Читать бесплатно онлайн книгу автора  Scouting with Kit Carson

Everett Titsworth Tomlinson

“‘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?”