Always having allowed myself to believe, that a civil tongue, a good bowie-knife, and the sense to mind my own business, were a much better protection than fire-arms, I seldom carried a revolver--as most people in California, at that time, were in the habit of doing. I now found need of the weapon, when I had it not. I was not, however, wholly unprovided with what might console me in my dilemma: for I had some good cigars and a flask of brandy,--that happened to have been put into my pocket the night before. To aid me in calculating the chances of regaining my liberty, I took a pull at the flask, and then lighted a cigar. Volume Two, Chapter II. A GRIZZLY ON FIRE. During all this time, the bear had been energetically trying to pull down, or eat up, the tree; and I only felt secure, when I saw that she had not the ability to do either. But the business upon which I was bound to Sonora now came before my mind. It seemed to have become greatly magnified in importance, so much so, that I began to fancy, that all my hopes for the future depended on my finding Stormy Jack before twelve o'clock. Time was rapidly passing, without my making any progress towards the place of appointment. "What shall I do?" was the thought that seemed to run like hot lead through my skull. The excited state I was in hindered the enjoyment I usually have in smoking a good cigar; and the fire of the one I had lit soon became extinguished. Imbued with the belief that smoking tranquillises an agitated mind, and brings it to a fitter state for contemplation, I relighted the cigar. I knew from the implacable disposition of the grizzly bear, that the old she that besieged me was not likely to leave the tree so long as I was in it; and the length of my captivity would probably depend on which of us could longest resist the demands of hunger. My cigars--unlike some that I have often been compelled to smoke--could not be used as _substitute for food_: since they were composed neither of turnip tops nor cabbage leaves. The day was intensely hot; and I had grown thirsty--a sensation that brandy would not remove. The longer I kept my perch, the more my impatience pained me, indeed, life seemed not worth possessing, unless I met Stormy at the time he had appointed. I felt the terrible exigency; but could not think of a way to respond to it. There was every probability of the next day finding me no nearer Sonora, but much nearer death, than I was then. The agony of thirst--which the feverish anxiety caused by my forlorn condition each moment increased--would of itself make an end of me. The idea of descending from the tree, and fighting the bear with my bowie-knife, was too absurd to be entertained for a moment. To do so would be to court instant death. I have already stated that at the time of which I write, California was disgraced by such spectacles as combats between a grizzly bear and a bull.