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Scouting with Kit Carson

by Everett T. Tomlinson · English · Gutenberg #40927 · 351,332 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Scouting with Kit Carson

Author: Everett T. Tomlinson

Illustrator: John Frost


        
Release date: October 3, 2012 [eBook #40927]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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        Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCOUTING WITH KIT CARSON ***

[Illustration: “‘Here I am, Kit! Don’t shoot!’”]




Every Boy’s Library—Boy Scout Edition

SCOUTING WITH KIT CARSON

BY

EVERETT T. TOMLINSON

AUTHOR OF

SCOUTING WITH DANIEL BOONE, Etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

JOHN FROST

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS




Copyright, 1916, by

Doubleday, Page & Company

All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian




PREFACE

Perhaps it is unnecessary to explain that the purpose of the author
primarily has been to write a story, not a biography. And yet behind
the story stands the romantic character of the great trapper, scout,
guide, messenger, and soldier—Kit Carson. In every way the aim has been
to portray him in a manner that should be true to his unique
personality and his adventurous life. There is a basis of truth for the
incidents incorporated in the tale. Although exact chronology has been
impossible, still an attempt has been made in a general way, to present
in order, various phases of Kit Carson’s stirring life. The courage and
truthfulness of the famous scout, his modesty and determination, as
well as his fidelity and his friendliness are qualities of life never
more in demand than to-day. Where can our boys and girls learn of their
value better than in becoming familiar with a life which, whatever its
limitations may have been, surely possessed these valuable qualities.
Is it not high time, too, for young Americans to be taught that in the
romance and adventure of the early days of our own country there are
heroes as deserving of recognition as the semi-fabulous characters in
the early life of nations across the sea? Whatever may be taught of the
latter, surely American boys and girls ought not to be ignorant of the
early heroes of their own land.

                                                   Everett T. Tomlinson.
                                                  Elizabeth, New Jersey.




CONTENTS
  CHAPTER I—THE CAMP ON THE PLAINS
  CHAPTER II—IN PURSUIT OF A HERD
  CHAPTER III—THREE CHEYENNES
  CHAPTER IV—RAT TRUE
  CHAPTER V—THE FAME OF THE TRAPPER
  CHAPTER VI—ALONE
  CHAPTER VII—MOUNTAIN TROUT
  CHAPTER VIII—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
  CHAPTER IX—WOLF’S CLOTHING
  CHAPTER X—ATTACKED
  CHAPTER XI—A TRYING EXPERIENCE
  CHAPTER XII—A PUZZLING MESSENGER
  CHAPTER XIII—PURSUIT
  CHAPTER XIV—CAPTURED
  CHAPTER XV—A LONELY RIDE
  CHAPTER XVI—A MOUNTAIN LION
  CHAPTER XVII—THE COMING OF RAT
  CHAPTER XVIII—A FIGHT
  CHAPTER XIX—TRAPPED
  CHAPTER XX—WILD HORSES
  CHAPTER XXI—THE CHASE OF THE LEADER
  CHAPTER XXII—A WHITE MAN IN THE INDIAN VILLAGE
  CHAPTER XXIII—BAFFLED
  CHAPTER XXIV—A FRESH ATTEMPT
  CHAPTER XXV—THE CAPTIVE LEADER
  CHAPTER XXVI—THE RETURN OF RAT
  CHAPTER XXVII—THE THEFT
  CHAPTER XXVIII—THE RETURN
  CHAPTER XXIX—THE GREAT SCOUT AND THE GREAT EXPLORER
  CHAPTER XXX—CONCLUSION




ILLUSTRATIONS

“‘Here I am, Kit! Don’t shoot!’”

“Several Indians seated themselves before the mouth of the cave”

“The trembling boy was able to see the scout as he drew his knife”

“Instantly Kit Carson struck the treacherous redskin a blow between his
eyes with his fist”




SCOUTING WITH KIT CARSON




CHAPTER I—THE CAMP ON THE PLAINS


“I am glad we are going to stop here.”

“It ees so. The boy ees mooch tired?”

“Yes, I am tired,” responded Reuben Benton. “I have been in the saddle
since before sun-up. Sometimes it seems to me as if I had been riding
forever and a day.”

The conversation ceased, and both men, leaping from the backs of their
tired horses, first stretched themselves and then danced about in a
manner not in the least suggestive of weariness. The action, however,
was not so much to express their pleasure as to give relief to the
cramped muscles of their backs and legs that now were almost numb.

The ponies manifestly, too, were glad of the respite. It was a long
trail from St. Louis, or Pain Court, as the trading post frequently was
called ninety years before this story was written, to the foothills of
the Rocky Mountains. For many days the two weary travellers had
steadily ridden across the arid plains. In certain places they had
forded rivers or had crossed on boats or rafts, that now were left far
behind them. Here and there along the uncertain trail they had camped
near the springs that occasionally were to be found. It was a spring
which now had caused the two men to halt and to prepare their camp for
the night.

For a brief moment both men turned and looked sharply all about them.
Not far away, although they were much farther than they appeared to be,
the towering Rocky Mountains lifted their summits high in the air. Some
of the peaks still were covered with snow, although nearly all of them
at this time in the summer were bare and bleak. Gorges and cañons were
plainly visible, and the keen look which each of the riders gave them
indicated that they were aware that these great defiles among the giant
hills might be the hiding-places of savage beasts or of no less savage
Indians. Indeed, the latter were much more to be feared, for recently
there had been an increasing hatred of the whites manifested by all the
tribes of the prairies and the mountains beyond. Not that many white
men as yet had ventured into the wilderness, but the few that had done
so had aroused feelings of fear and anger lest the pale-faced men might
be merely scouts for a larger body that was following them. Rumours of
battles fought farther east between the Indians and the settlers had
made their way somehow even across the plains. Many of the actions, as
well as the activities, of certain of the trappers and hunters, in
their occasional visits among the tribes, also had not tended to soothe
the fears or allay the feelings of the suspicious redmen.

Although thoughts of such perils were in the minds of the two men who
had halted for the night, neither referred to them, nor was there any
unusual anxiety betrayed by either. The horses now were hobbled,
blankets were spread on the sandy soil, and a few cooking utensils were
taken from the backs of the pack-horses, and all things were made ready
speedily for the night that was fast approaching.

The horse of Jean Badeau, the elder of the two men, would have been
noticed even by a passing stranger. Even after the long ride of the day
was ended, there still was a flash in the eyes of Proveau, as Jean
called his horse, and splotches of foam were still flying from his
mouth when he proudly tossed his head.

The horse of Reuben Benton, though its coat was not quite as sleek and
its eyes betokened a greater weariness than those of his companion’s
mount, still was manifestly fleet and strong. Four other ponies also
were in the little caravan, and it was not long before the burdens they
carried were removed from their backs and placed together on the
ground.

As soon as the contents of the packs were seen it was evident that the
men were engaged in what was a not infrequent occupation in these early
days: both men were trappers. Indeed, numerous traps tied together were
seen among the burdens carried by the patient animals. Powder and lead,
two or three blankets, a few cooking utensils, and a scanty store of
provisions comprised most of the outfit of the little train.

Of the two trappers, Jean Badeau was a man of medium height, with dark
hair, and eyes piercing and black as midnight. His swarthy skin as well
as his manner of shrugging his shoulders indicated that he was French.
Whether he had come from St. Louis or Montreal, or even from France
itself, he had not explained to his companion. It was in St. Louis,
however, that Reuben first had met him, and there he had agreed to
accompany Jean on his long journey to the Rockies, where they were to
trap until late in the fall or early winter.

Their first plan had been to go to the upper waters of the Missouri
River. When, however, they learned that several large trapping parties
were also planning to go to the same country, Jean decided that their
opportunities would be better and their chances of success much more if
they should leave their companions, and set their traps among the hills
or mountains farther south, where some of the smaller streams had their
rise.

Jean was about thirty-eight or forty years of age. The muscles of his
neck and shoulders indicated his great physical strength. His heavy
chest and long arms were silent witnesses to the power of the
Frenchman.

Nor was Reuben Benton a weakling. Slightly taller than his companion,
he, too, had dark hair and black eyes, but the tint of his skin
indicated that it was due more to the sun and winds he had encountered
on his long journey from St. Louis than to its original colouring. His
eyes were expressive of the kindness of his heart, and it was clear
that Reuben was not one that easily lost his temper or self-possession.
Perhaps it was for this reason that Jean, whose success as a hunter and
trapper was well known, had urged the lad to accompany him. He himself
was the possessor of neither of these two virtues. Indeed, Reuben had
told him that “he was not so much a man who had a temper as he was a
man whose temper had him.”

The difficulties confronting the two men were many. The food they had
brought was not sufficient to provide for their wants more than a few
days, and for the greater part they must depend for supplies upon their
own skill with their rifles. However, as game was plentiful in the
region, neither was anxious concerning the outlook for their immediate
future. They were much more fearful of the red-skinned Indians among
the defiles of the mountains and of possible rivals whom they might
encounter in their visits to their traps.

Of all the trappers that had gone forth that year they were the only
ones who had ventured to start with only two in the party. Whether or
not they were wise in their undertaking will be better understood as
the story of their adventures is unfolded.

In a brief time after they had arrived at the spring their camp had
been made, brush had been gathered for a fire, the horses had been
hobbled, and Jean had taken his flint and tinder and after two quick
attempts had started a fire in the dry brush. The sun was still well
above the tops of the mountains, but darkness, when it fell, would come
suddenly.

“I’m telling you,” said Jean, “that we start on Friday. That is ver’
mooch onlucky.”

“Why is it unlucky?” laughed Reuben, who was not greatly moved by the
superstitious fears of his companion. “Do you think we shall have
trouble or that we shan’t get any skins?”

“I fear ver’ mooch the both things.”

While Jean had been talking he had been preparing their simple supper.
So engrossed was he in his occupation, as well as in the steady stream
of talk he maintained, whether Reuben heeded his words or not, that he
was unaware of what was occurring in the vicinity of the camp. It was
plain that he had entrusted to his younger companion the guardianship
of the camp, while he himself prepared their simple evening meal.

“Look out! Look out!” suddenly shouted Reuben.

At the words of his companion Jean leaped to his feet, grasped his
rifle, which he had left upon the sand nearby, and hastily turned in
the direction indicated by Reuben. In a brief time the sight which had
aroused the younger trapper also stirred the older man.

Not far away a buffalo calf was running directly toward the camp,
evidently exerting itself to the utmost of its strength. Behind it in
swift pursuit were following two long, gaunt wolves.

“It is so scared,” Reuben suggested, “that it probably has taken us for
a herd of buffaloes.”

The calf by this time had in all likelihood discovered its mistake, but
with undiminished speed it was continuing on its way directly through
the camp.

The wolves, however, swiftly moved in a circuit outside the camp, so
that the fugitive secured a slight gain on its enemies, and in a moment
was straining every nerve to reach a large herd which now could be seen
at the foot of the hills not more than two miles away.

“Why didn’t you shoot, Jean?” inquired Reuben.

The trapper shook his head as he replied, “No waste powder.”

“It isn’t wasting powder to shoot one of those wolves!” replied Reuben.
“It’s one of the best pieces of work you can do! Look yonder! It almost
seems as if they had come up out of the ground. There’s one, two,
three, four, five more now that have joined the two already there.”

In silence the two trappers watched the pursuit, and in a brief time
they saw that the number of wolves had increased to twenty or more.
Indeed, the helpless victim was overtaken long before it could find a
refuge among its fellows. The little animal fell an easy prey to its
savage pursuers and was half devoured even before it was dead.

“I wish I had shot heem,” muttered Jean.

“If one of our horses had been saddled I would have helped out the
little beggar. I wonder why it is that one always feels that he wants
the weaker side to win?” inquired Reuben.

Jean shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply, and once more resumed
his task over the fire. Silence rested over the region, for Reuben was
caring for the horses while his friend was busy with his labours.

“I no think they fight mooch,” said Jean in a low voice.

Reuben hastily glanced up at the words of his friend, as for a moment
the flight of the buffalo calf had been forgotten. Looking in the
direction indicated by Jean, he saw that four or five buffaloes had
advanced from the herd, keeping well together, and were moving toward
the pack of wolves that still were busy over what remained of the
unfortunate calf.

“Perhaps they won’t,” responded Reuben, “but they are going to do
something which is almost as bad.”

Both men stood silent as they watched the herd. Although the animals
were two miles distant, as has been said, in the clear air they seemed
to be much nearer, and the entire herd was advancing in a body. Out
from the ravine was coming a steadily increasing number of buffaloes.
Soon the great herd, forming as if some one had been giving directions
which they understood, began to move in such a manner that for a moment
it appeared as if the prowling wolves would be surrounded. In a brief
time, however, the savage animals were aware of the threatening danger,
and with incredible speed fled from the region. The advancing
buffaloes, however, did not halt when they saw their enemies disperse.
Their speed steadily increased. The earth rumbled beneath the heavy
tread of the myriad feet, producing a sound not unlike that of distant
thunder.

An exclamation of dismay or fear from Jean caused Reuben to glance
hastily at his companion; and it was plain that Jean was anxious or
alarmed. Not many minutes elapsed, however, before Reuben understood
the source of his friend’s excitement and was sharing in his feeling of
fear.

The great herd, moving now as if it was controlled by one motive, with
steadily increasing speed was directly approaching the very place which
the trappers had selected for their camping-place.




CHAPTER II—IN PURSUIT OF A HERD


“Queek! Queek!” called Jean. “At once! Immediately!”

Whether or not it was the call of his excited companion that influenced
Reuben, his pony was quickly bridled, and almost at the same time both
men leaped upon the backs of their horses. In spite of the weariness of
both men and beasts, in a brief time all were alike highly excited. The
great rumbling mass was steadily approaching and the horses also were
aware of the peril that threatened.

In Reuben’s heart there was a thought that if he and his companion
should fire at the buffaloes the course of the mighty herd might be
diverted. Perhaps even the direction in which they were moving would be
turned and they would then avoid the camp. The young trapper had heard
many stories of men and horses that had been trampled beneath the feet
of a frantic herd of buffaloes.

As the huge animals came nearer and a mighty bull was seen acting as an
advance guard, Reuben glanced quickly at Jean to see whether or not he
shared in his alarm. Nothing apparently would be able to stand in the
way of the rush of the oncoming horde. It was a sight unlike any that
Reuben ever had seen.

On, and still on, dashed the animals, moving almost as if the swaying
mass was one huge creature. Neither Reuben nor Jean had as yet advanced
from the camp, but both were waiting with loaded rifles, unable to
discover just what the exact course of the fleeing herd was to be.

“How many are there?” inquired Reuben in a low voice.

“About seven hundred.”

Reuben whistled, but made no further response. Two minutes elapsed
without any change in the direction in which the buffaloes were going.
Then Jean said quickly, “I shall go to one side. It ees good for you to
wait. When you shoot you must hit a cow, that ees the only meat that
one can eat. Il trouverait à tondre sur un oeuf.”

Whenever Jean fell into the use of his native language Reuben was aware
that his excitement was almost beyond control. What the words meant he
had no conception, but an instant later he saw Jean dashing directly
toward the approaching herd. His horse now apparently was as excited as
its rider. The weariness of the long journey of the day was forgotten
or ignored.

Without any definite plan, Reuben departed from the camp, moving in
accordance with Jean’s advice toward the rear of the animals. The great
mass was now less than a half-mile distant, and as the two hunters
separated and approached the herd, Reuben saw that they had come within
three hundred yards before the presence of the two riders was
discovered. Then there was a sudden agitation in the huge body. The
band apparently wavered for a moment, and some of the bulls galloped to
and fro along the borders of the herd, betraying the fact that the
presence of enemies had been discovered.

The progress of the trappers, however, was not stayed. Riding steadily
forward, they drew nearer the buffaloes. To Reuben the interest of the
chase had now become so intense that all other things were ignored.

Suddenly the movements of the dense mass were changed. The body swerved
in a semicircle and apparently was in swift flight for the foothills.
Within a few seconds the entire herd had joined in the flight, a guard
of bulls as usual bringing up the rear. Frequently some of them
stopped, and faced about as if they intended to test the strength or
learn the purpose of the men on horseback. In every case, however, the
huge animals speedily turned and once more dashed after the band, only
to stop again and gaze at the horsemen. Indeed, as the minutes passed,
Reuben was persuaded that the animals were minded to stand and fight.

Whatever may have been the impulse, however, as the hunters increased
the pace at which they were riding the confusion in the herd became
more manifest. The buffaloes were moving over the ground now with
increasing swiftness, while the rumbling and roaring became steadily
louder as the speed increased.

Reuben, who had followed directions and was making for the rear of the
herd, now lost sight of his companion. He had a momentary glimpse of
Jean when he was about thirty yards from the border of the herd,
dashing into its midst. He heard the loud shout of the Frenchman, “A
beau jeu beau retour!” but as he did not understand any of the words he
was ignorant of Jean’s purpose. He saw the mass give way, and a
half-dozen or more of the bulls, that were less fleet than the cows,
turned to face the approaching hunter. Several of them, however, were
thrown to the earth by the mass of maddened animals and rolled over and
over upon the ground, hardly to be distinguished from the clouds of
dust that now were settling all about them.

Aware that Jean’s plan was, if possible, to separate one animal and
pursue it until he had approached its side and then aim directly at its
heart, Reuben became so interested that for a brief time he almost
forgot the task which had been assigned him.

Recalled in a few moments, however, and aware that Jean no longer was
to be seen, he shouted to his horse to increase its speed and soon was
swiftly moving toward the rear. He saw one cow slightly separated from
the mass, and in a moment he was pursuing her as swiftly as the wolves
had followed the buffalo calf a little while before.

Steadily the young trapper gained upon his victim until at last his
horse was alongside the animal he was seeking. Partly rising in his
stirrups Reuben, when only a yard separated him from the buffalo,
fired. The animal fell headlong at the discharge of the rifle, and then
Reuben checked his horse and looked about him for his companion. Not
far away he discovered Jean tying his horse to the head of a cow, which
he was preparing to cut up.

Filled with the spirit of the chase, Reuben decided that he would try
to secure another cow. As he swiftly advanced he heard a shout from
Jean, “Le coût en ôte le goût!” Still he did not understand what was
said, and in his determination to secure another victim he did not heed
the call, and soon was engaged in the mad pursuit of the flying herd.

Whether or not it was due to the weariness of the horse he was riding,
or to the increased speed of the buffaloes, Reuben never knew, but at
all events he was compelled to continue the pursuit for a long
distance. Unaware of the passing time and unmindful of the fact that
the sun now was disappearing below the western horizon, intent solely
upon securing another buffalo, Reuben still followed in the chase. A
thick cloud of dust filled his mouth and eyes and at times nearly
smothered him. There were moments, too, when the herd was not to be
seen, so concealed was it by the cloud which the hundreds of feet had
stirred up in the desert.

He was aware also that the buffaloes were crowding more closely
together, and the body was so compact that he was beginning to question
whether or not he would be able to force an entrance and cut off any of
the animals from the others. The dull and confused murmuring at times
was as distinctly heard as was the noise of the many feet. Many times
before Reuben had seen herds of buffaloes in the distance, but this had
been the first time he had joined in a chase.

Jean had told him often of his own experiences in buffalo hunting, and
in his own peculiar way had declared that “Indians and the buffalo
provide the poetry and life of the prairie.”

Whenever a discovery of a herd had been made Jean had insisted upon
hunting alone. Even now Reuben could picture the excited Frenchman
shouting to his horse, “Avance donc!” and cracking his whip to urge the
fleet animal into its best paces. Often Reuben had shared in the feast
that had followed, enjoying the tongues and steaks which his companion
insisted were the only choice bits of meat that the buffalo provided.
While these pieces were being roasted on sticks held over the fire,
Reuben in a measure had been content because of the feast that was
promised. Now, he himself was a buffalo hunter and already had secured
one victim.

Unaware how far he was leaving his companion behind him, and ignorant
of the direction in which he was moving as he followed the herd, Reuben
still maintained the pursuit. He was unaware also of another change in
the course of the animals. He had ridden near to the border of the
terrified mass, but for some reason had been unable to penetrate it, or
to separate one from the others.

As the herd swung to the right, Reuben found that he was being crowded
by the animals, that apparently either were unaware of his presence or
ignored their peril. He was ignorant of the fact that the herd was
passing over dangerous ground. Many times in his long rides across the
plains Reuben had passed through a prairie-dog village. The sight of
the little creatures sitting erect upon their haunches, watching the
approaching stranger on horseback, had become so common that he had
given slight heed to the little animals. Nor had he once thought of
them as a source of danger.

Still the flight and the pursuit were maintained. Several times the
horse which Reuben was riding stumbled and nearly fell, but every time
the pony was able to regain its foothold and dashed forward with
undiminished speed.

Reuben was now aware that the animal he was riding was breathing
heavily and doubtless was feeling the effect of its swift pace after
the long ride of the day. As soon as he had secured the cow he
desired—for now the young trapper had selected the animal which he
intended to shoot—he decided that he would give his horse a long rest
before he returned to the camp.

Suddenly one of the forefeet of his horse sank into a hole which the
prairie-dogs had made. Glancing about him, Reuben saw that he was in
the midst of a village of the little animals. With an effort he
maintained his seat in the saddle, for he was an expert horseman, and
an ordinary fall had little peril for him. This time, however, his
horse was unable to regain its foothold. It stumbled and staggered
several steps, and then with a groan sank to the ground.

As it fell, Reuben slipped from its back and leaped lightly to the
ground. Advancing to the head of his horse, he seized the bridle and
attempted to lift the animal to its feet. It was unable to rise, and a
brief examination convinced the young trapper that the fall had broken
its leg.

The thunder of the flying herd now sounded farther away. In the dim
light Reuben saw that the buffaloes were still running swiftly and were
headed for a valley or defile among the hills not far distant. Once
there, doubtless they would be secure from attack.

His own predicament, however, was too appalling to enable Reuben long
to think of the fleeing herd. He was miles distant from his companion,
his horse had fallen with a broken leg, and night was upon him, while
his perils doubtless would be greatly increased before morning came.
For a moment the heart of the young hunter was heavy. A groan of his
faithful pony recalled him to the necessity of action. There was no
hope of restoring the suffering brute, and, advancing to its head,
without hesitating a moment, Reuben fired at the heart of the panting,
suffering animal. With scarcely a quiver the horse became still.

His own problem, however, was still unsolved, as Reuben now was fully
aware. The cloud of dust in part had disappeared in the dim light. He
looked all about him, but not a trace of Jean or the camp was he able
to discover. He was alone on the trackless plains and by no means
certain of the direction in which he had come or of the way in which he
should go.




CHAPTER III—THREE CHEYENNES


Reuben was aware that he was not far from the base of one of the
highest mountains. As once more he looked up and peered intently in
every direction, he was aware also that no one was within sight. The
poor beast on which he had ridden was dead and there was no means by
which the young trapper might return to the camp where he had left his
friend. In the distance the herd of buffaloes still could be seen, a
tiny mass moving across the plains in the dim light. Even while he was
gazing at them they disappeared and were lost to sight among the
foothills.

Reuben was aware that he had shot one cow, but where the animal had
fallen or how far it was from the place where he now was standing he
had no means of knowing. He looked behind him, but was unable to
discover even his own trail in the sand. All traces had been destroyed
by the hoof-prints of the mighty herd of fleeing animals.

In what direction had he come? Reuben was aware that in a general way
he had followed the line of foothills, but it was plain to him now that
the herd which he had pursued had not moved in a straight course. In
and out over the uneven ground, the animals, frantic with fear, had
fled for safety.

The young trapper was aware also that he was hungry, and yet he had no
food. If he could secure the carcass of the buffalo cow he had shot his
wants would be supplied. The light, however, was too dim to enable him
to see far away, and even in clear daylight he was doubtful if he could
see the body in the distance.

Again he tried to discover the fire or smoke of the camp which he and
Jean had made. Not a trace of it, however, was to be seen. It was quite
likely that the very fire itself had been scattered by the herd when
they had dashed across the plains. The pack-horses, too, doubtless had
fled, and Reuben shuddered as he thought what was likely to be their
fate before the morning appeared. The pursuit of the buffalo calf by
the gaunt, hungry wolves was only an indication of what might occur
when the ponies, wearied by their efforts throughout the day, would be
in no condition to escape from the attack of the savage animals.

For several minutes Reuben remained standing, slowly turning in his
position until he had looked about the entire region. He listened
intently, hoping that he might hear the sound of Jean’s rifle. The
oppressive silence of the great desert, however, was unbroken.
Twinkling stars had appeared in the sky, the air was motionless, the
solitude was almost appalling, and within a few minutes Reuben decided
that he must take his rifle and saddle and proceed in the direction in
which he thought the camp was located.

The boy, however, was now feeling the full force of the reaction after
his strenuous day. Every muscle in his body seemed to be sore. He
advanced with difficulty, and the saddle somehow appeared to be much
heavier than when he had thrown it on the back of his pony.

It was impossible for him to think of remaining where he was. He was
hungry as well as tired, and the fear of an attack by a pack of hungry
wolves was more than a vague impression.

Suddenly Reuben saw the outline of three dim forms approaching on
horseback. Startled by the unexpected sight, the boy remained
motionless and waited for the strangers to come near him. The sight was
not one to soothe the fears of the troubled young trapper, but he was
convinced that his safest course was to await their coming.

Accustomed now to the dim light, not many minutes elapsed before the
young man was able to see that the advancing party was composed, of
three Indians. One of them was much smaller than his two companions and
perhaps was a lad. Who they were or why they should be coming at that
time he was unable to conjecture.

It was plain, however, that his presence had been discovered, for a
slight divergence in the course the Indians were following showed that
they were now approaching. In a brief time they drew near and one of
them spoke. “How? How?” inquired the leader. At the same time he
indicated, by extending his open hands, that no hostile action was
intended.

Following their example, Reuben also held forth his hands in a way to
indicate his peaceful intentions.

“Where go?” inquired the Indian that before had spoken.

“I want to find my camp,” answered Reuben. He was relieved by his
discovery that the three Indians were poorly mounted, the beasts which
they were riding apparently being well-nigh exhausted. The smallest
member of the party he now discovered was an Indian boy, perhaps
fifteen years of age. It was manifest, too, that the spokesman was the
only one able to speak English.

“Where go? Where go?” repeated the Indian.

“I want to find my camp,” again answered Reuben. “I left my partner
back yonder somewhere, while I went out to shoot buffaloes. My horse
stumbled and fell in a prairie-dog village over here. The poor brute
broke his leg and I had to shoot him. I thought I was not very far from
camp, but I reckon now I am a good deal farther than I thought I was.
Where are you going? Who are you?”

“Cheyenne,” answered the Indian promptly. “We go home.”

“How far do you go?” inquired Reuben.

The Indian held up three fingers of his right hand to indicate the
distance which must be covered before they rejoined their tribe.

“Three miles!” said Reuben, startled by the suggestion.

The Indian laughed and, shaking his head, again held up his three
fingers.

“Three hundred miles, you mean?” said Reuben.

The Indian nodded his head several times to indicate that the young
white had spoken correctly. Plainly the words “hundred” and “miles”
were not in his vocabulary.

Patting himself upon the chest, the Indian said: “Me Breaker of Arrows.
Come to Pawnee country. Try to get Pawnee ponies.”

“You mean you came out here to steal their horses?” inquired Reuben.

“No steal; _take_ horses.”

“How many did you get? It doesn’t look as if you had had very great
success. These ponies you are riding look as if they had been turned
loose by the Pawnees. They aren’t worth feeding.”

“Pawnee heap coward!” said the Indian grimly. “Pawnee shut up horses in
lodges at night.”

“Did they find you?” inquired Reuben.

“No find. Breaker of Arrows, Cheyenne. Dark Night, no find,” added the
warrior, pointing to the boy as he spoke.

The third member of the party apparently was ignored.

“Where did you get these ponies?”

“Ponies wild. Get horses on plains.”

“They look as if they were wild,” said Reuben. “Have you had anything
to eat?”

“No eat,” replied the warrior; at least the man was posing as a
warrior, although the only weapons the three Cheyennes carried were
bows and arrows and one long spear, which was in the hands of the
spokesman.

“I shot a buffalo cow.”

“Where buffalo?” demanded the Cheyenne quickly.

“I wish I knew,” replied Reuben lightly. “I am hungry and tired. I
ought to have stopped when I shot one, for one was enough, but I kept
on, thinking I would get another, and so I passed the place where the
cow fell. If you can find it you will have something for supper, for I
will be glad to share with you.”

The Cheyenne turned and spoke in his own tongue to his companions.
After a hasty conversation the spokesman once more turned to Reuben and
by the aid of signs and a few words intimated his desire for the young
trapper to remain where he then was while the Indians searched for the
body of the fallen buffalo.

Somewhat suspicious that if the strangers should succeed in finding the
dead animal they might not return, Reuben nevertheless agreed to the
suggestion, at the same time striving to conceal his own fears.

At once the Indians departed after they had secured from Reuben his
impressions of the direction in which they should go. The boy watched
them until the outlines of their forms no longer could be seen in the
dim light. It was plain to him that they were moving in parallel lines
at a considerable distance from one another.

Casting his saddle upon the ground, Reuben stretched himself on the
sand, using the saddle as a pillow. His rifle was loaded and placed
beside him, and in a brief time the young trapper was sleeping soundly.

How long he had slept he was unable to decide when he was suddenly
aroused from his slumber by the sound of approaching footsteps. Lifting
his head but still retaining his position, Reuben peered in every
direction to discover the approaching party. At first he was unable to
see what had awakened him, but in a brief time he saw a man approaching
on horseback. In a little while he was convinced that the man was an
Indian, and if so doubtless was one of the party which he recently had
seen. His impression was confirmed when in a low voice the approaching
Indian spoke: “Find um buffalo.”

“Where is it?” inquired Reuben.

The Indian did not reply, but alighted from his pony, for by this time
he had drawn near the place where Reuben was standing, and bade him
follow.

“Where are you going?” inquired Reuben.

Still the Indian did not explain, and after a brief hesitation Reuben
decided to obey the suggestion.

Slowly the Cheyenne, who still was on the back of his pony, led the way
toward the foothills that now seemed to be nearer than before. In a
brief time the desired point was gained and there Reuben discovered the
Indian boy who had been with him a little while before. The third
Indian, however, was no longer to be seen, and no explanations were
given for his absence, although Reuben asked several times where the
other member of the party was.

Sheltered by a huge rocky boulder, the Indians soon kindled a fire and
parts of the buffalo tongue and steaks which they had cut from the
carcass were roasting on sticks held over the flames.

Conversation ceased until the repast was prepared and eaten. Then
Reuben inquired: “Did you see anything of my friend?”

“No see. What do now?”

“Do you mean what I am going to do?” inquired Reuben. “Well, I wish
some one would answer that question for me.”

“Breaker of Arrows go home. Black Night come, too. White boy want to go
with us?”

“No,” answered Reuben, “I must stay here. I must find my friend.”

Apparently his explanation satisfied his companions, for in a brief
time they mounted their ponies and prepared to leave Reuben alone in
the little valley or defile where the buffalo meat had been roasted.

It was impossible for Reuben to resume his search for Jean. In the
place where he then was he was protected from sudden attacks and he
decided to remain there and await the coming of the morning.

The night passed without any adventures, but when morning came the
light revealed to Reuben a sight even more startling than that of the
preceding evening, when the three Cheyennes had discovered him alone on
the plains.




CHAPTER IV—RAT TRUE


In the light of the early morning Reuben saw a man on horseback
approaching the place where he was standing. Behind him were two
pack-horses, each heavily laden.

Convinced that the man was a stranger and that as yet he had not
discovered the presence of any one besides himself in the defile, the
first impulse that seized upon the young trapper was to seek some place
of safety.

He waited, however, excitedly watching the stranger as he led the
little procession up the narrow natural pathway. It soon was evident
that the stranger was a white man, and, once convinced of that fact,
Reuben’s fears in a measure departed. What a man could be doing among
the foothills of the Rockies, so far from companions and civilization,
was something he was unable to conjecture. The bundles on the backs of
the horses indicated that it might be possible that he had come with a
purpose not unlike that which had drawn him and Jean to the region. At
all events, he decided that he would not flee immediately. Hastily
examining his rifle to make sure that it was ready for immediate use if
occasion required, he awaited the coming of the man.

There was a slight bend in the valley, which for a moment hid the
approaching stranger from sight. As soon as the man turned the bend,
however, he discovered Reuben before him, and instantly stopped,
grasped his rifle, and gazed intently at the unexpected sight.

“Who are you?” demanded the stranger.

“I was just going to ask you that question myself,” replied Reuben,
laughing in a manner that served to allay much of the suspicions of the
newcomer.

“My name is Rat True. Now that I have told you that much,” said the
stranger, “tell me who you are.”

“My name is Reuben Benton,” acknowledged the young trapper.

“Good name,” said the other man, laughing boisterously. Now that he had
discovered that apparently there was only one man approaching, Reuben’s
confidence in his own ability to protect himself returned in full
measure.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Rat.

“Trying to get out.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Last night I came from the plains. I was chasing a buffalo herd and my
horse fell in a prairie-dog village and broke his leg. I had to shoot
him.”

“You weren’t alone, were you?”

“No.”

“Who was with you?”

“Three Cheyennes came to join me for a little while, but then they went
on, so I was left alone.”

“Yes, but who was with you before the redskins?”

“Jean Badeau.”

“Who’s he?”

“A trapper.”

“He’s a trapper, is he? Well, has he ever tried it before?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he sell his skins?”

“Sometimes he took them to the trading-post and sometimes he took them
to Pain Court.”

“Are you and he the only men here?”

“Yes,” answered Reuben with a laugh. “And he isn’t here now. At least I
can’t find him.”

“Where did you leave him?”

“I can’t even find the place where I left him. You see, as I told you,
I started out last night to shoot one or two buffaloes. I got one and
then I chased along after another, but I think I must have gone farther
than I knew, for I couldn’t find my way back before dark.”

“Do you think that you can find it now that it is light?”

“I don’t know,” replied Reuben dubiously. As he spoke he glanced in the
direction in which it seemed to him the place where he had left Jean
must lie.

“I don’t mind telling you,” began the stranger, “that I’m a trapper
myself.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

The man, who was at least six feet three inches tall, and large in
every way, threw back his head and emitted a laugh that was
proportionate to the size of his body.

“‘Have I been here before?’” repeated the stranger. “Well, just a
little. Last year I took in over one thousand beaver skins. I shot more
than two hundred buffaloes. I hugged a grizzly bear until he yelled for
mercy. I killed two Utes with one bullet.”

Reuben was looking intently at the stranger as he spoke and was
inclined to believe that he was telling the truth. It was plain that
the newcomer was a man of great physical strength, and his exploits,
which he described in a loud voice, were not altogether improbable. At
all events, the boy decided that the man was in nowise bashful,
whatever his other faults might be.

“Yes, sir,” continued Rat. “I guess if you were to ask the redskins
about me there aren’t many of them that can’t tell you who I am. I’ve
fought them single-handed and alone, and then, again, I’ve fought them
when there were hundreds of them together. I thought at first I would
go up along the Oregon this trip, but I soon decided that too many
others would be there, too. I don’t like company. That’s the reason I
wasn’t very much pleased when I first saw you here.”

“Do you own this country out here?” inquired Reuben soberly.

“I can’t just say as how I _own_ it,” laughed the giant, “but there
aren’t many who will dispute what I claim. Where did you say your
friend is?”

“I didn’t say. That’s just what I want to know.”

“Well, what are you planning to do?”

“The first thing I have got to do is to find Jean. Then I suppose we’ll
start pretty soon for the place where we are going to begin our
trapping.”

“I hope you don’t trespass on any of my territory.”

Reuben did not respond to the suggestion, and a moment later the
newcomer said: “Have you had your breakfast yet?”

“Not yet,” replied Reuben. “I was just going to have it.”

“What have you got to eat?”

“Buffalo tongue and some strips of steak.”

“Good! That’s mighty good! I’ll help you get ready,” said the giant.
“I’ll do you a good turn even if I shan’t let you trap along the
streams what I preëmpt for myself.”

Acting upon his suggestion the trapper dismounted and removed the
saddle from the horse he was riding. The pack-laden animals, however,
he did not relieve in the same way.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll stay here and help you with your breakfast,” he
repeated.

Reuben, who at once had begun to make preparations for the morning
meal, was unable to see for a time, at least, where the “help” of his
uninvited visitor was shown. As soon, however, as the pieces of buffalo
meat had been cooked and the repast was ready, Reuben discovered how
capable the giant was to “help” in disposing of the food which he had
provided. Indeed, Rat was increasingly free with his advice and
directions as to what Reuben should do, and for several reasons the boy
did not refuse to obey, or even to follow, any of the proffered
suggestions.

When at last the food had disappeared, the giant remarked: “Then you
think you will look up your camp, do you?”

“I want to look up Jean.”

“Well, isn’t that the same thing? I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You have
been good to me and given me a bite, now I’ll take the pack off of one
o’ the ponies and let you saddle it, and then we’ll go out and look for
your friend. I hope he really is somewhere,” added Rat, suspiciously.

“He was, the last I knew,” laughed Reuben.

In a brief time the suggestion of Rat had been followed, and after
Reuben had carefully adjusted his saddle to the pony of his companion
they decided to leave the remaining pony in the defile while they set
forth on their search for the missing Jean.

Still Rat was loquacious. Apparently it made little difference whether
or not Reuben replied or even listened to what he was saying. “You
asked me a spell ago did I own these streams out here where I’m
trapping. I told you I didn’t know as I did, but I likewise remarked
that no one else had been putting in no claim for them. I don’t think
many of them are likely to, not while I’m ’round.”

“There aren’t likely to be any here, are there?” remarked Reuben.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, isn’t the other fellow that was with you? Isn’t he here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” laughed Reuben.

“So am I,” roared the giant. “If you’re here, it may be somebody else
will be here, too. Now, let me tell you that there isn’t anybody in
creation what is going to set traps along the same streams where I set
mine.”

“How will you stop it?” inquired Reuben.

“Do you see that?” inquired the giant as he held up for Reuben’s
inspection an immense fist. “With that bunch of bones I have knocked
down an ox. If anything happens to that fist, then I have got something
else to fall back upon,” and with a loud laugh the giant held up his
rifle. “And if worst comes to worst,” he continued, “I have got
something in my belt here that will help take care of me.”

As he spoke he drew from his belt a long, slim, sharply pointed piece
of steel, which he explained had once been a bayonet, but by repeated
filings had been reduced to its present shape and size. That it was a
dangerous weapon Reuben instantly understood.

“That time I was hugging that grizzly,” resumed Rat, “or, rather, that
time when he was hugging me, do you know I just tickled his ribs with
that instrument?”

“Did he like it?” inquired Reuben.

“He didn’t live long enough to say. There was a grin on his face though
when he doubled over, so I guess he didn’t feel so bad as he made out,
though he was pretty dead when I left him.”

“What do you mean by ‘pretty dead?’”

“Dead as a door-nail.”

“But when one is dead he can’t be any deader, can he?” persisted
Reuben.

“I don’t know about that. That bear didn’t look as if he was dead, but
he was. Now, suppose I had blown him all to pieces, and couldn’t find
as much as a nail or a tooth left, I guess he would be deader then than
he was when he just had my knife in between his ribs. Where did you say
this fellow came from?”

“What fellow?”

“Why this man that you were with—this fellow Jean.”

“Pain Court.”

“Is that where you belong?”

“Yes.”

“Ever heard o’ Kit Carson?”

“I have that!” said Reuben eagerly. “I know him. I have seen him.”

“How long ago?”

“He was there early in the summer not long before we left. Indeed, he
wanted us to go with him.”

“Why didn’t you?” remarked Rat. His eyes, which were unnaturally small,
contracted as he spoke, until the expression startled the young
trapper.

“Because Jean thought we would do better not to go with a crowd, but to
go off by ourselves.”

“That Jean of yours is a fool.”

“But I thought that is what you yourself said,” suggested Reuben, “and
that you wanted to trap alone and not with a good many others.”

“There’s a mighty sight o’ difference when I say it and when this
friend o’ yours says it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Look here, my friend,” said Rat, turning sharply upon his companion.
“There are better men than you got into trouble from asking too many
questions.”

“But you asked a good many questions of me.”

“Did I get into any trouble by askin’ ’em?” demanded Rat, as he laughed
loudly.

“Not yet.”

“What do you mean by ‘not yet?’”

“Oh, nothing.”

By this time the two men had proceeded far from the place from which
they had started, and still Reuben was unable to recognize any signs of
the locality where he and Jean had prepared to make their camp the
preceding night.

Suddenly, however, he abruptly halted and, pointing toward a spot not
far away, he excitedly demanded: “What’s that? What do you make of
that?”




CHAPTER V—THE FAME OF THE TRAPPER


In response to Reuben’s startling questions both men halted and looked
keenly in the direction in which he was pointing.

“Is that where your camp was?” inquired Rat.

“It looks like it,” replied Reuben quietly as he hastened toward the
spot he had discovered on the plains. Both were silent until they
arrived at the place they were seeking. Then, after a hasty inspection,
Reuben said quickly: “This is where Jean and I camped last night.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know it is,” said Reuben positively after further investigation.

“Where is your friend now?”

“That’s what I should like to know, myself,” responded Reuben, as he
peered intently about him in all directions.

“What are you going to do about it?” inquired Rat after a brief
silence.

“It’s strange where Jean could have gone,” said Reuben slowly, almost
as if he was unconscious of the presence of his companion. “He isn’t a
man likely to be drawn into trouble. I have been wondering if the
redskins got him.”

“If they did they carried him off.”

“But there are no signs of any scuffle,” protested Reuben, as once more
he examined the ground around where the fire had been.

“He may not have put up any fight.”

“You don’t know Jean,” said Reuben positively. “It’s strange. The
ponies are gone. There isn’t a sign of the packs, and Jean isn’t to be
seen anywhere.”

“What are you goin’ to do about it?” repeated Rat. “You know I can’t
stay here forever. I’ve got to look after my own job. I usually find
that if I ever have anything or get anything done it is because Rat
True looks after it. Ever noticed that, boy?”

“I wonder where Jean can be,” repeated Reuben, almost as if he had not
heard the inquiry of the giant.

“Maybe if you stay here long enough he will show up. That’s what my
father used to tell me about the cows. He told me if I would take my
milkin’ pail and go out and sit down in the middle of the pasture,
pretty soon the cows would all come up and ask me to milk them. So I’m
thinkin’ it may be a good thing for you to sit down here, and perhaps
your friend, if there is such a friend, will come back.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Reuben quickly, as he turned and faced his
companion. “Don’t you think Jean was here?”

“That’s what you say; I have your word for it.”

Reuben’s cheeks slowly flushed, but he wisely controlled his anger and
did not respond to the implied unbelief of the huge Rat.

“I told you I couldn’t stay here all day,” continued Rat. “Now will you
go back with me to the place where we started, or do you want to go on
alone? I shan’t let you have that pony if you don’t go back with me,
and if you do go I want you to understand right now that we part
company when we get back to the gorge.”

Still Reuben did not respond to the rough declaration, for he was yet
uncertain what his best course would be.

“Come, make up your mind,” called Rat, as he turned his horse about so
that he faced the direction from which they had come.

“I’m going back with you,” said Reuben quietly.

“All right, then, come along.”

Together the two men departed from the camp, but they had not gone far
before Rat insisted upon drawing his young companion into conversation.

“You was tellin’ about Kit Carson a spell ago,” he suggested.

“Yes.”

“Well, what about him? What is his name anyway? What does ‘Kit’ stand
for?”

“Christopher.”

“And they call him Kit for short?”

“Yes.”

“Same as they call me Rat instead of Erastus.”

“I didn’t know but Rat was your real name,” said Reuben.

“It is,” laughed Rat, “only it isn’t all there is of it when my mother
speaks to me. Speaking of Kit Carson, you say you have seen him?”

“Lots of times.”

“Did you ever talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about him.”

Instantly Reuben’s face lighted and it was evident that the request of
his companion was one that touched a responsive chord.

“He’s the greatest man I ever saw,” he declared enthusiastically.

“The biggest?”

“No, I didn’t say biggest, I said greatest.”

“What’s the difference?” roared Rat.

“I cannot explain it to you,” said Reuben truthfully, for his feeling
toward the boastful Erastus was rapidly becoming one of disgust. The
man was so blatant and boastful that the reaction had taken place which
led Reuben to believe that he was not all that he claimed to be.

“Where did he come from?” inquired Rat.

“He told me he was born in Kentucky, but that his father moved to the
backwoods of Missouri when Kit was a little fellow.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know. I think he is about twenty-five or six.”

“Quite an old man, isn’t he?” laughed Rat. “Do you think he could throw
me?”

“Yes,” said Reuben quietly.

“That’s a good one!” roared Rat. “I could take him in my hands and
crack him the way I would a stick. I am told he is a little fellow.”

“Yes, he isn’t very large,” acknowledged Reuben. “He isn’t much taller
than I am, and he is light. His voice is as soft as a girl’s. Any one
might think when he first saw him that he was the most peaceful fellow
in the county.”

“Isn’t he?”

“He never picks a quarrel, but anybody who picked a quarrel with him
would wish that he had grabbed a grizzly instead of the quiet,
peaceable little Kit Carson.”

“Tell me some more about him,” suggested Rat.

“I don’t know that I know very much. I have talked with him and asked
him a good many times to tell me about his adventures, but he is very
modest.”

“Your modest men are always cowards. They don’t say anything, because
they are afraid.”

“It’s plain you don’t know Kit Carson. He told me that when he was
fifteen years old his father ’prenticed him to a harness-maker. That
was a good trade, but such a quick, nimble fellow as Kit couldn’t work
at it very long. He did stay his full two years, though, and learned
the trade, but when his time was out he decided that he would become a
trapper. That was what he had always wanted to be. He told me that when
he was a little fellow one of the trappers that had come in with his
skins let him pull the trigger of his gun. That was the first time Kit
had ever fired a rifle, but he wanted to keep at it, he liked it so
well, and pretty soon he not only learned to shoot, but he became the
best shot in the neighbourhood. The Indians all liked him and they told
him a great many things about the woods and the animals that live
there. You see, when his father first went into Howard County all the
settlers had to live in a log fort for a while, that had guards on the
lookout for the Indians day and night. That was a part of Kit’s work
when he was a little chap. He got so that he knew the war-whoops of
every tribe and almost every redskin. My father used to say that if Kit
Carson did so well in his harness-making, which he didn’t like, he
wondered what he would do when he found some work that he enjoyed.”

“Did he go to trapping right away?”

“He was on the lookout all the time, and pretty soon he went to the
leader of a party that was going to start for Santa Fé. You see, then
there were no trails marked out over the plains. That was a good while
ago—in 1826.”

“And I wish there wasn’t any now,” suggested Rat. “In those days they
tried to hide the trails, and now they try to make ’em plain. The
redskins know every time a party starts with their traps, and wherever
you find game you find Indians there, too.”

“Yes. Kit Carson told me some stories of how parties of Indians
surrounded the trappers or traders and took their guns and horses away
from them and either tomahawked the men or left them to starve. But
every man in Kit Carson’s party was well armed, had a good horse, and
was up to all the tricks of the Indians. I have seen them start out,
every man wearing a deerskin suit, and some of the men all dressed up
with bead embroidery, and the fringes of their shirts dyed half a dozen
different colours. They had pack mules to carry the traps, and when
they all started they marched in Indian fashion, single file. They took
turns in going ahead, for the ones that went first had to break the way
for the others. Then, there was a bugler at the head of the line. If
any of the men strayed away while they were hunting, the bugle was to
let them know where the main line was.”

“That’s all very pretty,” said Rat. “I have heard a good many stories
about Kit Carson, but I’m wonderin’ if he has any nerve.”

“I know he has,” said Reuben quickly. “On that first trip one of the
men in the party had an accident. He shot himself in the arm. Pretty
soon the others decided that the only way for the poor chap to save his
life was to have his arm cut off. I don’t know whether or not Kit
Carson did the job, but I know that he helped. They used a razor, a
saw, and a redhot wagon-bolt.”

“Did the man get over it?” demanded Rat boisterously.

“Yes. And he kept on with the others. He forded the rivers and climbed
the mountains and followed along an Indian trail, over the track that
the buffaloes had made, and never once dropped behind. When the party
finally got to Santa Fé Kit Carson decided that he would not go back to
Missouri, so he pushed on alone to Taos. That was eighty miles from
Santa Fé. You know that is a trading station for trappers?”

“So I have heard,” assented Rat.

“Well, there wasn’t much in that place for Kit. He said the little,
narrow streets had mud huts along their sides and that water was pretty
scarce, but he always liked Taos, because it was there that he met
Kincade.”

“Who’s he?”

“Didn’t you ever hear of Kincade? Why, he was one of the biggest
trappers that ever got a skin in the Rocky Mountains. He knew all about
the wild beasts and the places where the beaver dams were, and he knew
where the Indians that troubled the trappers were likely to be found.”

“He knew a lot, didn’t he?” laughed Rat.

“Yes, he did. Kit Carson says he did. But what he liked best of all was
that he knew Spanish, and he taught Kit how to speak it. He stayed
there until spring, and then he decided that he would go back home and
start out trapping on his own account. So he joined a party of trappers
that were going East and started to go home, but he hadn’t gone halfway
across the prairies before he met some more trappers that were on their
way to Santa Fé, and what they said to him made him change his plans.”




CHAPTER VI—ALONE


“What did he do then?” inquired Rat, who, for some reason which Reuben
did not understand, appeared to be intensely interested in the life of
the scout who had already become famous throughout the West.

“Why, they offered him a chance to go back with them, and be their
hunter, so he joined the new party. He told me, though, that he didn’t
find any fun in his work. A good deal of the time he was driving a
team, and that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.”

“I suppose he wanted to shoot buffaloes and hunt Indians?”

“That’s exactly what he wanted to do. He didn’t give up his plan,
though, all that winter he was a cook for a man named Young, who had
made a lot of money trapping. Kit said that was the worst winter he
ever had. Sometimes he used to chase the rats out of the corn-bin and
then he would say to himself, ‘Here are poor Kit Carson’s buffaloes.’
When the winter was gone he still did not find any party of trappers
that was willing that he should join them. You see he was such a
slight, little fellow, and, as I told you, his voice was so soft and
his manner was so gentle, that the men all thought he would not be able
to stand the work and they would have a sick man on their hands.

“In the spring he made up his mind to go back home again. But that
time, too, he met a party that was on its way to Santa Fé. They offered
him a job which he took and went back with them. Finally he did find
something worth doing. He went down into Mexico as an interpreter for a
lot of men that were going to Chihuahua. When he got there he hired out
again as a teamster for a man who was going to the copper mines. But he
didn’t really get his chance to begin his scouting and trapping until
he came back to Taos. He had become so used to seeing parties of
trappers start off without him that when at last this Mr. Young, the
man for whom he had been working, told him that he could join a party
he was sending out, he took up with the offer right away. The man that
hired him knew that he wasn’t afraid of anything on earth.”

“Ho!” snorted Rat, breaking in upon the narrative. “I guess he wouldn’t
have felt that way if he had seen me. What do you suppose a little
fellow like Kit Carson would do if a man like me got after him?”

“I’d feel sorry for you, if you tried to go ‘after him.’”

“That’s a good un! That’s a good un!” roared Rat. “Do you think he
could run away from me?”

“I don’t think he would try.”

“Well, if he didn’t run and I once got my hands on him I would break
his back as easily as I would a stick.”

Reuben smiled and did not reply to the boastings of the braggart.

“How many men were in this party you are telling about?” demanded Rat.

“About forty.”

“How old was Kit then?”

“About twenty.”

“Ho, ho!” roared Rat again. “And yet you say he wasn’t afraid of
anything on earth? How do you know he wasn’t? Because he told you so?”

Still Reuben refused to make any explanations to his companion. He was
aware that Rat was deeply interested, although the cause of his
interest was not yet apparent.

“Probably your wonderful Kit,” suggested Rat, “caught more beaver, shot
and scalped more redskins, killed more deer and buffalo than any other
man in the band.”

“I don’t know about that. He never told me. He wasn’t the one that told
about these other things, either. He did say that scouts were always
sent ahead of the men to find out whether any Indians were near. Every
night they had guards for the camp.”

“They didn’t find any Indians, did they?”

“Not until they came to Salt River. There they found they were likely
to be attacked by the same redskins that had killed the last party of
trappers that had been there.”

“This time I suppose Kit single-handed killed every one o’ them?”

“I don’t know; I suppose he did his part. This Mr. Young played a trick
on the Indians.”

“What did he do?”

“Why, he sent a few men ahead and hid the rest of them among the bushes
and trees, and then when the Indians saw the little party they did not
know there were any others, so they chased them clear back into the
woods. When they came close to the place where the men were hiding the
trappers all fired their rifles.”

“And killed all the redskins?” laughed Rat.

“Kit Carson said they killed fifteen. Then the Indians ran and never
once attacked them again. They did steal their ponies and traps, but
they didn’t make any more attacks on them. By the time the men had
reached the headwaters of the San Francisco River they had so many
beaver skins that Mr. Young sent some of the men back to Taos. He kept
some of the best ones, though, to go on with him into California.”

“I suppose he kept Kit Carson, of course?”

“Yes, sir, he did. It was a terrible time they had, too. There weren’t
many trails and they couldn’t find much grass for the horses, or water
for any one, or even wood enough to make a fire. Out there on the
desert there weren’t any buffaloes or deer, but there were enemies that
were a good deal more dangerous than either of them.”

“What were they?”

“Hunger and thirst. The men had a little deer meat and some water bags
they had made of deerskin, and Kit said they were mighty careful every
day when they measured out the water and divided up the meat. When they
had been out four days, all at once the donkeys stretched out their
necks and began to run. Everybody knew what that meant.”

“What did it mean?”

“Why, they had sniffed water somewhere. Pretty soon they came to a
stream. Kit said he never had anything in his life taste as good as
that water. It didn’t seem as if they could get enough. The men rested
up a while and then started on again across the desert. On the fourth
day they came to Colorado. There they stopped to rest and to cook an
old horse which they had bought off the Indians.”

“Pretty fine feast,” laughed Rat. “Cold water and horse meat! Which did
they take first—the water or the horse meat?”

“I don’t know. What difference does it make?”

“Why, I know a man back East who lives on dried apples. He has dried
apples for breakfast, cold water for dinner, and swells up for supper.
Perhaps the horse meat served in the same way.”

“By and by they came to a mission down in the San Gabriel Valley. The
priests had taught the Indians there how to make farms. There was
everything one wanted to eat.”

“What did they do? Help themselves?”

“No, they didn’t. They paid for what they took.”

“That’s a good un,” laughed Rat.

“They did, for Kit Carson told me so. He said he paid four butcher’s
knives for a steer.”

“He might just as well bought the steer without handing over the
butcher’s knives.”

“Anyway, the trappers had a good time there. They found lots of beaver
and the men had enough to eat and drink. When the warm weather came
they went into camp down on the lower Sacramento. They had enough to
do, hunting deer and antelope. Kit Carson then was the best shot in the
whole band. All the men had somehow come to rely upon him.”

“Did he say so?”

“No, sir, he didn’t. He never told me about it, but some other men who
were with him told me, and they said he was the one man the Indians
were afraid of.”

“That’s a good un, too,” laughed Rat.

“Well, the men thought so,” retorted Reuben angrily. “One of the
priests came over and told Mr. Young how some bad Indians had gone over
to an Indian village and wouldn’t come out. The priests wanted some of
Mr. Young’s men to get the runaways. Of course the men said they would,
and they said right away that Kit would have to be their leader. So Kit
took the men over to the village and told the Indians they must give up
the men for whom they had come, but the big chief said they wouldn’t do
any such thing.”

“So they had a fight, did they?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And all the redskins were killed?”

“No, not all of them, but they lost so many that they gave up the bad
Indians. One night not long afterward a lot of Indians came into the
camp of the trappers and made off with sixty horses. Kit said most of
the men were angrier to have their horses stolen than they were to have
some of the men shot. They were mad through and through, and pretty
soon twelve of them, with Kit Carson at their head, started after the
thieves. They had a long ride across the mountains and through the
valleys, and for a long time they couldn’t find any signs of the men
they were after. They went more than one hundred miles before they
caught up with them.”

“Then Kit Carson shot every one of them, I suppose?”

“No, he didn’t. He found the Indians in camp, cooking and eating horse
meat. Without stopping a minute, Kit called to his men, and they
started straight for the camp. They shot eight the first time, and all
the rest made for the woods.”

“But they didn’t get away because Kit Carson chased them into the
forest and got them all?”

“No, he didn’t; he told the men to get all the horses that had been
stolen, and then they started straight back for camp. They were lucky
to find some one who bought all their beaver skins. When the summer was
over they all started back home, but they kept trapping all the way
along. They made a lot of money, and every one got a share. He said he
didn’t know what to do with the money.”

“Probably he found somebody to tell him?” laughed Rat.

“Yes, he did. He said he got into all sorts of bad ways that winter. I
don’t suppose he was doing anything different from the rest of them,
but Kit Carson isn’t the kind of a man that could ever find much fun in
drinking and gambling. That was about all the other men seemed to care
for.”

“He must be a wonderful man. I think I must try to see him some time.
He wouldn’t scare me, would he?”

“No,” replied Reuben seriously. “I told you he is as gentle as a girl.”

“I am glad,” laughed Rat. As he spoke he extended his huge arm, and as
he clinched his hand Reuben was almost convinced that even Kit Carson
would be powerless in its grasp.

“There’s our camp,” suggested Rat, as he pointed to the defile in the
distance. “There I have got to leave you, if you won’t go on with me.”

“No, I have got to find Jean.”

Not long after their arrival, Erastus True, as soon as he had packed
his belongings on the backs of his ponies, bade farewell to Reuben and
started on his lonely journey northward.

Reuben had his rifle, his bags of powder and shot, and a saddle and
bridle. His pony was dead, but he was hopeful that soon he would find
the missing Jean, and then all his troubles would be ended.




CHAPTER VII—MOUNTAIN TROUT


It was not until he was left alone that the full sense of his
difficulties came upon Reuben Benton. He watched his recent companion
as leading his little train he slowly passed to the north and soon was
hidden from sight among the foothills. He might have gone with him,
although the man had not been cordial in his suggestion, but the chief
barrier was that Reuben had taken an intense dislike to the boastful
man. Not the least of the grounds for his prejudice was the ridicule
which the giant had heaped upon Reuben’s hero, Kit Carson. For a
moment, however, Reuben almost wished that he, too, had gone with the
man, much as he disliked him. At least he would be certain to go
somewhere, and now he did not even know what fate had overtaken Jean
Badeau. As yet no suspicion had occurred to him that any serious
misfortune had befallen the trapper. Indeed, Reuben was inclined to be
angry with the man for having departed without awaiting his return.

He thought, too, of Kit Carson, and the band which he had led into the
defiles of the Rocky Mountains on their trapping expedition. He had
been eager to join that party, but the same opposition greeted him
which years before had been faced by Kit Carson himself. The men were
afraid that he was not sufficiently strong to endure the hardships of
the long journey and the trying winter that was certain to come. For
that reason Reuben had accepted the invitation of Jean to go with him.

Jean did not wish to trap with a band, as we know. And yet he did not
plan to be entirely alone. His own thought had been that if Reuben
should accompany him, at least he would provide company, and if evil
befell him he would not be bereft of all help.

And Reuben had listened to the appeals of Jean, not only because of his
eagerness to become a trapper, but also because he was compelled to
choose between being bound out to some of the Missouri pioneers or else
to learn the harness trade, as Kit Carson had learned it before him.

Reuben’s father, a ne’er-do-well, had urged Reuben to accompany his
older brother William when he had migrated from Virginia to find a new
home in the rich lands of western Missouri. Reuben had been treated
with a degree of kindness by his older brother, but his brother’s wife
objected to his remaining longer a member of the household. She now had
six children of her own to care for, and the addition of another
dependent had become somewhat irksome. She was a worn, nervous,
scolding, irritable woman, and Reuben, after a long talk with his
brother, had decided that it was wiser as well as better for him to
find a home somewhere else.

It was soon after this decision had been made that the homeless lad had
met Jean, who had returned from his annual trip to the fur country. And
Jean had not found it difficult to persuade Reuben to accompany him.
There were visions held out before him of the great wealth that was to
be obtained by trapping, and the adventures which Jean graphically
described with many gestures also had their own appeal for Reuben. He
was now a well-grown boy of sixteen, strong, skilled in the use of the
rifle, and he confidently believed that he was equal to any of the
hardships which an ordinary party of trappers might be compelled to
undergo.

Not much time was required in preparations for the journey. Reuben’s
rifle, a few traps, most of which were unreliable, and a few other
belongings were collected. A pony was provided by Jean, and when he set
forth from Pain Court, aside from his brother William, there was slight
regret in his heart for any one he was leaving behind him.

The long journey had been made with but few mishaps. They were now
within sight of the land of promise, but on the very border he had lost
his companion. And yet, as has been said, Reuben was by no means
convinced that Jean was lost. He was inclined to believe that Jean had
left him, either expecting to return or that the boy would soon find
him. Perhaps he had seen the Indians whom Reuben had met and was
fearful of their evil intentions. They might be only the scouts of a
large band not far away.

The thought for a moment made even Reuben uneasy and he glanced
apprehensively about him. The noisy little mountain brook not far away
made the only sound he could hear. Above him in the sunlight towered
the summits of the lofty mountains. Trees and grass were about him, and
no scene upon which he had ever looked had been more peaceful in its
outward appearance.

It was now late in the afternoon. Reuben was aware that he was not only
tired, but also hungry. It was necessary for him to obtain something to
eat, although he was uncertain where food was to be found. That, like
certain other disagreeable facts, however, must be faced.

Near the little brook he suddenly saw a deer approaching from the upper
part of the gorge. A moment later he was aware that it was a doe
leading her fawn to the brook for a drink. Reuben, who had been seated
motionless, had not been discovered by the timid creatures, and as the
wind was blowing toward the valley below him the keen-scented animals
had not noticed his presence.

Here was his supper sent directly to him!

The sight of the graceful little fawn, however, caused Reuben to
hesitate. He hated to shoot the pretty little creature. He watched the
fawn as it glanced up into its mother’s face with an expression that
was as filled with affection as that which he had seen sometimes in the
face of a child. Already he had raised his rifle to his shoulder, but
for some reason he did not shoot. The sudden loosening of a stone by
his foot produced a sound which made the two animals look quickly in
his direction, and instantly he was aware that he had been discovered.
For a moment the doe anxiously gazed at the intruder, and then like a
flash she was gone, followed by the fawn. The supper which had come to
him almost miraculously was lost, and for a moment Reuben was inclined
to blame himself for yielding to his feeling of sympathy for the fawn.

And yet what was he to do for his supper? Carelessly he advanced to the
border of the brook and looked with interest at the hoof-prints of the
doe and the fawn. He was aware that there were occasional pools in the
little stream, and as he glanced into one he had a momentary vision of
a fish darting under the shadow of the overhanging bank. Reuben had
never heard of mountain trout, but the sight of the fish instantly
suggested a plan by which he might be able to obtain his supper.

A few yards below the place where he was standing the stream narrowed
until it was not more than two feet wide. Quickly he rolled some of the
loose stones to the place so that when they fell into the water they
served as a barrier in the stream. When a half-dozen stones had been
placed in the narrow neck of water Reuben cut a good sized club, and,
going up the stream a short distance, stepped into the water. As he
advanced he shouted and struck the water and was positive that several
times he saw fish dart swiftly down the stream before him. Proceeding
cautiously and using his club all the time, he soon drew near the dam
he had made. As he did so he began to leap up and down in the water and
shout and strike the bank as well as the stream with his club.

The hungry boy was delighted when a few moments later a fish, finding
its progress barred in either direction, leaped out of the water.
Reuben succeeded in striking it with the club he was carrying, and
watched it as it fell on the ground several feet away from the stream.
If there was one fish in the water, he concluded there must be others,
and quickly he repeated his tactics. After two failures he succeeded in
obtaining another fish, and finally threw the third up on the bank. The
last was larger than the other two combined.

Again the problem of his supper had been solved. He soon secured the
three fish he had taken and, returning to the spot where he had left
his belongings, he at once made them ready for cooking. Afterward he
collected a mass of branches which had fallen from the nearby trees and
was preparing to kindle a fire.

In the midst of his occupation he abruptly stopped. Should he light a
fire? It is true it might not only provide a means of cooking the fish,
but also indicate to Jean, who could not be far away, the presence of
his camp. On the other hand, the Indians he recently had seen had told
him that many more redmen were among the mountains. They, too, might
see the fire and might steal upon him unaware.

The feeling of hunger, however, was so strong that Reuben soon decided
in favour of a fire. Disregarding the danger, by means of his flint and
tinder he soon started a roaring blaze. He had made a rude little
fireplace by piling some of the stones in such a manner that the top
was covered. On this top he placed a large, flat stone, and upon this
he laid two of the trout.

It was not long before Reuben had a supper not only “fit for a king,”
but such a supper as a king is seldom permitted to enjoy. It is true
all the salt which he and Jean had brought had been in the saddlebags
of the trapper, but the mountain trout were delicious even without
salt.

By the time Reuben’s supper was eaten he was aware that the brief
sunset was nearly ended. Much of his anxiety had now departed and he
was quite content, as he said to himself, to let Jean do the searching.
He seated himself upon the ground, leaning back against the trunk of a
huge tree, and as he listened to the music of the noisy little brook
and watched the scurrying clouds pass across the evening sky he was
even more decided that Jean might find him if he should search
diligently.

Not long after the coming of the night, however, this feeling of
confidence gave place to one of loneliness. Indeed, the consciousness
that he was alone soon became oppressive. He recalled the sight of the
pack of gaunt and hungry wolves that had run down the buffalo calf.
Perhaps they would be glad to feast upon a young trapper for supper,
just as he himself had feasted upon the trout he had taken from the
mountain stream. Aroused by the suggestion, Reuben started to his feet
and made a tour of his camp. Although he walked one hundred yards in
every direction, he was unable to discover any signs of danger. When he
returned to his camp the fire had burned low, but it was plain that
everything was as he had left it. His troubles might wait until
morning, he finally decided, and not long afterward, stretching himself
upon his blanket, he was sleeping soundly.

It was daylight when he awoke, and as soon as consciousness returned
Reuben was aware that he had been awakened by sounds that even now he
could still hear in the distance.




CHAPTER VIII—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING


At first Reuben was unable to decide whether the noises that came into
the narrow valley were the howlings of wolves or the yelpings of dogs.
Startled by the unexpected sound, he hastily seized his rifle and,
taking his stand behind one of the huge boulders, awaited developments.

In a brief time he saw, plunging up the narrow defile, a wounded
buffalo cow. Only one glance was required to show the young trapper
that the animal had been hurt, for she was limping badly, though her
flight was not slow in spite of her trouble.

In a brief time it was manifest that the sounds that came from beyond
were the yelpings of several dogs that were in pursuit of the fleeing
buffalo. How dogs could be there, far from the habitation or the camps
of man, was a problem Reuben was unable to solve. The sight, however,
of the fleeing animal recalled to him the possibility of securing
breakfast. As the buffalo came near, he raised his rifle and fired at
her.

The buffalo was under such momentum that, although the shot had been
true, she plunged forward several yards before she fell to the ground.
Running hastily to the spot, Reuben quickly saw that his aim had been
fatal and the animal was lifeless. He hastily reloaded his gun and
prepared to face the dogs. He was aware that his shot might reveal his
presence to enemies if they were near. It was well known that the
Blackfoot Indians and several other tribes were intensely hostile to
the whites. They were determined that the white man should not enter
the grounds which they believed belonged to themselves, inasmuch as
they had received them from their forefathers. Not only had several
parties of trappers been attacked, as Reuben knew from the stories of
Kit Carson and Jean, but also some of the white men had been killed and
many more had been driven away from the streams where they had set
their traps and had been compelled to withdraw from the region.

Thoughts of his own danger now returned with increased force. He did
not believe the dogs belonged to any Indian tribe, but if they were
owned by trappers, how had it come to pass that white men were now in
this region? He had understood from Jean that Kit Carson’s party had
gone far to the north and that in all probability no men of their own
colour were likely to be seen until they returned to Pain Court.

Reuben’s meditations were interrupted by the coming of the dogs. He saw
four of the savage animals approaching, and the sight convinced him
that he would as willingly face the gaunt and savage timber-wolves as
the animals he now saw before him. It might be necessary for him to
defend himself against their attack.

By this time the dogs had discovered the young trapper. Instantly
stopping in their tracks, about one hundred feet distant, they were all
silent for a moment as they stared at the unexpected sight. A moment
later, however, all four, throwing back their heads, emitted the most
plaintive and prolonged howls to which Reuben had ever listened. They
did not, however, make any advance upon him.

This fact caused Reuben to decide that he would attempt to drive the
animals away. Doubtless the men who owned them were not far distant and
if they had heard the shot they soon would appear. Seizing two stones
and still holding his gun, Reuben ran toward the brutes and shouted in
his loudest tones, “Get out! Get out!” At the same time he hurled one
of the missiles and was delighted when he saw all four of the dogs turn
about and run swiftly down the defile.

Reuben waited half an hour for the return of the dogs or the appearance
of the party to which they belonged. The minutes passed, however, and
he was still alone. At last, persuaded that his hiding-place was
unsuspected, he hastened to the spot where the body of the dead buffalo
was lying and cut from the carcass the pieces which he already had
learned were the most eatable. In a brief time he had his fire kindled
and was busily engaged in the preparation of his morning meal.

Frequently he glanced toward the entrance to the valley below him,
still aware of the possibilities that his hiding-place might not escape
the attention of others who might be in the vicinity. If they were
white men he believed that his safety would be assured. His great
danger lay in the fact that the dogs which he had seen might belong to
some roving band of Pawnee or Blackfoot Indians.

Time passed, however, without interruption, and when his hunger had
been appeased, Reuben took his rifle and cautiously began his descent
of the valley. When he came out into the more open country he was
startled at the sight of a campfire not far away. Gathered about it
were half a dozen men, and to them doubtless belonged the dogs which he
had seen. Indeed, while he was looking at the camp he saw these same
dogs moving about near the spot.

Assured that he would find help there, Reuben started toward the place
where the fire was burning. He had left his saddle and bridle and a few
other belongings in the defile among the mountains, but he was
convinced that if he could secure aid from these men it would be an
easy matter to obtain his possessions which for a little while he had
abandoned. As he came near the camp the dogs discovered his presence
and, with loud barking, started toward him.

At the sound the men about the campfire instantly leaped to their feet
and seized their rifles, and all were looking in the direction from
which the young trapper was approaching. Apparently convinced by what
they saw that they were in no danger of an immediate attack by enemies,
they waited for Reuben to approach the camp.

Greatly to the astonishment of the lad when he had come near enough to
distinguish the faces of the men, he saw that the leader of the little
party was none other than Kit Carson himself. How it was that the
trapper and guide was so far south of the region into which he with his
company originally had gone Reuben did not understand. There was no
question, however, as to the person before him, and he was greatly
pleased when a moment later the guide said to him: “You are Reuben
Benton. The last time I saw you was in Pain Court. What are you doing
out here on the plains?”

By this time Reuben had been admitted within the circle. The glances of
suspicion which were given him when first he had appeared were gone as
soon as the leader explained that he personally knew the young trapper.

“I came out here with Jean,” explained Reuben.

“Jean? Jean who?” inquired Kit Carson.

“Jean Badeau.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I say. I don’t know where he is. I wish I did. We came out
here day before yesterday. We made a camp, and while we were there a
herd of buffaloes came along and Jean and I started after them. I
haven’t seen him since.”

“He may have been trampled by the herd,” suggested Kit Carson.

“I don’t think so,” asserted Reuben. “There was a man here who helped
me look for the place where we had camped and after a while we found
it, but the ponies and saddles and traps and everything were gone.”

“A man with you?” inquired the guide, glancing keenly at Reuben as he
spoke.

“Yes.”

“Who was he?”

“Rat True.”

For a moment Kit Carson was silent as he looked steadily at Reuben.
“What has become of him? Where is he?” he inquired at last.

“He left last night and took his ponies and his traps and said he was
going up among the hills. He said he wanted to trap alone. That’s what
Jean said, too, and that was the reason why we camped down here.”

“He cannot be very far away, then?”

“I don’t know how far. He took his ponies with him, and the little
beasts were tough, and they may have been able to make good time.”

“And you haven’t any idea what has become of Jean?”

“No. I don’t know where he is. I must look him up to-day. He may have
been captured by the Indians and they may have carried off his ponies
and his belongings.”

“So they might,” said Kit Carson in a low voice. “Very likely that’s
just what they did. We’ll have to give you a lift, however, and help
you try to find him. Have you had any breakfast?”

“Yes. Your dogs chased a wounded buffalo into the gorge where I was and
I shot it.”

“Yes,” explained Kit Carson. “We saw a big herd this morning and cut
out two or three cows, but two of them gave us the slip and the third
we wounded, but it got away, though the dogs took after it.”

“It is only a little way back yonder; you’ll find the carcass there
now.”

“I don’t think we shall go back for the carcass,” said the guide
quietly. “There are too many herds around here for us to bother about a
little thing like that. How are the streams?”

“I don’t know,” answered Reuben. “The only ones I have seen were in
that valley where I was, and there they were not very full.”

“Did you see any beaver?”

“Yes. Jean and I found several dams.”

“Have you seen any Indians?”

“Yes, the night I lost Jean I met three Cheyennes, two braves and a
boy. They had been out trying to steal horses from the Pawnees. They
said the Pawnees were cowards because they kept their horses shut up
every night.”

A smile appeared on the face of the guide as he said: “The redskins are
like the rest of us. When we don’t get what we want we’re down on our
luck, or blame the other fellow. How old a boy was the young Indian?”

“About fifteen or sixteen.”

Turning to his men Kit Carson related the story which Reuben had told
him, and in response to his suggestion the men all declared that they
were more than willing to join in a search for the missing Jean.

Soon afterward, Reuben conducted the men to the place where Jean’s camp
had been made, but a careful investigation failed to reveal any signs
of the fate which had overtaken the trapper.

The men then separated into three parties and, moving in different
directions, tried to ride in circles about the camping-place in their
efforts to discover some indications of what might have befallen the
missing Jean. Their search was continued throughout the day, but when
night fell it was still unrewarded. Not a sign had been discovered as
to what had been the fate of the trapper.

Upon the suggestion of Kit Carson, Reuben then led the way to the
defile where he had passed the preceding night. Abundance of food had
been secured, because late in the afternoon a herd of buffaloes,
numbering no less than five hundred, had appeared. Several of the
animals had been shot by the hunters, who brought the meat which they
had secured to the place that had been selected for the camp.

Although Kit Carson did not refer to his fears, it was evident that he
was somewhat uneasy, as several times signs of Indians had been
discovered by the men in their search of the afternoon. Although he
still did not refer to his fears, when arrangements for the night were
made he insisted upon a guard being established.

Before darkness had fallen upon the region the trappers became aware
that their hiding-place had been discovered.




CHAPTER IX—WOLF’S CLOTHING


Excitement first arose when the dogs, growling, and the hair on their
backs standing erect, began to circle the camp and peer angrily into
the darkness. The action of the animals caused the men at once to look
more carefully to the horses. Every one of the beasts had been hobbled,
and were all within the circle of the camp. Although few words were
spoken, it was plain every man was suspicious that enemies were not far
away.

Soon in the deepening twilight several long, gaunt, shadowy forms were
seen creeping about the place. They were the timber-wolves, the most
savage of all the wolf tribe. Reuben, congratulating himself that he
was no longer alone, thought what his own feelings would have been if,
without the presence of the other trappers, he had heard these hungry
and savage animals prowling about his camp. He was positive that he
would not have given in without a struggle, but his confidence
certainly was much stronger now that he was in the company of Kit
Carson and his men.

The actions of the guide, however, were peculiar. Only two of the
wolves had been seen, and the sounds which they emitted were unlike
those which had been heard when they had been farther away.
Occasionally one or the other seated itself upon its haunches and,
throwing back its head, sent forth its mournful howls. At the same time
it was manifest that, although they kept well out of sight, the wolves
were stealthily creeping nearer the horses, which now had been
assembled at one side of the camp.

Kit Carson, too, was unusually watchful, although he had little to say
to any of his friends. When some of the men suggested that it would be
wise to shoot the treacherous animals, he had quietly and yet sharply
objected. “There isn’t one of you,” he said, “but might hit a dog,
mistaking it for a wolf. I would rather have a dozen timber-wolves
yelling around here all night than to lose one dog.”

The actions of the dogs also increased the uneasiness among the
trappers. Now they either were afraid or had lost the first fierceness
of their desire to drive away their foes. All four were whining and,
although the hair about their necks was still erect, they displayed
less inclination than before to attack the marauders. Crouching and
growling, they slunk back toward their masters.

For several minutes Kit Carson remained seated near the border of the
camp, holding his rifle in his hand and listening intently to the
sounds made by the two wolves. These animals had acted peculiarly from
the first. Both now were near the horses, and the terror of the
frightened animals was almost pathetic.

Beckoning to his friends to remain where they were, Kit Carson suddenly
raised his rifle to his shoulder and shot one of the wolves.

A strange, well-nigh unearthly sound followed the report of his rifle.
A scream, loud and prolonged, in no way resembling the howl of a wolf,
broke the silence. For a moment the men in the camp stared blankly at
one another, while Reuben was appalled by the weird and unnatural cry.

The guide, however, apparently was unmoved by the alarm of his friends.
Laughing lightly, he ran quickly to the place where the wounded wolf
was lying. The other beast had instantly turned and fled into the
darkness.

The approach of the guide produced an immediate effect upon the wounded
animal. Struggling desperately, it rose upon its hind feet and for a
brief time struggled to escape. The effort, however, was unavailing,
and it soon fell to the ground again and became motionless and silent.

Every one in the camp now was watching the leader with intense
interest, Reuben being the most excited of all. Indeed, the lad had
followed Kit Carson and was only a few yards behind him when the guide
stopped to watch the struggles of the animal before him. When at last
the wolf became motionless, Kit Carson advanced upon it and at once
lifted it to an upright position.

The strange events which had occurred were followed by those that were
stranger still. Seizing the wolf by its fore-shoulders, the guide
alternately with his foot and knee kicked the animal, compelling it to
walk in advance of him on its hind feet.

“Look out there, Kit!” called some one in the camp. “If you let that
fellow bite you it will be sure poison!”

No response was made by the guide, who had been intently watching the
wolf, which when standing up on its hind feet was as tall as he.
Strange to say, the animal made no attempt to bite its captor. As soon
as it was discovered that all efforts to free itself were useless, the
wolf was forced to approach the campfire, where the men curiously were
watching the antics of the strange animal. Never before had Reuben seen
a sight like the one he was now beholding. Why the wolf did not fight
he was unable to understand. The very fact that it had been wounded was
sufficient to arouse its anger, but, as far as he could see, it was
advancing as meekly as if it had been a lamb instead of a wild animal
in the hands of Kit Carson.

When the guide had brought his victim nearer to the fire in the camp,
he suddenly forced back the head of his prisoner, and then with one
quick motion tore back the skin, revealing the head and face of an
Indian. The sight, startling as it was, caused most of the men to
laugh. Reuben recalled now the stories which Jean had told him of how
some of the Indians, disguising themselves as wild animals, in the
darkness of the night had crept near the camp of the trappers to steal
their furs or run away with the ponies that belonged to the outfit. The
howlings he had heard then had been made by the Indians, and yet as
Reuben looked at the prisoner it was difficult for him to believe that
the human voice could so closely imitate the cries of a prowling wolf.

Meanwhile Kit Carson, who not for a moment had relaxed his grip of his
captive, suddenly tore away the skin in front, and as it fell to the
ground the entire body of a young Indian was revealed to the excited
assembly.

“Kill him!” shouted one of the men. The cry was taken up by others, and
for a brief time the fate of the young Indian was in the balance.

It was marvellous to Reuben at this time to see the young leader
quietly step in front of his men and say in a low voice, “We will have
none of that. He is my prisoner, anyway.” The guide, slight and boyish,
in his figure, speaking in a tone so low that it did not betray any
excitement under which he might be labouring, instantly checked the
anger of his men.

As they made no further effort to advance, he said: “This redskin is
only a boy. I shot him in the leg. I suspected just what he was trying
to do, and though he played the trick well, he lost. Come up here!” he
said to his captive, as taking him by the arm he led him near the fire.

A hasty examination of the wound disclosed the fact that it was slight,
the ball having not more than grazed the calf of his leg. A bandage was
soon made and applied, and after the feet and hands of the prisoner had
been securely bound he was placed upon the ground between the fire and
the trappers, who were soon asleep.

Meanwhile a guard had been established by the leader and a careful
watch was to be maintained throughout the night. If Indians were as
near as the presence of the prisoner indicated, Reuben was at a loss to
understand why the fire should have been kept up. However, as he had
complete confidence in the leader, he asked no questions, and soon he,
too, was sleeping as soundly as his companions.

When morning dawned and Reuben arose, he found Kit Carson talking to
the prisoner. “Come here!” called the leader when he saw that Reuben
was awake. “Have you ever seen this young redskin before?”

Reuben looked keenly at the captive before he replied. “He looks like
the young Indian that I saw two or three nights ago,” he said. “He was
one of the three I told you about that had been trying to steal horses
from the Pawnees. At least that’s what the Indian said who could speak
English.”

“Doesn’t this one talk English?”

“He didn’t that time, and the one who did speak it said he was the only
one that understood it.”

The trapper turned again to the Indian boy and tried to engage him in
conversation, but either the lad did not understand what was said or he
did not want to, for he stolidly refused to reply.

Once more the guide examined the young Indian’s wound, and soon
afterward turned to his followers, explaining that as soon as they had
all had breakfast and the horses had been watered and permitted to
gather such food as they could obtain in the little valley, the entire
band would resume its journey.

“But what shall I do?” said Reuben. “Shall I go away without trying to
find Jean?”

“Jean can take care of himself if he is alive,” said Kit Carson
quietly, “and if he is dead he will not need your help. I think the
only thing for you to do is to come with us.”

“Where are you going?”

“That will depend somewhat on what comes to us. We shall go back to
join the main camp pretty soon, but just now we are busy on some other
work. You will be safe with us, and if you stay here you may not see
another white face in a year.”

“But I don’t like to leave Jean,” persisted Reuben.

“As far as I can see you are not the one that left him. He left you.
Come, my lad, there’s nothing else to be done.”

“I have no pony.”

“What became of it?” inquired Kit Carson.

“While I was chasing a buffalo I ran into a prairie-dog village and the
horse stumbled and fell, and broke its leg. I had to shoot it.”

“We can fix you up. We have several ponies that are not being ridden.
You may have one of them to use.”

Somehow, feeling as if the matter had been decided for him rather than
that he had had any part in the decision, an hour later Reuben found
himself astride a stocky little pony riding beside Kit Carson, who was
leading the way. Conversation ceased, for still the guide did not
explain the purpose of their journey.

A brief time later he selected two men to go in advance of the others.
It was evident to Reuben that they were following what appeared to be
an Indian trail. The captive Indian was still in their midst, although,
he was no longer bound. What had become of his companion no one in the
party knew. He had vanished in the night as soon as his comrade had
been hit by the bullet of Kit Carson.

The journey was uneventful until the noon hour had passed, then when
the guide began to look about for a suitable place where they might
halt and prepare such food as they possessed for the mid-day meal, he
said abruptly: “Do you see what that is ahead of us?”

“Where?” inquired Reuben, who still was nearest the leader.

“Right ahead on the right. Close to the trail. Look at it closely and
tell me what you see.”

Doing as he was bidden, Reuben soon discovered an object that instantly
aroused within him a keen feeling of excitement.

“I see it!” he said, turning quickly to Kit Carson. “I see it! What are
we going to do?”




CHAPTER X—ATTACKED


Not far in advance the body of an Indian was seen lying directly across
the trail. The entire band stopped abruptly at a signal from Kit
Carson, and a moment later all were running forward to the place where
the Indian was seen.

“He may not be dead,” suggested one of the men. “He may be playing
’possum.”

“That’s right, too,” suggested another. “They may be fixing a trap for
us.”

At the bidding of the leader the men all halted, every one holding his
rifle in readiness for instant use, and all alike striving to keep
watch on the various points from which they thought an attack upon them
might be made.

Alone and cautiously, Kit Carson advanced, and in a brief time he
returned saying: “The man is dead. He had the smallpox. I don’t want
any of you to go near him.”

It was well known by the trappers what a terrible scourge smallpox was
among the Indian tribes. Entire villages had been wiped out of
existence by its ravages.

“What do you think, Kit?” inquired one of the men. “Is this redskin
left here for us, or do you think the village was trying to run away?”

“Perhaps both,” replied the guide quietly. “At all events we’ll go
around the hill.”

“Better than that,” suggested one of the men. “I have had the smallpox
and I’ll go ahead and drag the body out of the way.”

At last the advice of the volunteer was accepted, and as soon as the
dead body had been removed from the pathway the advance was resumed.

Although he did not explain nor share his feelings with his companions,
it soon became evident that Kit Carson was suspicious of the presence
of other foes. Several times he had dropped behind the little cavalcade
and as frequently had gone in advance of the body. It seemed more and
more strange to Reuben that a man so boyish and slight as Kit Carson,
in spite of his youth, should have such absolute control and such loyal
support of the men who made up the little company.

Late in the afternoon Carson, who had been serving for an hour as the
advance guard, hastily rejoined his fellows and said: “There are
twenty-five redskins ahead. They have stopped right near the trail.”

“What are they?” inquired one of the men in a whisper.

“Blackfeet.”

“Are they armed?”

“Yes.”

“How many horses have they?”

“There are as many horses as there are men.”

“Do you think they know we are coming?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“What shall we do?”

“Drive them out.”

“It can’t be done! It can’t be done! We haven’t but seven men.”

“Yes, it can be done,” said Kit quietly. “Now if you’ll do just what I
say, I’ll show you how.”

Seeing his calmness and confidence, a new spirit of enthusiasm entered
the hearts of the men, and they all cordially and willingly followed
the directions of the young scout. Three of them were selected to
advance along the trail toward the Indians. The other four, together
with their prisoner, were to be concealed in a cluster of bushes near
which the halt had been made. Just what the young Indian in their midst
would do if left to himself no one of the trappers knew, but as they
were fearful that he might try to betray them it was deemed wiser to
compel him to remain where he then was.

“Now, men,” said Kit Carson, as he and one of the trappers, named Jake,
and Reuben prepared to leave their companions, “see that you do not
expose yourselves. Every one of you hide and keep hidden until we have
joined you. You may think when you first see us that you ought to fire
right away, but hold your powder until we come. Now, don’t forget
that!”

As soon as these instructions had been given, the scout, together with
his two companions, started along the trail in the direction of the
place where the Indians had been seen.

Reuben was excited and yet he was so elated over the consent which had
been given him to accompany Kit Carson on this perilous adventure that
he was almost unmindful of the danger that confronted him. They had
left their ponies behind them, and now as they drew near the place
where they were expecting to behold the Blackfeet Reuben glanced
excitedly at his two companions. Neither of them, however, betrayed any
alarm, and in a brief time they had come within sight of the camp.

“I want both of you to show yourselves directly behind me,” directed
the scout, “and then I want you to jump back into the bushes on either
side of the trail, run back a few feet, and then come out where you can
be seen again. We must make these redskins think there are at least a
dozen of us. You’ll have to move fast, too, because we aren’t going to
stay here very long.”

A few moments later the men came within sight of the Indians. The
discovery of their presence was greeted by a shout, but as yet none of
the braves manifested any desire to start in pursuit of the white men.

Acting promptly upon the suggestion of Kit Carson, Reuben and Jake
darted into the bushes, emerging several times in a manner that might
confuse their foes and lead them to believe that there were more in the
party than at first appeared. Soon after the war-whoop of the Blackfeet
had been heard Kit Carson and his companions started swiftly back over
the trail by which they had come. Their flight was greeted with a loud
yell, and instantly most of the Indians started in swift pursuit.

“It’s the same band that killed the last party of trappers,” said Kit
Carson in a low voice to Reuben. “We’ll fix them this time so that they
won’t make any more trouble of that kind.”

Reuben was running rapidly, but all three knew that they were a
considerable distance from the Indians and that their own friends were
not far back on the trail; so he was not unduly alarmed. Somehow his
complete confidence in the young guide caused him to believe that even
in their present peril he would find a way out.

The yelling band of braves soon appeared. They were running swiftly and
it was evident that they had cast aside their usual caution. The
confidence of the attacking party was unabated. If Kit Carson was
correct in his statement that the band following them was one which had
destroyed the company of trappers the preceding year, it was plain now
that they were equally sure the whites were afraid of them.

At all events they were swiftly pursuing and were steadily gaining upon
the three fugitives. The air resounded with blood-curdling war-whoops.
The faces of the warriors, smeared with war-paint, were terrifying, and
every time Reuben glanced behind him his fear increased, although he
still was convinced that Kit Carson was not attempting any trick for
which he was not fully prepared.

Strong in their belief that the men who were fleeing were afraid, the
Indians pressed still closer in their pursuit. Indeed they were almost
upon the heels of the fleeing men. A few steps more and the venturesome
trappers would be in their power.

At last Reuben and his companions arrived at the thicket in which their
friends were concealed. Darting quickly into the midst of the band,
they cast themselves upon the ground, concealing themselves behind the
trees, and prepared to join in the counter-attack which was about to be
made. At that moment a shower of arrows fell among the bushes, and
almost as if in response to this action the thicket resounded with the
reports of the guns. The resounding yell of triumph from the eager
Blackfeet was lost in the midst of the roar of the guns. Clouds of
smoke slowly rose above the bushes and hid the scene from the sight of
the anxious defenders. However, as soon as the smoke lifted a little,
the bodies of the fallen Indians were seen upon the ground. On every
side was the neighing of the terrified and the riderless horses. The
startled Blackfeet in the midst of it all heard the click that
indicated the reloading of the guns of their enemies. Too late they
were aware of the mistake they had made.

The band of warriors instantly broke and fled, and in the midst of the
wild confusion that followed the first attack the weapons of the
trappers had been reloaded and again the reports of the rifles rang
out. With wild cries of terror the Indians continued their flight. Nor
did they stop until they had disappeared from sight and had run far
into the wilderness.

Then it was that Kit Carson, bidding his men follow him, led them once
more upon the trail. Scattered on the ground nearby were the bodies of
ten of the Indians that had fallen under the fire of the trappers.
Brave as the redmen had been, too late they had discovered that their
bows and arrows were of no avail when they were fired upon by men armed
with rifles and who were expert shots.

Convinced at last that the danger was passed, Kit Carson summoned his
men about him and first of all inquired whether or not any one had been
hit in the shower of arrows that had fallen upon them. Fortunately no
one had been injured, for the Indians had fired without any sight of
the white men, simply trusting to their knowledge that some of them at
least were concealed within the underbrush.

“What will happen next?” inquired Jake.

“No man can say,” replied Kit Carson.

“Do you think they will attack us again?”

“Not soon. They have learned a lesson which they will not forget right
away.”

“Then we can go right ahead?”

“We shall keep on,” replied the guide quietly, “although I am sure that
we are not done with our troubles.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I am sure they will not leave us. They will follow us, and when night
comes they will try to steal our horses, and if we were trapping here
they would try to get our traps. I shall be surprised if we do not find
that they are watching us all the while.”

“Don’t you think we had better turn back?”

“I have never travelled that way,” replied Kit Carson lightly. “The
safest thing for us will be to show the Blackfeet that we are not
afraid of them and are prepared to meet them.”

In accordance with the suggestion of the scout, preparations were made
at once for resuming the journey. It was plain, however, that not all
of the men were of the same mind as their leader and that some were
still fearful of attacks by the band which they had successfully driven
off. Some time elapsed, however, before the true purposes of the
Blackfeet were discovered.




CHAPTER XI—A TRYING EXPERIENCE


Meanwhile the little band continued steadily on its way. Reuben now
thought of the missing Jean less frequently. He was confident that the
French trapper was abundantly able to protect himself, and, besides,
there was less peril for a man alone than there was for a large force
of the trappers. The Indians were intensely jealous, fearful for the
safety of their possessions, and angry at the intruders for daring to
come in numbers to trap along the streams which the redmen had been
taught to believe belonged to them by inheritance.

There were occasions when the presence of the prowling Indians was
evident, for horses several times vanished from the camp and were not
found again. The traps, too, which were used by the men in their
advance, frequently disappeared, and there was slight question in the
mind of the young leader that the Blackfeet, although they had not
dared to make an open attack since the ambuscade, none the less were
steadily following their enemies.

At last it was decided that the division should go on toward the
Sacramento River, while part of the force already had been sent back to
Taos to dispose of the beaver skins which had been secured and also to
get more traps. All the remaining men agreed to continue on to the
Sacramento, and in this company was young Reuben Benton. To the lad the
days were all filled with interest the chief of which was in the
expeditions for hunting the savage grizzly, whose reputation for blind
and savage courage increased as the men journeyed farther among the
towering mountains.

The Indians, however, whom they met as they proceeded on their way,
proved more and more friendly. The stories, too, which the redmen told
of the marvels of the valley of the Sacramento increased the desire of
Reuben and his companions to see the land which was declared to be not
only marvellously beautiful and fertile, but also to abound in beaver.

To reach this land of promise, however, it was necessary for the little
company to make its way across a country upon which neither grass nor
trees grew, and where water was seldom found. Even the wild animals
avoided these desert plains. Not a deer was likely to be found in the
course of the journey, and the buffaloes were far behind the mountains,
which now were in the rear of the advancing trappers.

Before entering upon the final stage of the journey it was decided that
there should be a rest of several days. Accordingly the entire party
went into camp. The horses were fed far better than had been the daily
custom and were not compelled to carry any burdens. The trappers
employed the time thus afforded in hunting. There was need of food in
the party, and to supply this need Kit Carson and a half-dozen others,
among whom was Reuben, devoted much of their time to hunting for
animals that would provide meat.

On the second day, while Reuben, Kit Carson, and a man who was called
Jack were about six miles from the place where the camp had been
pitched, they discovered a herd of deer. The curious animals plainly
were not familiar with the sight of men. They were discovered near a
spring on the border of a grove that grew far down into the plains. At
least a dozen of the creatures were seen by the keen-eyed leader.

“We mustn’t lose any of them,” said Kit Carson in a whisper, as he
turned to his followers. “The best thing we can do is to spread out and
come up to them in a semicircle.”

“They have seen us already,” suggested Jack.

“That’s true,” replied Kit Carson, “but the very fact that they have
not run away will make it easier for us to get more of them, and we
must have them. Our very lives may depend upon our aim. I hope every
one will hit his target.”

In accordance with the directions of the hunter, the party spread out
and prepared to creep nearer the spring, advancing in a semicircle.
Even when they had come within fifty yards of the water the inquisitive
animals were still standing, gazing almost stupidly at the approaching
hunters. Indeed to Reuben it almost seemed as if the timid creatures
were unable to flee. Even the fawns, with ears erect, stood gazing
open-eyed at the men.

In this manner the trappers approached, as has been said, within fifty
yards, and then at a given signal all arose and fired upon the timid
animals. Two of the deer were seen to fall. Then with a loud summons to
his followers, Kit Carson, after he had hastily reloaded his rifle,
darted toward the spring from which even yet the startled deer had
withdrawn only a few yards.

In a brief time the guns were reloaded and almost together the trappers
once more fired at the graceful creatures that were still gazing at
them. A third deer fell to the ground, but all its companions instantly
fled from the spot.

“We didn’t get as many as we ought to,” said Kit Carson quietly when
the men approached the place where the fallen deer were lying. “I shall
be surprised if we do not find that some of these deer are pretty well
filled with lead. We ought to have arranged for no two men to fire at
the same animal.” The trapper’s suggestion was found to be correct, for
six bullets were found in one of the bodies.

In response to the directions of the scout, the men at once took their
knives and skinned the creatures, and then, while part of them sewed
the skins into water-bags, the others prepared to smoke the meat which
had been secured.

Haunches of venison were dried on the branches of trees above the reach
of prowling wolves, and fires were kindled beneath them which it was
believed would last throughout the coming night. The smoke from the
flames soon hid the suspended bodies, and, satisfied that their work
for the day had been completed, the hunters turned and departed for the
camp in the defiles of the mountains.

To Reuben Benton these experiences were all so novel that he had ceased
to think often of the missing Jean, and he was thoroughly enjoying his
adventures. Such a life was wholly new to the eager-hearted boy. In the
vicinity of his home he often had trapped and hunted, but nothing had
occurred like the exciting incidents of his hunting with the great
scout. Perhaps the honour of being associated with Kit Carson, whose
name was already familiar in all the West, provided the greatest
enjoyment of all. More and more Reuben was impressed by the quiet
self-control of Carson and the respect which was paid him by all the
men in the company.

Reuben, who was a strong and rugged boy, had found no difficulty thus
far in keeping up with the men. Indeed, his spirit of eagerness several
times had led him far in advance of his companions. Kit Carson,
however, occasionally had rebuked him for his foolhardiness and told
him that his safety depended almost entirely upon his remaining in the
company of his fellow trappers. There was slight question in his mind
that the Indians had followed them all through the defiles of the
mountains. Whether or not the pursuit would be maintained was a
question which could be solved only by the events which might occur
when once the party had entered on its way across the pathless desert.

On the day after the shooting of the three deer Reuben and Jack,
together with two other trappers, were sent to obtain the carcasses,
which had been left hanging from the boughs of the tree under which the
fires had been kindled. For the meat to be thoroughly cured a longer
time would be required, but as the horses were now rested, the men were
eager to push forward.

Just before the departure from the camp was made three Indians were
seen approaching, leading a poor old horse that was soon found to be
blind as well as lame. By the use of signs the Indians finally agreed
to sell the poor old creature and then departed with the money which
they received. After they were gone the horse itself was killed and
roasted, and the trappers that night enjoyed a feast of tough
horse-meat and water from the mountain springs.

The following morning the entire band set forth on their long and
difficult journey across the plains. When three days had elapsed, the
riders, wearied by their journey and nearly parched with thirst, were
well-nigh exhausted. The supply of water which they had brought with
them had proved to be inadequate.

All the efforts of Kit Carson were required to keep up the courage of
his followers. The heat had been intense, and the brief rest which had
been given the horses and mules had not been sufficient to restore
their full strength. Even the animals were dejected as they lifted
their feet from the heated sands and slowly moved forward.

Not a word of complaint, however, had escaped the lips of Reuben.
Fearful that the objection which had been made at St. Louis against his
joining a party of trappers would be repeated here, the boy had done
his utmost to bear the hardships that he was compelled to endure. His
lips were swollen and cracked, and the intense feeling of hunger which
he had the preceding day had given place to a dull ache. His manner was
thoroughly dispirited as he slowly followed his companions. The mule
which he was riding had lagged behind the other animals, until Reuben
was several yards in the rear of the little company.

It was at this time that Carson, noting the plight of his young friend,
dropped behind and waited for Reuben to approach.

“Well, lad,” he said, striving to speak cheerfully, “how is it?”

Reuben, almost unable to speak, shook his head as he tried to smile in
response to the query of his friend.

“It’s a pity, lad,” continued the guide, “but there’s no going back. We
have got into a hard piece of work, but the only thing to do is to go
ahead. That is the only way out, so keep up your heart and don’t give
in.”

Reuben nodded decidedly to show that his determination was still
unbroken, and as he did so the mule he was riding suddenly lifted his
head and, after he had sniffed the air, lowered it almost to the sand,
and emitted several prolonged, heart-breaking, agonizing brays.

The stentorian blasts were quickly answered by similar sounds from the
other mules in the train. Despite the efforts of the weary men to
control the beasts, they all immediately began to run, followed
speedily by the horses.




CHAPTER XII—A PUZZLING MESSENGER


“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” demanded Reuben excitedly of Kit
Carson, who was riding by his side.

“Don’t you know?” laughed the leader good-naturedly.

“No, I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” replied Reuben in the
disjointed words he was able to speak, while the mule which he was
riding increased the speed at which he was running.

“They have sniffed water.”

“But I can’t see it anywhere!”

“That’s likely,” replied the hunter, smiling as he spoke. He was having
less difficulty than his young companion in controlling his mount.

The animal which Reuben was riding had stretched forth its neck and its
muscles were almost as tense and stiff as if they had been made of
bone. Occasionally one of the excited mules stopped, and, planting its
feet firmly in the ground, stretched forth its neck, elevated its tail,
and at the same time emitted another prolonged and discordant bray.

The minutes passed swiftly and no signs of the longed-for water were
discovered. An hour passed in the wild flight and still the stream was
not found. To Reuben’s protest that the mules had been mistaken, Kit
Carson made no reply save to smile in the quiet manner which was
characteristic of him, and slowly shook his head as if he still had
faith in the instinct of the strange beasts.

Ten minutes later a cry arose from the dry throats of the men when a
stream not far in advance was seen by them all. In a brief time the
entire line had gained the banks and men and animals alike plunged into
the water and drank their fill.

“I never knew before how good it seemed to have all the water I wanted
to drink,” said Reuben with a sigh of relief when he returned to the
bank and once more stood beside the leader.

“It’s just like air and sunshine and other things that are so common
that no one thinks they are worth much,” replied Carson thoughtfully.
“It is only when we lose them that we think they are worth having.”

“This certainly is worth having,” said Reuben fervently.

“It’s so good that I think we’ll stay here for a little while. Turn in,
boys,” the leader added, calling to his companions, “and we’ll make
camp.”

The courage and hope of the men had now returned in full force, and the
long journey across the desert was forgotten or ignored. Eagerly they
responded to the call of their leader, and in a brief time a
comfortable camp had been made on the banks of the little stream.

For two days the weary men remained in the camp. In a few spots near
the spring grass had grown, and this, together with the leaves of the
trees, provided food for the horses. No wild animals were seen during
the stay of the men, and on the third day, when the journey was
resumed, there were few traces to be seen of the suffering which the
trappers had endured in their ride across the desert. There still
remained, however, a long and toilsome journey between them and the
region which they were seeking. Occasionally a stream of running water
was found, and then the party went into camp for two or three days.

When at last they arrived in the beautiful valley of San Gabriel they
were nearly exhausted, but the sight which greeted their eyes did much
to restore their spirits.

In the valley was the Mission of San Gabriel, established many years
before this time by the Spanish padres in their labours among the
Indians of that region. Already the fruits of their devoted work were
to be seen. In the valley there were many fields of waving grain and
great orchards whose trees were bending under the loads of fruit which
hung from their branches. In certain parts of the valley there were
large herds of cattle, and many flocks of sheep were to be seen, almost
as numerous as the cattle.

The sight of all these good things instantly revived the drooping
spirits of the trappers. It is true they had little to offer in
exchange, but the people of the mission and the Indians of the vicinity
were kind to the newcomers, and in a brief time the wants of the nearly
famished men were all supplied.

Perhaps some of them rejoiced more over the fact that water and food
for their horses abounded than they did over the reports that were
given them of the multitudes of beaver that were to be found in the
nearby streams. To Reuben the region seemed to be a land of plenty. The
Indians were peaceful and apparently happy, and the few white men that
were to be seen in the vicinity were prosperous and contented.

After the men had been thoroughly rested, Kit Carson explained to
Reuben that the time had come for them to enter upon the work which had
been their object in seeking the marvellous valley.

“We’ll go down the San Joaquin River,” he explained. “We shan’t have
any trouble in getting the skins we want, and at the same time we’ll
find game enough to supply all our needs. All you have to do,” he
added, with a laugh, “is to look at the men. A little while ago they
were half-starved and as lean as bullrushes. Just look at them now!
Almost every one is getting so fat he won’t be able to do his
trapping.”

“Yes,” laughed Reuben. “They all look as if they would rather stay here
than go on any farther.”

“That’s just what they must do, though,” said Kit. “I have seen a good
many men in my life who did all right until they came to the last thing
that had to be done and then they gave out. I believe there are more
men that lose because they don’t follow up to the very end what they
have begun than from any other one thing. Who’s this coming?” he added
abruptly as he turned and saw a stranger approaching on horseback.

At first the approaching man was thought to be a priest, as he was
dressed in a strange garb that somewhat resembled that worn by the
priests in charge of the mission. As he came nearer, however, they
discovered that he was not a priest, and when he spoke, his words
confirmed Kit Carson in his conclusion.

“I am looking for a man named Kit Carson,” explained the newcomer.

“You won’t have to look very far,” replied the guide quietly.

“Where is he?”

“Not very far away.”

“Tell me where he is and I will go to him.”

“I reckon I am the man you’re looking for.”

“You?” exclaimed the stranger in surprise. “You? Are you Kit Carson?
Why, you’re nothing but a boy.”

“I’m not very old,” replied the guide with a smile, “but that’s a fault
I hope to correct some day. Meanwhile let me tell you that my name is
Kit Carson. If you have any message for him you had better give it to
me.”

“I came from the Mission San Gabriel,” explained the newcomer, after a
brief silence in which he had steadily looked into the face of the
young hunter. “One of the padres sent me. He says that some Indians
have run away with some of our sheep. It is the same band that stole
some horses from the mission a few weeks ago. Before that they stole
some of our cattle. The padre wants to know if some of your men will
help us to punish them.”

“Where are they?” asked Kit Carson.

“We don’t know exactly, but we suspect that they have gone to one of
the strongest of the Indian villages.”

“Will they fight?”

“I think they will.”

“Then we will go,” said the guide quickly. “You tell the padre that
we’ll help him out. How many men does he want?”

“All you can spare.”

“Tell him we’ll be at the mission to-morrow morning. There will be as
many of us as care to go, whether it is the whole eighteen or only
one.”

“You will be the one?” inquired the stranger.

“I will be one,” laughed Kit Carson, “but I do not think I will be the
only one.”

Reuben had been silent throughout the conversation and seldom had
turned his face away from the man who had brought the message from the
San Gabriel Mission.

When the messenger departed Reuben turned to Kit Carson and said: “That
man looks enough like Jean Badeau to be his own brother.”

“Who is Jean Badeau?”

“Why, he’s the trapper that I came with from St. Louis.”

“The one you lost in the camp when we first saw you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure he isn’t the same man?”

“No, I am not sure, and that’s just the trouble. Of course it is some
time since I saw him.”

“Don’t you know his voice?”

“His voice certainly sounded like Jean’s.”

“Why didn’t you ask him if he is Jean?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” replied Reuben. “He looks like him, and
yet if it is another man it might make trouble.”

“How would it make trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Reuben somewhat uneasily. “I cannot see why
Jean should be down here in this valley, anyway, unless he wanted to
get away from everybody.”

“Is that the reason why we came?” demanded Kit Carson quizzically.

“No, we came for the beaver skins.”

“Perhaps your friend came for the same reason. You’ll soon know,
though, whether he’s the real one or not, because when we go over to
the mission to look up these thieving redskins, you probably will see
the man again and can find out just who he is and why he is here.”

For the time Reuben was forced to be content, and yet on the following
day, when with eleven others he went to the San Gabriel Mission, the
question in his mind still remained unanswered. He looked about on
every side, but did not discover the messenger. Nor was he able to make
inquiries, for he understood neither the Spanish nor the Indian tongue.

In a brief time, however, his thoughts were withdrawn from Jean to the
task which immediately confronted them. A band of twenty-five or more
soon set forth from the mission, half the men belonging to the force
which Kit Carson had led into the valley.

The trappers and the volunteers from the mission rode swiftly away, and
not more than three hours had elapsed when they arrived at the Indian
village which they were seeking. When they drew near, the advancing
party halted, while one of the white men advanced to meet three Indians
who had now come forth from the village. It was impossible for Reuben
to hear what was said, nor would he have understood the conversation
had he been able to hear it. It was not long, however, before the white
man returned to his followers with the statement that the Indians had
absolutely refused to give up the redmen for whom they had come.

The village was not large, but the warriors plainly outnumbered the
white men. To attack seemed foolhardy.

Greatly to Reuben’s surprise, after a brief consultation had been held
between Kit Carson and the leader of the men from the mission, the
hunter turned to his followers and said quietly: “There is only one way
for us to get those rascals. We must attack the village.”




CHAPTER XIII—PURSUIT


For a moment the startled men gazed silently at their leader. Every one
had been confident that when they drew near the Indian village the
redmen would give up the culprits. However, the quietly spoken
declaration of Kit Carson speedily aroused a spirit of determination,
and every one of his followers was willing to do his utmost to carry
out his directions.

Before an attack was made, however, the daring hunter approached the
village alone and noisily summoned the braves to a second conference.
Doubtless the slight form of the hunter and his boyish appearance
created a false impression in the minds of the Indians. That such a man
could really be the leader of the white men and that his courage would
be equal to an attack upon their village was plainly something the
braves did not believe. A brief conference followed, but the result of
it was not any more satisfactory than had been that of the former
interview.

Turning sharply about, Kit Carson quietly went back to his companions,
and then before the Indians were fully aware that he was gone, he said
in a low voice to his men: “Fire on the village! Every one pick his
man, and don’t one of you miss!”

Instantly dropping upon their knees the men obeyed the order. Almost
like the report of one gun the rifles rang out together.

Without waiting for the smoke to clear and reveal the result of their
attack, every man hastily reloaded his rifle and raised his gun to his
shoulder, ready for instant use. The Indians were not armed except with
bows and arrows, and the distance at which Carson’s followers had fired
was believed to be out of range of the warriors.

Cries of alarm and confusion arose from the village. Few of the redmen
had believed that the white men would dare attack, and the unexpected
action had thrown the entire place into confusion. It is true the
Indians greatly outnumbered the little attacking party, but as soon as
it was discovered that the white men were deadly in earnest and
determined to secure the culprits for whom they had come, their greater
numbers did not afford much comfort to the startled braves. Many of
them fled from the village, and those who remained speedily decided to
give up their guilty comrades who had sought refuge among them. It was
impossible to resist the onslaught of the band which had attacked them,
when it was led by such a man as the quiet, courageous scout.

For the third time the rifles were loaded, but before they were
discharged an Indian was seen approaching, extending the palms of his
hands in token of his peaceful purpose.

Directly behind him appeared a young Indian on horseback. He followed
the chief, who was advancing toward the white men, until he came near
the place where the spokesman halted. Although the followers of Kit
Carson were prepared for any event, no gun was fired, while all the men
awaited the coming of the messenger. It was believed now that there
would be no further attempt to shield the guilty parties for whom the
padre at the San Gabriel Mission had sent the expedition.

For a moment, although none of the watchful observers was able to
discover the cause, the herald remained silent. Reuben, who was deeply
interested in the exciting event, now saw, approaching from the
village, a young squaw. Just what was her purpose in coming was not
apparent.

The herald began his speech. “We shall no longer protect the men for
whom the white brothers have come,” he explained. “We did not ask them
to come to our village. They were in trouble and they sought us out. We
would punish them for the evil they did to the good padre, but now that
the padre’s men have come to take back to the mission the men who have
done evil, we shall no longer try to hold them in our village. The
brothers of the padre when they see the evildoers coming forth from our
village will not then make any more attacks upon us.”

The spokesman paused as if he was waiting for Carson to respond to his
implied question. As the hunter remained silent, the Indian herald
continued his appeal. “Already we have children that are fatherless
because the white men have killed our braves. You can hear the wailing
of the squaws whose husbands and sons you have slain. Is not this
enough punishment for the white men to visit upon us? We shall no
longer try to shield those who fled to us for refuge.”

“Will you give us every one?” demanded Kit Carson abruptly.

“Every one,” replied the Indian.

“Then tell them to come out to us now.”

The Indian turned back toward the village and then, abruptly halting,
once more faced the scout. “And will my white brother promise that no
harm shall befall us? That he will take the bad Indians only? Will he
promise that they shall be dealt with justly, and that no harm shall
come to them on their way back to the mission?”

“I make no promises except to tell you that every man will be treated
as he deserves.”

“That’s just the very thing they don’t want,” muttered Jack, who had
been listening as he stood opposite Reuben. “If they got what they
deserved there wouldn’t be many left in the village.”

“I’m afraid there wouldn’t be very many left among us either,”
suggested Reuben quietly.

“What do you mean?” demanded Jack.

“Why, I mean that if every man got what he deserved perhaps he would be
worse off than he is now.”

“I never got all that I deserved,” said Jack sharply. “I’ve seen a good
many men who passed for more than they were worth and then again I’ve
seen others who didn’t pass for what they were worth.”

“Which is your class?” said Reuben, laughing. Throughout the
conversation he had not turned away his gaze from the exciting events
which were occurring before him.

“It doesn’t make any difference which is my class,” retorted Jack. “All
I say is that Indians are all in one class——”

Jack stopped abruptly, for at that moment it was seen that the young
squaw who had come from the village had now turned quickly toward the
young Indian who had approached on horseback. Suddenly the mounted
Indian darted ahead, his horse apparently breaking into its swiftest
paces at its first leap forward.

The action of the Indian girl, however, was most startling of all. As
the young brave fled from the spot she grasped the tail of the horse he
was riding, and, clinging tenaciously to it, she was partly dragged and
partly helped forward as both fled from the spot.

At the first sight of the unexpected happening the men with Carson
laughed loudly. To them it was apparently a joke of some kind that was
being enacted before them. In a moment, however, Kit Carson turned to
Reuben and Jack and said: “Take your horses and follow that redskin.
He’s trying to get away and he’s using the squaw as a shield. If he
thinks that she is going to protect him, just show him how mistaken he
is. Take after them and don’t come back until you get them both.”

Instantly Reuben and Jack obeyed the command which had been given them,
and putting their horses into their best paces started in pursuit of
the fleeing pair.

It was not long, however, before they discovered that the Indian pony,
in spite of the load he was carrying and the weight that was attached
to his tail—for the Indian girl still was clinging tenaciously to her
hold—was much swifter than those of his pursuers.

The marvel of it all was the fearless manner in which the young squaw
still clung to the tail of the running animal. There were moments when
she was dragged over the sands, and then again she would regain her
footing and, running swiftly and leaping wildly, continue her flight.
But whatever befell her, whether she was dragged or drawn, her grasp
was not relaxed.

The horses which Reuben and Jack were riding were old and slow. The
main thought in the minds of the men when they departed from the
mission did not concern any possible pursuit. They all had confidently
believed that as soon as they approached the Indian village the
culprits whom they were seeking would be delivered into their hands.

Their plans, however, had undergone a change, owing to the attack which
they had been compelled to make. And now the wild flight of the two
Indians convinced the pursuers that the brave was a man of importance
in the tribe and that there were special reasons why he was eager to
escape.

Doggedly the white men held to the pursuit, but as they fled across the
level plains toward the defiles of the mountains not more than ten
miles away, they were soon aware that there was slight probability of
their overtaking the fugitives.

“My horse is winded!” called Jack sharply. “Let’s turn back!”

“We can’t turn back,” replied Reuben.

“We can, and I shall,” retorted Jack.

“You’ll have to go alone,” said Reuben. “Kit Carson told us to follow
this redskin until we got him. We have been following him, but we
haven’t got him yet.”

“Well, I can’t follow any farther,” said Jack, and as Reuben glanced at
the horse of his companion he was convinced that the man had spoken
truly. The sides of the poor beast were heaving convulsively and its
suffering was clearly apparent.

“You stop here!” called Reuben. “I’ll go ahead alone. I have a rifle
and the redskin hasn’t any, so I’m not afraid.”

In response to his suggestion Jack drew rein on his horse, and when
Reuben glanced behind he saw that the poor animal was barely able to
stand. The necessity of urging his own horse forward, however, soon
caused him to ignore the plight of his companion and he continued his
well-nigh hopeless pursuit.

Reuben was convinced that the Indian, although now he had stopped and
had taken the squaw behind him on the back of his pony, would be able
to outdistance him. In the pursuit they had steadily drawn nearer the
foothills and once among them Reuben was convinced that the fugitives
would escape. Doubtless they were familiar with the valleys and the
gorges and would speedily find some place in which to hide. But
remembering the words which had been spoken to him by Kit Carson, and
in a measure unconsciously imitating the spirit of the young scout,
which knew no such word as turning back, Reuben still clung to the
chase. The horse he was riding was slow, but its wind apparently was
holding out. Again the boy glanced behind him, and quickly discovered
that he was no longer able to see his companion. What had become of
Jack was not plain, but without any thought of giving in, Reuben urged
his steed forward.

In a brief time he was approaching the valley which he had seen when
the pursuit first began. It was a narrow pass between the foothills.
What lay beyond it he did not know, but his spirit of determination was
so strongly aroused that when the Indian whom he was following turned
into the narrow defile he decided at once to follow him.

Not long afterward Reuben found himself in the gorge. It was several
hundred feet wide and on one side there was a steep, precipitous rock.
On the opposite side the valley extended for several hundred feet to
the right, and apparently much of it was under cultivation. Surprised
by his discovery, Reuben still did not stop. He was relying chiefly
upon the rifle he carried for his defence.

He had not advanced more than two hundred yards beyond the narrow
opening before he was aware that further pursuit of the fugitives would
be useless. Both had disappeared from sight and doubtless were hidden
in some one of the many caves past which he had been riding.

Still keenly alert, Reuben turned and began to retrace his way toward
the entrance of the valley. He had advanced only a few yards, however,
when his progress was abruptly halted.




CHAPTER XIV—CAPTURED


Directly in front of Reuben five Indians stepped from behind a huge
rock and halted his progress. Two of them seized his horse by its
bridle, while two more advanced upon him, one from each side.

Startled by the unexpected sight, Reuben gazed at the men a moment, and
then when he tried to bring his gun to his shoulder his arms were held
powerless in the grasp of his captors. A moment later he was thankful
that his enemies had prevented him from using his weapon. If he had
succeeded he was well aware that instantly he would have been
overpowered and doubtless slain by the young redmen.

Several times one of the Indians questioned Reuben, but the boy was
unable to understand what was said, and consequently attempted no
reply. In a brief time the conversation ceased, and his hands were
securely bound behind his back. He was compelled to dismount and to
follow the men, who now took his pony and led the way farther within
the valley.

They were moving cautiously, too, an act which Reuben did not
understand. His confusion, however, was soon gone when, after a walk of
a half-hour, he was conducted to a camp in which fifteen Indians were
seated around a fire over which they were roasting pieces of meat that
he strongly suspected had been cut from the cattle stolen from the
mission.

As the young prisoner was ignorant alike of the language spoken by the
Indians and of the few words of Spanish which one of them was able to
speak, he was at a complete loss to understand not only who they were
and what their plans might be, but also what was likely to be his fate.
His hands had been freed after he had been brought to the camp, but he
was not permitted to leave the enclosure. When night came he was
conducted to a cave among the nearby rocks and there by signs was
informed that he was to remain throughout the night.

Several Indians seated themselves before the mouth of the cave, and
Reuben was convinced that escape for the present at least was
impossible.

Three days slowly passed. Not once was he permitted to leave his
prison, although he was not treated unkindly. Food was given him every
morning and night, and a gourd of water every morning was placed at his
disposal.

[Illustration: “Several Indians seated themselves before the mouth of
the cave”]

As the afternoon of the third day wore on, Reuben became aware of a
partly suppressed but increasing excitement among his captors. At first
he was hopeful that the place was about to be attacked by some of his
friends, in which event he might hope for release. It was impossible
for him, however, to obtain any information from the Indians, and
indeed few of them now even glanced at him as they apparently prepared
to depart.

Reuben was disappointed when he learned that only half of the Indians
were to leave the place. The excitement among the others, however, did
not die away, and they frequently talked with one another in low voices
and pointed anxiously in the direction in which their friends had gone.
When darkness fell Reuben stretched himself upon the hard floor of the
cave, and although he was aware of the excitement which still possessed
his captors, he was convinced that he would be unable to learn the
cause of it, and soon was sleeping soundly.

The first faint streaks of daylight were seen when Reuben was awakened
by the return of the men who had departed the preceding night.
Instantly it was plain to him what the purpose of their journey had
been. With them now were at least threescore horses, and as he looked
keenly at the animals Reuben recognized some of them. They had belonged
to the men whom Kit Carson had been leading. Had their owners perished?
Had there been a night attack by the redmen and had Kit Carson’s band
been destroyed? Excited as Reuben was he was not able to find any
answer to his questions, though he eagerly interrogated several of the
redmen with signs. Not one of them, however, gave any heed to their
prisoner and his demonstrations. All about the camp the redmen were in
action, and it was plain to the boy that they were planning to depart
quickly.

His surmise proved to be correct, for within a few minutes all their
weapons and belongings had been packed on the backs of their horses and
they were ready to start. For a moment Reuben was hopeful that he was
about to be left behind, but this was not to be, for one of the Indians
approached and motioned for him to follow. Obedient to the command,
Reuben accompanied his captor, who led the way to the spot where
several of the Indian ponies were standing. Altogether there were not
more than twenty of the Indian braves. How they had been able to secure
so many horses and to return to their camp without any one having been
injured was still a puzzle to Reuben. In obedience to the motion of his
captor he leaped upon the back of one of the horses and took the reins
in his hands.

The excitement of the band increased when at last it set forth from the
place. Every rider was leading two or three horses. It was plain, too,
that the Indians were fearful of pursuit. Frequently they would glance
behind them, as if expecting an attack. They had not gone far, however,
before a brief halt was called and three of the braves were sent back
to form a rear guard.

Throughout the day the flight was continued, with only two or three
breaks, when the men and horses stopped to quench their thirst at a
running stream. Even when night fell the march was continued.
Occasionally the band halted, while the men who formed the rear guard
joined them and a brief conference was held. In every case, however,
either the guard or those who were to take their place returned to the
rear and the journey was resumed.

There were only slight and occasional rests during the second day. It
was becoming increasingly plain to Reuben that the men were not only in
desperate haste, but were in great fear of pursuit.

Grimly the young prisoner assured himself that their fears were well
grounded, if their horses had been stolen from the band of which Kit
Carson was the leader. Still Reuben was not ill-treated, although his
conviction became stronger that if he should try to escape his fate
would be quickly sealed.

The way over which they had come had been rough, and in places it was
only with great difficulty the horses were able to advance. The ride
was hard and all the braves by this time were showing the effect of
their almost continuous ride. The distance which they had covered,
however, had been much less than if they had been fleeing over the
plains.

When the darkness of the third night fell the wearied warriors halted,
and Reuben suspected from their actions that now a longer time for rest
was to be granted. It was also plain that much of the fear which had
urged the Indians forward was gone. And even Reuben did not dare to
hope that his friends would follow the redmen so far. One hundred miles
or more had been covered in the three days, he assured himself. With a
sinking heart he was beginning to believe, with his captors, that the
possibility of pursuit no longer existed. Evidently the Indians all
felt now that they were safe. The silence which had rested over the
party gave place to noisy calls and shouts.

Not long after the halt had been called, Reuben was startled when he
saw that the Indians were preparing for a feast. Two of the poor beasts
that had carried them safely throughout their flight and were nearly
exhausted were taken apart from the others and killed. The skins were
stripped from the bodies, and then over the fires, which were speedily
kindled, the flesh was roasted, and a wild feast followed.

With strength restored by the food they had eaten and their fears of
pursuit now gone, the Indians were like children. They laughed and even
played pranks upon one another.

After the hunger of the band had been appeased Reuben was given a
portion for his own needs. It was almost impossible for him to bite
through the tough flesh, but hunger provided a strong incentive and
soon he, too, was sharing in the changed mental attitude of the entire
group. As he glanced behind him at the hills among which they had
passed he saw that the moon had risen and that night was at hand. There
was still sufficient light, however, to enable him to see distinctly
all about him as he watched the antics of his childlike captors.

Suddenly in the midst of their pranks there came a rude and sharp
interruption. The reports of rifles were heard from two sides of the
camp. Several of the Indians fell to the ground, and Reuben instantly
followed their example, although he was uninjured.

With wild cries the redmen now ran for their horses, but as they
approached the place where they had corralled them there were fresh
shots, and others of the Indians fell.

With renewed and louder shouts they now turned and ran swiftly toward
the plains beyond. Many of them had been able to secure mounts and some
of the horses were carrying double loads. Most of the animals, however,
had been abandoned in the sudden flight.

By this time the men who had attacked the camp were near enough to
enable Reuben to recognize them as his recent companions. Among them he
saw the youthful form of Kit Carson riding at some distance to the left
of his comrades and evidently fearful of an attack from the redmen who
might still remain in the camp.

Aside from those who had fallen, Reuben was convinced, as he lifted his
head and gazed about him, that he was the only one left there alive.
All those who had been able to escape had fled from the place.

“Here I am, Kit! Don’t shoot!” he called loudly, afraid to lift his
head lest instantly he should be made the target of the excited
trappers.

“Who’s calling? Who is it?” demanded Kit Carson quickly, as he and his
companions stopped to stare blankly all about them at the unexpected
hail.

“Here I am!” repeated Reuben. “If you won’t shoot I’ll stand up.”

“Go ahead, show yourself!” called Kit Carson.

At the command Reuben instantly arose and was recognized by the scout
and his band.




CHAPTER XV—A LONELY RIDE


The surprise of the trapper at first made him speechless, as he gazed
at his young companion. He had been aware that Reuben had left the
camp, but as yet he was without any suspicion that evil had befallen
the lad.

“Where did you come from? Why are you here?” he demanded slowly, as he
advanced to the place where Reuben was standing.

“I came because they made me come,” replied the boy somewhat ruefully.
“They cut me off in the valley, so I couldn’t get back to the camp, and
then they tied me up and made me come.”

“You were very good to consent,” replied Kit Carson dryly.

“That wasn’t the point,” laughed Reuben, immensely relieved now that he
was once more among his friends. “It wasn’t whether I wanted to come,
it was simply because I couldn’t get away!”

“How far do you think you have come?”

“I haven’t any idea. It seems like a long way.”

“It’s a hundred miles.”

“Whew!” whistled Reuben. “The way we came when we first started made me
think that you were close on our heels. I never saw a band go faster
than they did, and they kept the horses well together, too. Why didn’t
you overtake us?”

“The redskins had too good a start. Some of the men thought we ought
not to keep on.”

“Why not?”

“Because they said they were hiding among some of the gulches in the
Sierras, and we never would stand any chance of getting them, while
there was every chance that they would get us.”

“But it has turned out all right,” laughed Reuben. “You have found me
and you have got back your horses.”

“Yes, and we got some redskins, too,” added the guide quietly. As he
spoke he turned toward the place where several of the fallen bodies
were lying, and after he had examined every one to make sure that all
were lifeless he turned once more to his followers and said: “I don’t
think there is much danger of the rascals following us, but at the same
time I think we had better start back for camp.”

His suggestion was speedily acted upon. The horses of the trappers had
travelled so fast and so far that some of them were well-nigh
exhausted. In spite of their condition, however, Kit Carson insisted
upon the men rapidly withdrawing from the region. Reuben, as a matter
of course, had joined the band, his heart lighter, now as he was
confident that his troubles were ended. His own pony was in better
condition than those of his companions, and it was not difficult for
him to maintain the speed at which they were riding.

When two hours had elapsed and the sun had disappeared from sight, at
the word of Kit Carson the men halted in a narrow ravine, and after
guards had been established on each side of the camp, preparations for
supper were made speedily.

These preparations, however, did not require much time, as the supplies
which the men had brought with them had been mostly consumed. Kit
Carson and his young companion entered into the nearby region hoping to
discover a deer or some birds which they might secure for supper. Their
efforts, however, were unavailing, as no signs of any living animal
were seen. When they returned to the camp the jerked venison which had
provided the diet for the past twenty-four hours was all the food in
the possession of the trappers.

To Reuben the supper was tempting, because in the swiftness of the
flight of his captors they had stopped only twice to eat, although they
had halted several times for rest or to discover whether or not their
enemies were close upon their trail.

Before midnight, at the call of the leader, the men once more rode
forward, and driving before them the ponies which they had reclaimed,
they resumed their journey toward their camp.

No signs of pursuit had been discovered, and the quiet declaration of
Carson that the redskins would not attempt to follow them was accepted
by all the men as correct. The loss of so many of the warriors—for
eight had fallen at the first fire—doubtless had alarmed the Indians,
who in their flight were not fully aware of the numbers in the
attacking party.

On the fourth day the band, with the horses which they had retaken from
the Indians, re-entered the camp. Kit Carson and Reuben at the time
formed the rear guard, so that they were unable to hear the words of
welcome which were given the returning men when first their presence
was discovered. In a brief time, however, the shouts were redoubled
when the stolen horses were all made secure and the leader and Reuben
rejoined their companions.

“How did you do it, Kit?” called Jake.

“We just kept at it.”

“How far did you go?”

“Better than one hundred miles.”

Jake whistled and said: “We never believed you would keep up. When you
didn’t come back at the end of the first day we began to think
something must have happened to you and we were going to send a party
out to rescue you.”

“That was mighty good of you,” replied Kit Carson demurely, “but I’m
not in the habit of giving up when I start.”

“So it seems,” laughed Jake. “I begin to understand why it is that the
men are all willing to follow you.”

“Why should we give up?” inquired the scout simply. “We started out to
get the horses, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but I’ve seen a good many men who were willing to start, but
that’s as far as they ever got.”

“Well, we started and we came back, and when we came back we had the
horses with us. That’s all there is to the story.”

The words of Kit Carson, however, belied the feeling of the camp. There
was great enthusiasm among the men, who were loud in their praises of
the young leader who had followed the fleeing Indians far beyond the
regions where they had believed he would be able to make his way or to
discover their trail.

“It’s all right now, anyway,” said Kit quietly. “I’m ready to turn in
for the night.”

As soon as the simple supper had been prepared and eaten, all the men
in the camp sought their blankets. The horses which had been restored
had been hobbled, and the various guards of the camp had been so placed
that the approach of any one would be known at once.

The following day, after a long conference between the young scout and
several of his men, Carson approached Reuben and said: “Do you think
you could find your way to San Gabriel if you were to go alone?”

“Yes,” replied Reuben quietly. “I am sure I can.”

“Through the Sierras?”

“Yes, through the mountains. It is a simple path to find.”

Kit Carson smiled as he said: “I hope you’ll find it so, because we
want to send you back to the mission.”

“When am I to go?”

“Just as soon as you can get ready to start.”

“I shall be ready in five minutes.”

“That’s the way to talk,” said the scout quietly. “I’ll tell you what
we want just as soon as you are ready.”

Within the time which he had allotted for his preparations Reuben had
all things in readiness for his departure. He had selected a pony which
he was confident would be fleet and sure-footed, and his few belongings
had been packed on the back of the faithful animal. Kit Carson handed
him a letter, sealed and addressed to “Captain White, at the San
Gabriel Mission.”

“It is very important,” said Kit Carson in a low voice to Reuben after
the latter had mounted his pony. “Come back just as soon as you have an
answer. As I told you, it may be that there will be a man who will come
with you, but of that I am not sure. At all events you are to look out
for yourself, and don’t get caught again by the redskins.”

“Do you think I shall meet any?” inquired Reuben, startled by the
suggestion.

There was a quiet smile on the face of the scout as he said: “I don’t
think you’ll have any trouble. About all the Indians out here on the
coast do is to steal our horses or traps and get away with our skins.
Take care of the letter and don’t lose it!”

Armed with his rifle, and with provisions sufficient for his journey
strapped upon the back of his sturdy little pony, Reuben departed from
the camp. The way he was to follow lay for a time among the hills. In
the heart of the excited boy there was a feeling of elation that he had
been selected for this journey. He was eager to show Kit Carson and his
comrades that they could depend upon his coolness and that he would be
able to make his way in safety to the old mission and there deliver his
message. He was mindful of the heat of the plains and of the length of
the journey and consequently he did not urge his pony. At last he found
himself among the narrow defiles of the bleak and towering Sierras.

It was not difficult for him to retrace the way by which he had come
from the old mission the last time he had visited the station. It was
now early in the morning, and he was hopeful that before sunset he
would once more be among the friendly Indians and the whites who dwelt
at San Gabriel.

The morning passed without any adventures, and the afternoon sun was
waning when at last Reuben entered a defile that was, as he recalled
it, several miles long. On his left were stunted growths of trees and
the sides of the mountains sloped gently back with the valley. On the
opposite side, however, the cliffs were steep and the mighty crags in
places hung directly over his pathway. He was following the bed of a
stream, which was nearly dry, as the snows had largely disappeared from
the slopes of the mountains. The sense of his absolute loneliness was
resting more heavily upon him now that he was tired from the long ride.

Suddenly the pony stopped and trembled violently in every muscle. An
instant later the frightened animal did its utmost to leap forward, and
it was only by using all his strength that Reuben was able to restrain
him. Then it was that he glanced behind him to discover the cause of
the terror of his horse. His own alarm was hardly less when not more
than twenty yards behind him he saw the crouching figure of a mountain
lion. The savage beast evidently was following him, occasionally
seeking the shelter of some huge rock, or climbing among the bushes. It
was unusual, however, for such treacherous animals to come into the
open, as the one behind him now was doing, and for a moment Reuben was
at a loss to account for the tenacity with which the powerful beast had
been clinging to his trail.

Instantly Reuben raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired. At that
very moment, however, his pony, maddened by terror, suddenly leaped
forward, and the aim of the young hunter was destroyed. It was plain an
instant later that the savage mountain lion was unharmed.




CHAPTER XVI—A MOUNTAIN LION


Reuben was aware that if he permitted his pony to run, the beast would
instantly pursue him. He knew also that it would not be long before the
mountain lion would overtake the fleeing pony. As long as he moved
slowly, he had been frequently informed by his companions, a lion,
though it might creep close upon his trail, would not be likely to
attack him. On the other hand, if he should show his fear by flight the
courage of the lion instantly would be strengthened and it would follow
and attack any man or animal that fled in this way from his presence.

The snorting and trembling of the pony he was riding were pitiful. The
flanks of the swift little animal already were wet, and its eyes were
rolling and bloodshot with terror. By a supreme effort, however, Reuben
succeeded in bringing the pony to a walk, and though there were moments
when his mount was so terrified that it almost crouched upon the
ground, still he was able to prevent it from running. It was impossible
now for the boy to reload his gun. The actions of the pony prevented
him from holding his rifle sufficiently quiet to enable him to ram home
the bullet.

Occasionally Reuben glanced behind him, and he was aware that the one
long leap forward which the mountain lion had taken when the pony had
first darted ahead had given place to a more wary and careful approach.
The savage beast was creeping along the ground. For several yards it
would advance in this crouching manner, and then when Reuben looked
behind him it would leap back into the bushes or seek the shelter of
some huge crag.

Reuben was carrying his rifle in his hands, ready to defend himself if
the beast should leap upon the flanks of his pony. The lion was now not
more than thirty feet behind him, and why it did not attack him the
young trapper was at a loss to understand.

Reuben glanced anxiously at the sky, and his fears increased when he
discovered that already the afternoon sun was below the rim of the
mountain. Darkness would soon approach and would come, as he was aware,
after the manner of the sunset among the towering mountains. Usually
there was only a brief period of twilight. The day abruptly ceased and
night with equal abruptness swept over the land. Confident that his
perils would be greatly increased with the coming of night, Reuben was
at a loss how he was to prevent the lion from following him, until in
the darkness in some narrow defile it would leap upon its victim.

Again he glanced behind him at the beast, which now was motionless,
crouched as if it had been a cat ready to spring upon a helpless and
unsuspecting bird. A moment later, however, he saw it leap gracefully
into the bushes and disappear from sight.

The young trapper was still compelling his horse to walk. His arms were
aching from the strain of the pull upon the bridle, and he was nearly
as wet as the horse he was riding. Several times he glanced back, but
the pursuing mountain lion was not to be seen. Could it be possible
that the beast had abandoned the pursuit?

The attitude of the animal when last it had been seen was not such as
to convince Reuben that there was any ground for such a hope. Suddenly
he recalled a statement he had heard made by Kit Carson. One time when
the young scout had been relating an experience which he had had with
one of the savage mountain lions, he had told how the beast after
following its victim for a considerable distance, sometimes disappeared
within the forest and later was seen far in advance when the
unsuspecting party it had been following had relaxed his watchfulness,
believing himself to be safe because the pursuit had been abandoned.
The thought was not reassuring, and instantly Reuben gave rein to his
sturdy little pony.

The terror-stricken horse dashed forward. The ground was uneven, and
several times the little animal nearly fell as it bounded ahead. It was
a wild and a mad flight, and Reuben not only did not hold back the
pony, but continually urged it to a swifter flight. In this way he rode
forward for a half-mile or more until the heaving sides of his horse
gave evidence that its strength was nearly exhausted.

At the time he was entering a narrow passage in the valley. The light
was becoming dimmer, but he was able to see that still about one
hundred feet of the defile was before him.

Soon after he had given a brief breathing spell to his pony he was
startled when the horse suddenly emitted a snort of terror and once
more bounded forward. Glancing swiftly behind him, Reuben’s fears all
returned when he saw approaching from among the trees on the
mountainside the same mountain lion which had pursued him and whose
savage attack he had hoped had been abandoned.

Yelling loudly, Reuben once more urged his horse into its swiftest
paces. There was a scream of anger from the pursuing lion, and Reuben’s
heart almost ceased to beat when he saw that the animal already was
leaping forward in swift pursuit.

Abandoning his grasp on the bridle, Reuben seized his gun by the barrel
and turning partly around in his saddle, with his uplifted gun he
awaited the attack. The snarling beast advanced until it was within a
few yards of the terrified boy. The pony, meantime, was running
swiftly, snorting with terror and groaning with every breath it drew.

Abruptly Reuben turned still farther about in his seat, and yelling in
his loudest tones shouted: “Get out! Clear out! Get away from here!”

He followed his words with a hissing sound, and to his delight the
beast suddenly stopped, gazed in surprise or alarm at what he had
evidently believed was a terrified victim, and then with long leaps
instantly turned, bounded into the forest, and disappeared from sight.

Whether or not the pursuit had been abandoned Reuben did not know. He
quickly gave all his attention to the horse he was riding, and as he
passed beyond the border of the defile and was unable to discover any
signs of the presence of his recent pursuer, he decided to continue the
flight and do his utmost to escape from the savage animal.

For ten minutes the wild flight continued, until the pony no longer was
able to maintain its pace. Again and again Reuben had glanced behind
him, but not once had he seen the mountain lion. What pleased him still
more was the fact that in advance of him he saw the end of the narrow
valley. Once there he would be able to move down upon the plains, and
he did not believe that the hungry brute would dare to follow him
beyond the protection of the mountain. However, he halted and with
trembling hands reloaded his rifle. He had decided that it would be
safe as well as wise for him to take this precaution. If the beast
should appear again he would stop his horse and fire at the animal.
Resuming his flight, not many minutes had elapsed before Reuben found
himself upon the plains.

The night now was upon him, but the light was still sufficient to
enable him to see, though somewhat indistinctly, the outlines of the
rocks and trees behind him. But the valley was no place of shelter,
although he was aware that the Mission of San Gabriel was not more than
seven or eight miles distant.

Only a brief time had elapsed before the young trapper was convinced
that the mountain lion had abandoned its pursuit and turning back had
sought the shelter of the defiles of the mountain.

Satisfied now that he had nothing more to fear, Reuben allowed his
horse to proceed more slowly, though the manner in which the poor beast
was holding its head as it advanced clearly indicated how nearly
exhausted the pony was.

In this manner he moved steadily forward until he had come near to one
of the farms owned by the mission and cultivated by the Indians. A rude
little house was plainly to be seen in the distance, but as no light
was shining from its windows, the young trapper decided to push forward
and not stop until he had arrived at the destination he was seeking.

He had left the farmhouse far behind him and was moving forward over
the dusty road when suddenly he saw before him the outlines of an
approaching man. The man, however, was advancing in a strange manner.
He was moving from one side of the road to the other, and yet as Reuben
keenly watched him he was sure that the stranger was not intoxicated.
Why then was he approaching in such a strange manner? He was carrying
no burden upon his back, and both hands were free.

Still keenly watching the man who was steadily coming nearer, Reuben
suddenly was startled by a motion that seemed to him strangely
familiar. It reminded him of the companion whom he had lost among the
foothills of the Rockies. But not a word had been heard from Jean
Badeau.

Still believing that it was impossible that anything more than a
resemblance had been discovered in the man, when Reuben came close to
him he halted his horse and peered intently into the face of the
stranger. The face strongly resembled that of the missing French
trapper. And yet it was so unlike his friend’s that Reuben was at a
loss to decide whether or not his former companion was indeed now
before him.

The strangest part of all was that the man appeared to be entirely
unaware of the presence of Reuben. He seldom glanced at him, and even
when he did so Reuben felt a shiver creep along his spine, for there
was something uncanny in the expression of the man’s face. Reuben
somehow had a feeling that the man was not so much looking at him as
looking through him. Indeed, his fear increased when he became aware
that the man not only did not reply to his questions, but that he did
not even seem to be aware of his presence.

“Jean, Jean!” called Reuben in a low voice. “Is that you?”

As no answer was given to his query, the excited boy in a trembling
voice again said: “What are you doing here? How did you escape from the
Indians?”

Either ignoring or unaware of the questions which had been asked, the
man continued his zigzag journey and soon passed out of the sight of
the perplexed young trapper.

Partly convinced that he had mistaken the strange man for Jean Badeau,
and that it was impossible for his former companion to be among the men
assembled at the San Gabriel Mission, Reuben quickly resumed his
journey. His pony now was somewhat rested, and in a brief time, of its
own accord, it broke into the swifter gait it had maintained most of
the way since the camp of the trappers had been left.

Reuben was still thinking of the two strange adventures which had
befallen him on his ride when at last he drew near the walls that
surrounded the old mission, and in response to his pull upon the
bell-rope the gate was opened and he was admitted.




CHAPTER XVII—THE COMING OF RAT


The man to whom Reuben was to deliver his message was not to be found
at the mission. However, the tired young traveller was warmly welcomed,
and soon after he had eaten his supper he was soundly sleeping.

The following morning his message was delivered to Captain White, who
was in command of a schooner which had sailed from New York around Cape
Horn. The captain read the letter which Reuben had brought, and then
looking keenly into the face of the lad, he said: “How many skins have
they?”

“There are a good many,” replied Reuben, “but I don’t know just how
many.”

“Do you think they have got enough to fill the hold of the _Charming
Nancy_?”

“I’ve never seen the _Charming Nancy_!”

The captain, who was a large, good-natured man, laughed noisily at the
response and then said: “I guess you’re a Yankee?”

“I am not a Yankee,” retorted Reuben. “I come from Pain Court.”

“Whew!” whistled the captain. “You’re a youngster to be so far away
from home. How old are you?”

“I’ll be sixteen my next birthday.”

“Is that so? You’ll be quite an old gentleman soon if you don’t look
out. I guess you had better go back and tell your boss that we can
strike up some kind of a deal, if he doesn’t want too much for his
furs.”

“Shall I take that message?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to write a letter?”

“I hadn’t thought anything about it. Can you write?”

“Yes,” answered Reuben.

“Well, then, you write the letter. I’ll tell you what to say.”

Suspecting that the handwriting of the captain was perhaps not of the
best, Reuben obtained a quill pen and some paper and ink and soon had
written a letter at the dictation of the man. Just why he should be
asked to do this he did not understand, inasmuch as it would be as easy
for him to report what was said as it was to write out the direct
message of Captain White. However, he discreetly held his peace, and
the following day, with the letter in his pocket, set forth on his
return to camp.

In spite of his determination to be brave, Reuben’s heart was beating
rapidly when once more he rode into the ravine where the mountain lion
had threatened to attack him. It was speedily manifest also that the
pony had vivid recollections of his experiences in the narrow valley
and was eager to be beyond its confines.

Without any reluctance Reuben gave the hardy little beast free rein and
at a rapid pace rode through the place of peril without any mishap. He
maintained a keen outlook on both sides of the gorge, but did not
discover any signs of the presence of the enemy which had so nearly
attacked him two days before. Nor was Reuben molested in the remainder
of his journey back to the camp.

When he arrived he at once delivered his message and explained to Kit
Carson and others the questions which Captain White had asked him.

“We can fix this all right,” said Kit Carson quickly. “I think we have
skins enough to fill the hold of the _Charming Nancy_ so that neither
Captain White nor her owners will have any reason to complain.”

Several days elapsed, however, before the bargain was completed. In
this time the scout himself went to San Gabriel and had two or three
personal interviews with the jovial sea captain.

When Kit Carson returned, Reuben was particularly interested in the
description he gave of an attack which had been made upon him by the
mountain lion.

“Where did you find him?” inquired Reuben.

“Why, it was among the foothills about seven or eight miles this side
of San Gabriel.”

“That’s exactly where I met one. Did you kill it?”

“I think so,” replied Kit Carson quietly. “The beast crept up behind me
and I had all I could do to keep my pony from running away with me.”

“That’s exactly what happened to me. I don’t see how you shot him.”

“I think it must have been pure luck. I got the pony quiet for a minute
and turned around and fired at the beast when it was not more than ten
or twelve feet away. A blind man couldn’t have missed it.”

Reuben had his own thoughts as to the truthfulness of the modest
declaration, but he did not give expression to them. In response to the
questions of the scout, he modestly related the incident which had
befallen him in his own journey in the same region.

“You were a lucky lad,” said Kit Carson warmly. “And you couldn’t have
acted better if you had been sixty-one instead of sixteen. You never
had seen one before, had you?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand yet why it was that you didn’t put your pony into a
run and try to escape. It was lucky for you that you didn’t, for if you
had tried it the beast would have got you as sure as fate.”

“I had heard Jean tell about the lions, and all that he had said
flashed into my mind in a minute. And I saw a man at San Gabriel that
looked so much like Jean that I was almost sure that it was he.”

“Are you sure that he wasn’t?”

“No, and that’s what puzzles me most of all. You see I left him the
other side of the Rocky Mountains. It can’t be possible that he made
his way all alone through the Rockies, and across the plains and over
the Sierras into San Gabriel. Besides, this man looks as if he was
either crazy or a fool. There’s something the matter with him anyway.
He stared at me as if I was like air and he could look straight through
me.”

“I never met a man like that,” said Kit Carson quietly, smiling as he
spoke. “I guess it will turn out all right, and, besides, you may have
several chances to see him again in the next few days. We’re going to
load up our ponies with the furs we have taken, or at least with a part
of them, and send them down to Captain White.”

“What is he going to do with them?”

“Take them to New York for us. We shan’t let him have all that we have
taken, but it will save a long hard ride if we let him have some of
them here, and besides, I think now we shall trap much of the way back
to Taos. By the time we get there we ought to have a load that will
satisfy every man, to say nothing of our horses.”

In the three weeks that followed, all the ponies of the camp were
brought into service. They were heavily loaded with the skins that the
trappers had secured and then began their long journey to the _Charming
Nancy_. A careful record was kept, and a division among the trappers of
the amount received from the sales of furs was to be made later.

Soon afterward the men returned to their camp and for several days were
busily engaged in other tasks. Indeed, they were unusually successful,
and the piles of beaver skins steadily mounted higher and higher.

At last when it was decided to break camp the trappers delayed a day in
order to make a _cache_. A long trench was made in an unusually dry
bank of earth not far from a stream on which the men had been trapping.
A deep hole or excavation was made in this bank until a trench several
yards wide and many yards long had been fashioned. All the time the men
maintained guards and also took the utmost pains to hide every trace of
their labours so that none of the prowling Indians would suspect either
the task in which they had been engaged or the place where the skins
had been hidden.

The turf was cut with great care and placed on one side of the hole.
Much of the top soil then was placed on blankets or buffalo robes. The
rest of the dirt which they dug while they were making the excavation
was carried in pails by the men to the middle of the stream and there
poured into the rushing waters.

At last when the hole was as large as they desired, twigs and dry
grasses were cut and with these the trappers carefully lined the hole
which they had dug. After all this had been done the furs were tightly
packed and stored in the place. Last of all, grass and loose skins were
placed over the bundles of furs and pounded with the top soil, which
had been saved and had now been brought back from the place in which it
had been stored. Then all the ground was watered and the turf was
replaced with utmost care. After the task had been accomplished, unless
a man had been informed of the work which had been done, it would have
been almost impossible for him to discover any signs about the place
that the trappers had made a storehouse in which they had concealed
their furs.

A little later, when the September days came, it was decided by the
trappers that they would start homeward. But it was also agreed that
they would trap throughout their journey. They were to escape the
hardest part of the ride across the desert because they now planned to
follow the Colorado River in its course until they came to the Gila.
Then their course again was to be changed and they were to follow that
river on their homeward way. In this manner they were confident that
they would be able to trap as they journeyed and, if fortune should
favour them, they would add many skins to those which they already had
taken.

The plan was speedily approved, and as the men sat about the camp
talking of the return which they were now eager to make, the
proceedings were interrupted by the approach of a stranger.

Instantly Reuben recognized him as Rat, the braggart whom he had last
seen when he was among the foothills of the Rockies.

Confidently, as if the man himself had been a member of the band for a
long time, the stranger approached and said: “I want to stop with you
over night.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Kit Carson, nevertheless gazing keenly at the
stranger as he spoke.

“I have taken about fifteen hundred skins,” said the visitor, laughing
loudly as he spoke.

“Where are they?” inquired the scout.

“They are where I have hidden them so that neither you nor anybody else
ever will find them, if I don’t want you to. There isn’t a man this
side of Pain Court that can make a _cache_ as good as the one I made.”

“You’re fortunate,” said Kit Carson quietly. “You’re lucky not only to
have the skins, but to be able to hide them so that no one will ever
find them.”

“That’s where you’re right,” laughed the stranger. “What have you done
with all your skins?” he added as he looked about the camp.

“We have been lucky, too,” said Kit Carson quietly. “Captain White of
the _Charming Nancy_ has shipped a lot of our furs as a part of his
cargo.”

“Maybe he’ll take mine, too.”

“It’s too late. He has sailed before now.”

“That’s a pity,” said Rat. “I’ll have to tote mine clear across the
desert. I think I’ll have one or two of your men go with me.”

“That cannot be done.”

“Oh, yes, it can!” roared the man.

“No,” replied Kit Carson, still speaking in low tones. “There isn’t any
one of us that wants to go with you.”

“What do you mean by that?” roared Rat, leaping to his feet as he
spoke. “Do you mean to say my company isn’t desired?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“Is that what you mean?”

“I usually mean what I say.”

“Is that what you mean?” again thundered the angry giant, who acted now
much as if he had been striving to pick a quarrel with some one.

“I haven’t anything more to say. If you want to pick a fight with some
one you had better go on to some other place.”

Rat now was angry and he took no pains to conceal his feelings. As yet
he had not recognized Reuben, and the lad was too keenly excited by
what was occurring in the camp to call the attention of the quarrelsome
man to himself.

“I don’t have to go on. There isn’t any American in this camp that I
can’t switch.”

A silence followed the speech of the boastful man and it was not broken
until Kit Carson said quietly: “It’s plain you’re not an American. I
am, and I demand that you take back what you said.”




CHAPTER XVIII—A FIGHT


Instantly a silence that was tense and could almost be felt fell upon
the entire camp. All the trappers gazed in surprise first at the tall,
awkward boaster and then at Kit Carson, who in comparison with the
other man seemed to be little more than a boy in size. Brawls and
quarrels were not uncommon among the lonely men, but this was the first
time any one had known Kit Carson to join in the petty bickerings of
the camp.

Reuben, startled at first by the quiet manner in which his friend had
spoken, now looked at him in alarm. It did not seem possible that so
slight and light a man as the guide would be able to defend himself
against the braggart, who was known as the bully of the West. It is
true Rat had no friends among the trappers. Every one had looked upon
him as one who talked much but whose deeds were lacking. It was
commonly reported that he was better able to tell other men how to trap
the beaver than he was to secure the little animals in his own traps.

To the excited Reuben the huge shoulders of the bully looked broader
than ever he had seen them before. And yet for some strange reason Rat
did not leap forward to attack Kit Carson when the latter in his quiet
manner had demanded that he take back his remark that he could “switch
any American in the camp.”

The silence, however, was soon broken. Rat hesitated a moment and then,
turning abruptly, with long strides walked to his tent. At the actions
of the bully Kit Carson also started for his own tent, and every man
present understood at once what was about to occur. The two men, who
seemed to be so unequally matched, were to fight, and each had gone to
his tent for his weapons. This method of settling quarrels was the one
commonly used on the border.

With this thought in mind, every member of Kit Carson’s band was eager
to see the coming contest. At once they all drew more closely together,
and although many were fearful for the life of their brave little
leader, there was no one that ventured to express his opinion.

In a few moments the swaggering Rat, holding his rifle in his hand, and
his face fierce in its expression of rage, rushed forward on his
powerful horse. Almost at the same moment Kit Carson, light and
graceful in every movement, approached on horseback from the opposite
side of the camp. He carried no rifle, but from his belt there
protruded the stock of his pistol.

Kit Carson had always been a lover of good horses. Several times in the
journeys along the streams and in the valleys of the mountains he had
turned aside a part of a day from his regular task of trapping and had
caught the leaders of several bands of wild horses. The horse upon
which he now was mounted was one of these captives. Its black coat was
shining in the sunlight and its expression of intelligence almost
seemed to convey the idea that it understood the peril of its master
and was determined to do its utmost to aid him. Carson rode without any
saddle. No man in all the camp was considered a better rider, or more
able to compel the animal he was riding to obey his every word. At full
gallop the young scout advanced swiftly toward Rat, who, as has been
said, was also mounted upon a powerful horse.

Suddenly checking his horse as he approached Rat, Kit Carson in a low
voice said: “Am I the man you are looking for?”

For a moment the two men gazed steadily each into the face of the
other, and then Rat replied, “No.”

As he spoke, however, he lowered his rifle, and although his actions
apparently were without any design, his gun was pointed directly at the
heart of the scout.

But Kit Carson was not to be taken unaware. He had heard Rat’s
declaration that he was not looking for trouble, but the action of the
treacherous boaster when he had lowered his rifle so that it was aimed
directly at his heart did not escape him. He understood fully what the
plan of the treacherous man now was likely to be.

Like a flash he pulled his own pistol and fired at his enemy. True to
his aim the bullet struck the arm of Rat, even while his fingers were
almost upon the trigger of his rifle. Indeed, as Kit Carson fired,
Rat’s rifle also was discharged, but the wound which he had received
caused his arm to turn and the ball which he had intended to send into
the heart of the scout passed harmlessly above his head. Instantly the
men of the camp ran forward and surrounded the two fighters.

Kit Carson smiled quietly as he saw his friends approach, and then
waving them back, said in a low voice: “I have done just exactly what I
planned to do. I have prevented him from shooting me, and I think I
have given him a lesson that he will remember for some time, and yet I
have not killed him.”

“That’s right, Kit! That’s right!” spoke up Jack. “We know that you’re
not quarrelsome, and this is the first time I ever saw you draw a gun
on a white man.”

Meanwhile the bully, groaning loudly and holding his wounded arm in his
hand, was led from the spot, while two of the trappers, with water from
the spring, washed his wound and bound up his hand after the fashion
employed by the men of the frontier. In the days that followed Reuben
was not able to induce Kit Carson to refer to the fight into which he
had been drawn.

Not many days elapsed, however, before Rat declared that he would no
longer stay in the camp, and true to his word, he soon afterward
withdrew from the place. Nor was he seen again until several months had
elapsed, and then it was under conditions that caused every member of
the band to remember his coming.

“It’s time for us to be turning back,” said Kit Carson early one
morning, not long after the contest which has just been described.

“Go back where?” inquired Reuben quickly. “To Pain Court?”

“No. I don’t intend to go back there for years.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Taos.”

“We’ll have to come back here again,” suggested Reuben. “We have cached
our furs.”

“Oh, we shall come back,” replied Carson, smiling as he spoke. “Very
likely we’ll be back here the next trapping season.”

In accordance with the word of the leader, it was not long before the
few wagons in which the trappers had brought their provisions, in
addition to the supplies which had been carried on the backs of their
ponies and mules, were loaded with the furs which had been secured
after the cache had been made. Then following the course which already
had been decided upon, the men slowly made their way down the Colorado,
trapping as they went, until they at last arrived at the Gila. Then,
turning once more in their course, they trapped along the banks of the
latter river and finally, well laden with the skins they had taken, set
forth on their journey to Taos.

After their arrival there and in the days that followed, Reuben Benton
made many visits with his friend Kit Carson among the Indians, until
he, too, had learned much of their language and also had learned enough
Spanish to express his wants in that musical tongue. He shared fully in
the feeling of respect and love which the Indians manifested for the
young scout, who now was becoming famous among the scattered people on
the border. In this manner the days passed until at last the time had
come when once more the trappers were to return to the region from
which they had recently set forth.

As they advanced, the friendly Indians gave place to those who were
more hostile. The fame of Kit Carson already had preceded their coming,
and many of the redmen, although they hated the whites, nevertheless
were fearful of an encounter with them. Indeed, the trappers were not
molested throughout their long journey, until at last there came a
night which was long remembered by Reuben.

At that time, when the trappers had gone into camp, they had
established a guard for their horses. This guard was on duty throughout
the hours of the day, being shifted several times so that no one man
would be compelled to serve an undue length of time. When night drew
nigh the horses were hobbled. Frequently, however, the fear of the
prowling Indians caused Kit Carson to direct his men to tie the animals
to stakes which had been driven into the ground.

All these precautions, however, did not avail. There were times when
prowling Indian bands stealthily crept near the camp, and while the men
were sleeping the redskins cut the ropes by which the horses were
fastened to the stakes and either led them quickly away or tried to
secure a larger number by driving some of their own horses directly
through the camp, the Indians themselves closely following the
frightened animals and yelling in their loudest tones. At such times
there was danger that even the picketed horses would break away and
join the herd that was rushing upon them.

And this very event occurred on a never-to-be-forgotten night. Before
morning dawned Carson, having discovered the loss, quickly selected a
half-dozen of his followers and upon the backs of the horses that were
still left in the camp hastily followed the fleeing Indians.

Reuben, who was permitted to follow the men, although his friends
strongly urged him to remain in the camp, was soon aware that the
Indians were well armed and were not inclined to give up the prizes
they had taken without a struggle.

Many of the Indians now were armed with rifles, and the members of the
thieving band far outnumbered those of the little party that was
pursuing them. Several times among the mountains the Indians stopped
and from behind huge rocks fired upon the approaching white men.

Reuben was aware soon after the party had set forth that the night was
to be intensely cold. Indeed, his fingers soon were so numb that he was
scarcely able to hold the reins of the pony he was riding. However, he
was determined not to give way to his suffering, and without a word of
complaint steadily maintained his place in the line.

The men were confident that the Indians were not far before them.
Already they had had two brisk encounters, in which each party had
fired at the other, but whatever the results may have been among the
Indians, no one among the whites as yet had been hit.

Kit Carson’s men were making greater haste than they would had they not
been so eager to recover the horses they had lost. Because of this fact
they had advanced boldly into a long and narrow valley and had not
stopped to make sure that a part of the force they were pursuing had
not been left at the entrance while others had gone in advance to draw
the white men forward.

When the angry trappers had arrived at the place midway in the valley,
suddenly shots were heard not only in front of them but also from the
rear. In an instant it was plain that an ambuscade had been made and
the whites had been caught between the two lines of their foes.

As the party still continued on its way, Kit Carson ordered every man
to hold his fire. Suddenly one of the trappers, who was riding on
Reuben’s right, uttered a loud cry and, dropping his rifle as he threw
up his arms, almost fell from the back of his horse.

“Go on, men!” called Kit Carson, instantly, while he himself dropped
back to assist his companion in his peril.

An instant later, however, a cry went up from all the trappers when it
was seen that Kit Carson himself had been hit by a rifle ball and was
reeling on the back of his pony.




CHAPTER XIX—TRAPPED


The confusion among the trappers instantly was almost overwhelming. The
affection which every member of the party had for the brave little
scout was strong, and all the men were fearful now that with the fall
of Kit Carson the destruction of the band might follow. There was no
one to take his place as leader.

It was the wounded leader himself, however, who in his quiet tones
reassured his comrades as soon as they had carried him to a place of
safety. “Don’t be scared,” he urged them, when they had placed him upon
the blankets which they spread upon the ground.

“Where were you hit?” inquired Reuben, his voice breaking as he spoke.

“The fellow got me in the shoulder,” replied Kit Carson. In a moment
his hunting shirt was torn away by his excite

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