learned to his cost; for the terrific blows which he received from time
to time, while teaching them "docility," finally cost him his life.

When Adams and his other wild beasts (for he was nearly as wild as any
of them) arrived in New York, he called immediately at the Museum. He
was dressed in his hunter's suit of buckskin, trimmed with the skins and
bordered with the hanging tails of small Rocky Mountain animals; his cap
consisting of the skin of a wolf's head and shoulders, from which
depended several tails as natural as life, and under which appeared his
stiff bushy gray hair and his long white grizzly beard. In fact, Old
Adams was quite as much of a show as his bears. They had come around
Cape Horn on the clipper-ship Golden Fleece, and a sea-voyage of three
and a half months had probably not added much to the beauty or neat
appearance of the old bear-hunter.

During our conversation, Grizzly Adams took off his cap, and showed me
the top of his head. His skull was literally broken in. It had on
various occasions been struck by the fearful paws of his grizzly
students; and the last blow, from the bear called "General Fremont," had
laid open his brain, so that its workings were plainly visible. I
remarked that I thought that was a dangerous wound, and might possibly
prove fatal.

"Yes," replied Adams, "that will fix me out. It had nearly healed; but
old Fremont opened it for me, for the third or fourth time, before I
left California, and he did his business so thoroughly, I'm a used-up
man. However, I reckon I may live six months or a year yet."

This was spoken as coolly as if he had been talking about the life of a
dog.

The immediate object of "Old Adams" in calling upon me was this. I had
purchased one-half interest in his California menagerie from a man who
had come by way of the Isthmus from California, and who claimed to own
an equal interest with Adams in the show. Adams declared that the man
had only advanced him some money, and did not possess the right to sell
half of the concern. However, the man held a bill of sale for one-half
of the "California Menagerie," and Old Adams finally consented to
accept me as an equal partner in the speculation, saying that he guessed
I could do the managing part, and he would show up the animals. I
obtained a canvas tent, and erecting it on the present site of Wallack's
Theatre, Adams there opened his novel California Menagerie. On the
morning of opening, a band of