Genevra had not proceeded many miles before a
weariness seized upon her fragile limbs, and she
would fain seat herself upon the trunk of a prostrate
pine, which she previously dusted with her handkerchief.
The sun was just sinking below the horizon,
and the scene was one of gorgeous and sylvan beauty.
“How beautiful is Nature,” murmured the innocent
girl, as, reclining gracefully against the root
of the tree, she gathered up her skirts and tied the
handkerchief around her throat. But a low growl
interrupted her meditation. Starting to her feet,

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her eyes met a sight which froze her blood with
terror.

The only outlet to the forest was the narrow path,
barely wide enough for a single person, hemmed in
by trees and rocks, which she had just traversed.
Down this path, in Indian file, came a monstrous
grizzly, closely followed by a California lion, a wild
cat, and a buffalo, the rear being brought up by a
wild Spanish bull. The mouths of the three first
animals were distended with frightful significance;
the horns of the last were lowered as ominously. As
Genevra was preparing to faint, she heard a low voice
behind her.

“Eternally dog-gone my skin ef this ain't the puttiest
chance yet.”

At the same moment, a long, shining barrel
dropped lightly from behind her, and rested over her
shoulder.

Genevra shuddered.

“Dern ye—don't move!”

Genevra became motionless.

The crack of a rifle rang through the woods.
Three frightful yells were heard, and two sullen
roars. Five animals bounded into the air and five
lifeless bodies lay upon the plain. The well-aimed
bullet had done its work. Entering the open throat
of the grizzly, it had traversed his body, only to enter
the throat of the California lion, and in like manner
the catamount, until it passed through into the
respective foreheads of the bull and the buffalo, and
finally fell flattened from the rocky hillside.

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Genevra turned quickly. “My preserver!” she
shrieked, and fell into the arms of Natty Bumpo—
the celebrated Pike Ranger of Donner Lake.