope of the mountain in the direction where the blue, illimitable Pacific was, and still is, and probably always will be, located, and would have seen it had it not been hidden beneath a bank of snow-white fog, as solid and impenetrable to the eye as the mountain itself. We could hear the incessant moaning of the sea, as it dashed its waves on the rock-bound coast beneath us, but that was all. The bay where the chivalrous old filibuster and pirate Sir Francis Drake moored his fleet some centuries ago, and from whence he sailed some weeks later, without an idea of the existence of the grand Bay of San Francisco and the glorious country of which the Golden Gate, right under his long, sharp, rakish nose, is the portal, was just below us on the northwest, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away. Point Lobos and Point Bonita were invisible, and the Farrallones were buried countless fathoms deep beneath the fog-bank. All was an utter blank from a point a thousand feet beneath us. Even as we gazed upon it, the bosom of the snowy fog-bank heaved and rocked at the touch of the rising gale; then the whole vast fleecy mass moved inward upon the land, and silently, but with the speed of thought, and apparently with irresistible force, came rushing like a mighty avalanche up the slope of the mountain toward the summit on which we stood. "We shall see nothing, and ​may lose our way in the mist; let us vamos; and we vamosed.
As we turned our steps to the eastward and passed over the crest of the mountain again, we saw the mist moving up through the Golden Gate, and rolling over the island of Alcatraz, which in a moment was enveloped and hidden from sight. As the island disappeared, the low, mournful voice of the tolling fog-bell came faintly but distinctly to our ears, borne on the soft, moist air. B-o-o-m! b-o-o-m! b-o-o-m! a throbbing pulsation of sound, always inexpressibly painful for me to listen to, and I have heard it thousands of times. A San Francisco poet has beautifully expressed in the following lines the thoughts awakened by night—and by day as well—not in his mind alone, by the voice of
THE FOG BELL OF ALCATRAZ. O weary warden, that o'er sea and marshes Monotonously calls Thy challenge to the foe, whose stealthy marches Invest the city walls.
Thy voice of warning far and wide diverges, Thrilling the midnight air; Yet in thy tower, above the rocking surges, Thou dost not heed, nor care.
Thou readest not the message of thy bringing; Thou dost not know the weight Of that which in thy little are forever swinging, Thou dost reiterate.
Thou heedest not the text, whose repetition Makes the dark night more drear; Thou fill'st the world with formal admonition— But show'st no sky more clear!
Thou see'st not the binnacle light that glistens
Upon the slippery deck;
Thou markest not the mariner who listens;
Thou see'st not the wreck.
Vain is thy challenge—vain thy admonition—
To all who hear or pass;
Having not Love nor Pity — thy condition
Is but "as sounding brass."
O formal Dervish ! rocking in thy tower,
That looks across the deep,
Cry, O Muezzin, "God is God!" each hour—
But let believers sleep.
Thou hast the word, O too insensate preacher,
But having nought beyond,
The fate thou criest, and thyself the teacher,
Alike by man are shunned.
​That faithless watcher had told us before we left him to ascend to the summit, that a trail led back along- a winding ridge and through a timbered country, and so down the mountain by the way of Lagunitas, a lumber-camp near the foot, and advised us to return that way. We started to carry out his programme without him. After we had ridden a short distance, alone pigeon perched upon the top limb of a dead tree attracted our attention, and all firing at once, we brought him lifeless to the ground; then indulged in an animated and somewhat acrimonious discussion as to who fired the fatal shot, until the fog-drift was upon us. We rode along the ridge a mile or two in the dense, salt fog, until our clothing was drenched as if from a thunder shower, and we all smelled like so many Point Lobos mussels, while water streamed out of the barrels of our guns, whenever we turned them muzzle downward. "This is poetry condensed!" I had exclaimed enthusiastically, as we looked down in delight upon the scene spread out before us, as we ascended the eastern slope of the mountain. "I'll be blamed if this is not prose!" said the Doctor, as he gazed ruefully at the approaching fog-bank which shut us out from the sight of everything on the west from the summit of the mountain. "This is blank verse!" cried Lloyd, as he now swept the drops of gathered moisture from his face in a shower, and mopped himself industriously with his dripping handkerchief.
Suddenly we emerged from the cloud, and found ourselves below and outside of it, and in the sunshine ​again. We halted and gave three cheers. We were out of the woods, and out of the fog, and five quails ahead. The fullness of our high hopes of the morning had fallen something short of realization, it is true, but we had got "a starter" nevertheless, and still had before us some hours in which to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
We went on down the steep declivity a mile or more; then came upon the edge of one still more precipitous, and looked down into a narrow, romantic cañon, at the bottom of which is Lagunita. Descending this precipice, our horses occupied something the position of red squirrels coming down the side of a barn. My horse being at the rear, had his nose projected far over the back of Lloyd's, and his in turn was telescoped—so to speak—over the Doctor's. I had always an inquiring mind, and a tendency toward experiments. I had a sharp stick in my hand, and inserted it playfully under the portion of Lloyd's horse nearest me. The experiment was an eminent success. Mousey, by way of passing on the compliment, seized Whitey by the rump, and gave him a nip that brought away the fur by the handful. Whitey having nothing before him to get even on, whirled half round, at the risk of his rider's neck, and went for his assailant "for all there was in sight." Mousey lifted his heels, and my horse caught the full force of the shock. Things rattled, and the air for the moment was blue with cursing. When order was at last restored, we rode on in sulky silence. They were mad, and gave me no credit whatever for good ​intentions. I felt hurt. We reached and passed the saw-mills and hamlet at Lagunitas, and soon came to where the road forked. Falling carelessly behind, I watched my opportunity and quietly gave them the slip, turning off down one trail while they went the other. In the next mile's ride, I bagged two more quail. Then I came upon a little lustrous-eyed, white-toothed Mexican boy in a canon, who was out with a bow and arrow, going the rounds to look at his quail-traps. He had several quail, and I acquired them. Then I rode on with him, chatting on various subjects, while we visited all his traps. He had lived some years in sight, and almost within hearing of the bells of the great city of the Pacific Coast, and had never been in it in his life. I told him what I could of its wonders, and when we parted company I was four bits out in coin, but had seven good, healthy quails to show for my work. I went on down toward the coast, where the quails had been less harassed by hunters, and coming upon several large coveys, swelled my game-bag considerably by well directed shots. I also got a snap-shot at a fine, large California hare, and corralled him. When the sun went down and evening stole over the land, I rode triumphantly into San Rafael with twenty-three quails in my game-bag and a hare slung behind my saddle. I was "happy and content as one of Swimley's boarders," and felt that I was the champion shootist of the party.
MOUNTAINEERING.
​they had nothing to do but to load and fire from morning to night. This is all wrong, an d I took occasion to say as much—in a spirit of pure kindness, and more in sorrow than in anger—to my companions and a few spectators at this time. Did I receive any thanks for my disinterested and gratuitous advice? Far from it; I got abuse and gross personalities instead. Such is human nature! I replied feelingly. I was tired and sore, and possibly a little irritable; but I solemnly affirm that I never said that I could whip any man in the company. I am no prize-fighter; why should I? As to the San Rafaelite who interfered, I consider him wholly inexcusable; and so far as he is concerned, am not sorry for what he got for his pains. It is an unpleasant subject, and I dislike to pursue it any further.
Next morning we were in the saddle again at eight o'clock, having despatched our game and firearms by the express to San Francisco, and ran our horses at the dead jump all the way to San Quentin, arriving just in time to get on board the boat for the city. As the boat glided away down the Bay, we looked back from its deck and saw the mountain standing out bold and free from cloud or fog in the bright morning sunlight, and bitterly thought of the experience of yesterday.
Thus, truthfully and dispassionately, after the lapse of months, have I written up this history of our great hunting, fishing, and warlike expedition to Tamalpais. As I have already remarked, Tamalpais is one of the finest of the lesser mountains of California; an ​attractive mountain to look at from Russian or Telegraph Hill. It is there all the time. You may see it any day; and you may have it all for me. The experiences of that trip disgusted me with it for all time, and I go there no more. Adios, Tamalpais!