In the early days the Washoes were expert hunters of bear and deer.
They used to cross over into the mountains of California for
this purpose, and the women would accompany them. A camp would be
established just below the snow line, and while the men and youths
went out hunting the women gathered acorns. My informant, an old
Indian, was a lad of eighteen at the time of which he spoke. In effect
he said: "One day while I was out I found the tracks of a bear which
I followed to a cave. Then I went to camp. But we Indians are not
like you white men. You would have rushed in and shouted to everybody,
'I've found a bear's track!' Instead I waited until night and when all
the squaws had gone to bed I leisurely told the men who were chatting
around the camp fire. They wished to know if I knew where the cave
was, and of course I assured them I could go directly to it. The next
morning early my uncle quietly aroused me, saying, 'Let's go and get
that bear.' I was scared but had to go. When we arrived he took some
pieces of pitch-pine from his pocket, and lighting them, gave me one,
and told me to stand at the mouth of the cave ready to shoot the
bear, while he went in and drove it out. I didn't like the idea, but I
daren't confess my cowardice, for he at once went in. In a few moments
I heard terrific growlings and roarings and then the bear rushed out.
I banged away and he fell, and I was proud to tell my uncle, when he
came out, that I had killed the bear. 'No, you didn't,' said he; 'your
shots all went wild. Here's the shot that killed him,' and sure enough
it was a shot of a different size from that of my gun."

"Another time when I found a bear in a cave he said, 'You must go in
this time and drive out the bear.' I was sure I couldn't do it, but he
insisted, and thrusting the lighted sticks into my hands bade me crawl
in, keeping my eyes fixed the while, as soon as I saw them, upon those
of the bear. I was to keep my back to the wall, and when I got well