in
his acts of daring, &c., the most cool and philosophic fellow I ever
knew. A commercianto, or merchant, at San Francisco, on whose veracity I
know from experience I can depend, told me the following story of this
man, which will at once illustrate his general character. This hunter
was, some months before I had fallen in with him, making the best of his
way down the valley of the Tule Lakes from the interior, with a heavy
pack of furs on his back, his never-erring rifle in his hand, and his
two dogs by his side. He was joined at the northermost end of the valley
by the merchant I had spoken of, who was armed only with sword and
pistols. They had scarcely cleared the valley, when a party of robbers
galloped out before them. There were four whites, fully armed, and two
Indians with the lassos coiled up in their right hands, ready for a
throw. The hunter told the merchant, who was on horseback, to dismount
instantly, "and to cover." Fortunately for them, there was a good deal
of thicket, and trunks of large trees that had fallen were strewed about
in a very desirable manner. Behind these logs the merchant and the
hunter quickly took up their position, and as they were in the act of
doing so, two or three shots were fired after them without effect. The
hunter coolly untied the pack of furs from his back, and laid them
beside him. "It's my opinion, merchant," said he, "that them varmint
there wants either your saddle-bags or my pack, but I reckon they'll get
neither." So he took up his rifle, fired, and the foremost Indian, lasso
in hand, rolled off his horse. Another discharge from the rifle, and the
second Indian fell, while in the act of throwing his lasso at the head
and shoulders of the hunter, as he raised himself from behind the log to
fire. "Now," said the hunter, as he reloaded, laying on his back to
avoid the shots of the robbers, "that's what I call the best of the
scrimmage, to get them brown thieves with their lassoes out of the way
first. See them rascally whites now jumping over the logs to charge us
in our cover." They were fast advancing, when the rifle again spoke out,
and the foremost fell; they still came on to within about thirty yards,
when another fell; and the remaining two made a desperate charge up
close to the log. The hunter, from long practice, was dexterous in
reloading his gun. "Now, merchant," said he, "is the time for your
pop-guns, (meaning the pistols,) and don't be at all narvous, keep a