I once hunted for three months in company with a hunter well known in California.  In idea, he was wild and imaginative in the extreme; but, 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 steady hand, and drop either man or horse.  A man of them shan’t escape.”  The two remaining robbers were now up with the log, and fired each a pistol-shot at the hunter, which he escaped by dodging behind a tree close to, from which he fired with effect.  As only one robber was left, he wheeled round his horse with the intention of galloping off, when the pistol-bullets of the merchant shot