CHAPTER V--THE FAME OF THE TRAPPER
In response to Reuben's startling questions both men halted and lookedkeenly 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 thespot he had discovered on the plains. Both were silent until theyarrived 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 hepeered intently about him in all directions.
"What are you going to do about it?" inquired Rat after a briefsilence.
"It's strange where Jean could have gone," said Reuben slowly, almostas if he was unconscious of the presence of his companion. "He isn't aman likely to be drawn into trouble. I have been wondering if theredskins got him."
"If they did they carried him off."
"But there are no signs of any scuffle," protested Reuben, as once morehe 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. Theponies are gone. There isn't a sign of the packs, and Jean isn't to beseen anywhere."
"What are you goin' to do about it?" repeated Rat. "You know I can'tstay here forever. I've got to look after my own job. I usually findthat if I ever have anything or get anything done it is because RatTrue looks after it. Ever noticed that, boy?"
"I wonder where Jean can be," repeated Reuben, almost as if he had notheard the inquiry of the giant.
"Maybe if you stay here long enough he will show up. That's what myfather used to tell me about the cows. He told me if I would take mymilkin' 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'mthinkin' it may be a good thing for you to sit down here, and perhapsyour friend, if there is such a friend, will come back."
"What do you mean?" demanded Reuben quickly, as he turned and faced hiscompanion. "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 anddid not respond to the implied unbelief of the huge Rat.
"I told you I couldn't stay here all day," continued Rat. "Now will yougo back with me to the place where we started, or do you want to go onalone? 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 partcompany when we get back to the gorge."
Still Reuben did not respond to the rough declaration, for he was yetuncertain what his best course would be.
"Come, make up your mind," called Rat, as he turned his horse about sothat 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 farbefore 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' standfor?"
"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 motherspeaks 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 ofhis 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 feelingtoward the boastful Erastus was rapidly becoming one of disgust. Theman was so blatant and boastful that the reaction had taken place whichled 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 thebackwoods 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 throwme?"
"Yes," said Reuben quietly.
"That's a good one!" roared Rat. "I could take him in my hands andcrack 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 tallerthan I am, and he is light. His voice is as soft as a girl's. Any onemight think when he first saw him that he was the most peaceful fellowin the county."
"Isn't he?"
"He never picks a quarrel, but anybody who picked a quarrel with himwould 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 askedhim a good many times to tell me about his adventures, but he is verymodest."
"Your modest men are always cowards. They don't say anything, becausethey are afraid."
"It's plain you don't know Kit Carson. He told me that when he wasfifteen years old his father 'prenticed him to a harness-maker. Thatwas a good trade, but such a quick, nimble fellow as Kit couldn't workat it very long. He did stay his full two years, though, and learnedthe trade, but when his time was out he decided that he would become atrapper. That was what he had always wanted to be. He told me that whenhe was a little fellow one of the trappers that had come in with hisskins let him pull the trigger of his gun. That was the first time Kithad ever fired a rifle, but he wanted to keep at it, he liked it sowell, and pretty soon he not only learned to shoot, but he became thebest shot in the neighbourhood. The Indians all liked him and they toldhim a great many things about the woods and the animals that livethere. You see, when his father first went into Howard County all thesettlers had to live in a log fort for a while, that had guards on thelookout for the Indians day and night. That was a part of Kit's workwhen he was a little chap. He got so that he knew the war-whoops ofevery tribe and almost every redskin. My father used to say that if KitCarson did so well in his harness-making, which he didn't like, hewondered 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 theleader of a party that was going to start for Santa Fe. You see, thenthere were no trails marked out over the plains. That was a good whileago--in 1826."
"And I wish there wasn't any now," suggested Rat. "In those days theytried to hide the trails, and now they try to make 'em plain. Theredskins know every time a party starts with their traps, and whereveryou find game you find Indians there, too."
"Yes. Kit Carson told me some stories of how parties of Indianssurrounded the trappers or traders and took their guns and horses awayfrom them and either tomahawked the men or left them to starve. Butevery man in Kit Carson's party was well armed, had a good horse, andwas 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 upwith bead embroidery, and the fringes of their shirts dyed half a dozendifferent colours. They had pack mules to carry the traps, and whenthey all started they marched in Indian fashion, single file. They tookturns in
going ahead, for the ones that went first had to break the wayfor the others. Then, there was a bugler at the head of the line. Ifany of the men strayed away while they were hunting, the bugle was tolet them know where the main line was."
"That's all very pretty," said Rat. "I have heard a good many storiesabout Kit Carson, but I'm wonderin' if he has any nerve."
"I know he has," said Reuben quickly. "On that first trip one of themen in the party had an accident. He shot himself in the arm. Prettysoon the others decided that the only way for the poor chap to save hislife was to have his arm cut off. I don't know whether or not KitCarson did the job, but I know that he helped. They used a razor, asaw, 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 climbedthe mountains and followed along an Indian trail, over the track thatthe buffaloes had made, and never once dropped behind. When the partyfinally got to Santa Fe Kit Carson decided that he would not go back toMissouri, so he pushed on alone to Taos. That was eighty miles fromSanta Fe. 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 prettyscarce, but he always liked Taos, because it was there that he metKincade."
"Who's he?"
"Didn't you ever hear of Kincade? Why, he was one of the biggesttrappers that ever got a skin in the Rocky Mountains. He knew all aboutthe wild beasts and the places where the beaver dams were, and he knewwhere 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 wasthat he knew Spanish, and he taught Kit how to speak it. He stayedthere until spring, and then he decided that he would go back home andstart out trapping on his own account. So he joined a party of trappersthat were going East and started to go home, but he hadn't gone halfwayacross the prairies before he met some more trappers that were on theirway to Santa Fe, and what they said to him made him change his plans."