At last the Apaches were descried in the distance. Carson was the first to discover them, he being some distance in advance. Knowing how necessary it was to surprise them he shouted to his companions to charge at once. Not doubting he would be followed, he dashed ahead with his horse on a dead run, but looking over his shoulder when he had gone part way, he saw to his consternation he was alone.

Angered and impatient, he rode back to learn what it meant. The chief guide had directed the men to wait as there was no doubt the Apaches desired to hold a parley. It meant the next moment in the shape of a bullet from the Indians which struck the leader in the breast and rendered him senseless. As soon as he recovered, he ordered his men to make the attack and leave him to himself.

He was obeyed, but the delay was fatal. On charging into the camp they were able to kill only one warrior. The body of the woman was found still warm, showing that she had been slain only a brief while before.

All those acquainted with the particulars of this sad affair agreed that had the advice of Carson been followed the poor lady might have been saved.



CHAPTER XXXII.

The Wounded Herder—A Successful Pursuit—An Atrocious Plot—How it was Frustrated—Gratitude of the Gentlemen Whom Carson was the Means of Saving From Death.

Carson returned to his ranche where he spent the winter. One day in spring a wounded herder managed to reach the place with the news that he and his companion, stationed a few miles away, had been attacked by Apaches, who wounded both, and ran off all the horses and mules.

A squad of ten dragoons and a sergeant were on guard near Carson's ranche. They and three settlers, including Carson, started at once in pursuit. It was so late in the day that when they came to the place where the outrage had been committed, it was dark and they went into camp; but they were astir at the earliest dawn, and soon striking the trail of the thieves, put their animals to a keen gallop. Some twenty miles further, the Apaches were described a long distance away. As it was upon the open prairie the contest at once resolved itself into an open chase.

It was no time to spare the animals, whose rapid gait was increased until it became a killing pace. The pursuers were steadily gaining, when four of their horses succumbed and their riders, much to their chagrin, were shut out from the impending fray. The others had no time to stop: they could simply shout goodbye to them and spur their steeds to greater exertions. Fortunately the pursuers were better mounted than the fugitives who numbered a full score. With a bravery characteristic of their tribe, they clung to their stolen property, preferring to be overtaken and forced into a fight rather than abandon it.

As soon as the parties were within rifle range, the battle began and became of the most exciting character. The Apaches were splendid horsemen and displayed great skill. They threw themselves on the far side of their steeds, firing from under the neck, and keeping their bodies so well concealed that it was a difficult task to bring them down.

But the white men were accustomed to that sort of work, and the Apaches learned a lesson they never forgot. Five of their best warriors were killed, several badly wounded and nearly all the animals recaptured. Kit Carson directed every movement of his men and to that fact their great success was due.

The mountaineer was favored with prosperous times on his ranche. He and a companion drove fifty head of mules and horses to Fort Laramie, where they were disposed of at a liberal profit. The round journey of a thousand miles was attended with much danger, but it was accomplished without mishap.

He reached home just in time to learn that the Apaches had visited the little settlement and run off all the animals. But as enough soldiers were within call, a pursuit was soon organized and very nearly all the stock was recovered.

Some months later an officer of the United States Army in Taos learned of a most atrocious plot that was on foot. Two wealthy gentlemen, travelling leisurely through that section of the country, had engaged an American named Fox to hire enough men to escort them across the plains. This Fox was one of the most conscienceless wretches and desperadoes that ever lived. He formed a scheme to murder the two gentlemen at a certain point on the plains and to divide their money among him and his companions. Those whom he secured were taken into his confidence and agreed to the crime before hand.

Among those to whom he applied was a miscreant in Taos, who, for some reason, refused to go with him. However, he kept the secret until sure the entire party were so far out on the plains that nothing could prevent the perpetration of the crime. He then told it to several associates, one of whom made it known to the officer of whom we have spoken.

This gentleman was horrified, and uncertain what could be done, if indeed he could do anything, hastened to Kit Carson, to whom he made known the story. The mountaineer listened eagerly, and, as soon as he grasped the whole plot, declared there was reason to believe it was not too late to frustrate it. With that wonderful intuition which was such a marked characteristic of his nature, he fixed upon the very place where it had been decided the crime was to be committed. Knowing the entire route, it was easy to determine the spot most likely to be selected, which was more than two hundred miles distant. Instead, therefore, of following the trail, he struck directly across the open prairie by the most direct course to his destination.

Ten finely mounted dragoons accompanied, all ready for any deed of daring. The route led through a country where the Indians were very hostile, but they were avoided with little difficulty. The second night out, they came upon the encampment of a detachment of United States troops, whose captain volunteered to take twenty of his soldiers and help bring the desperadoes to justice.

The expedition was a complete success. They overtook the party at the very spot fixed upon, and Fox was arrested before he suspected the business of the strangers in camp. When the overthrow of the wretches was complete, the gentlemen were told the story. They were speechless for a moment and could not believe it; but the proof was complete, and they turned pale at the thought of the fate they had escaped.

Their gratitude was unbounded. Taking the hand of Carson they begged him to name some reward he would accept, but the mountaineer shook his head.

"I am more than repaid in being able to help frustrate such a crime as was contemplated; I cannot think of accepting anything of the kind you name."

The gentlemen, however, could not forget that under heaven, they owed their lives to Kit Carson. The following spring a couple of splendid revolvers arrived at the mountaineer's ranche addressed to him. Beautifully engraved on them were a few sentences expressive of the feelings of the donors and the special occasion which called forth the gift.

It is easy to understand how much more acceptable such an acknowledgement was to Kit Carson than any sum of money could have been.

Fox was lodged in jail, but though there was no doubt of his guilt in the minds of every one, yet the meditated crime was so difficult to establish that ultimately he was set free.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

Carson Visits St. Louis on Business—Encounter with Cheyenne on his Return—His Sagacity Does not Fail Him—Carson's Last Beaver Expedition—His California Speculation.

Maxwell, the mountaineer and intimate friend of Carson, was quite wealthy and was of great assistance in several schemes which they undertook in partnership. One of their enterprises was that of sending a train of wagons belonging to the two to the States. Carson took charge, and, jogging along at a comfortable rate, they reached in due time the Missouri, where he went by steamboat to St. Louis. There he purchased a large amount of merchandise which was taken up stream on the boat, transferred to his wagon train, and the faces of all were then turned toward New Mexico.

Everything went well until they approached the fording of the Arkansas, when they came upon a large village of Cheyenne Indians. Unfortunately some days before, a company of recruits had shown such cruelty toward several warriors belonging to that tribe, that they were roused to the highest point of fury, and were only waiting an opportunity to visit punishment on the first whites that came in their way.

Carson knew nothing of the occurrence nor did he know of the bitter hostility of the Cheyennes, but when they went into council, and he overheard some expressions, he saw that something was wrong. He warned his men to be ready for instant attack, never permitting the Indians to catch them off their guard for a single moment.

The warriors fell behind, but after awhile, a number rode up on horseback. They were in their war paint and there could be no doubt of their hostility. Carson spoke in a conciliating manner and invited them into his camp to have a smoke and talk. The invitation was accepted. The hypocritical ceremony continued some time, when the warriors began talking among themselves.

They spoke in Sioux at first, their purpose being to lay the impending massacre against those people, but in their excitement, they dropped back to their own tongue and the whole appalling truth became speedily known to Carson and through him to his companions.

He sat on the ground with the furious warriors, and heard them agree that at the moment the leader (as they recognized Carson to be), laid down his arms to take the pipe in his mouth, they would leap upon and kill him. They would then massacre all the rest. Inasmuch as they were powerful enough to carry out this diabolical plan, it will be admitted that Carson's nerves were pretty thoroughly tested, when the pipe passing from one to the other was within a few minutes of reaching him.

Most of the men with the mountaineer were Mexicans, very deficient in courage and in a hand to hand encounter, the Cheyennes could overcome the party in the space of a few minutes.

It was in such crises as these that the remarkable fertility of resources possessed by Kit Carson displayed themselves. He seemed to perceive by intuition the wisest course to adopt and that perception came to him the instant the demand for it appeared.

Rising to his feet and grasping his weapons, he strode to the middle of the group and astounded them by beginning his address in their native tongue. He reminded them that that was proof he comprehended every word uttered by them. He spoke as if grieved by their course, for he insisted he had never wronged any one of their tribe, but on the contrary had been their friend. He then commanded them to leave the camp without delay or they would be riddled with bullets.

Carson's blue eyes flashed and his face was like a thunder cloud. It was the Cheyennes who were surprised and they could but obey orders, though from their manner, it was clear the trouble was not yet ended. They withdrew and went into council, while Carson and his friends pushed rapidly forward.

The peril in which this little command was placed could not be overestimated. There were not twenty men all told and except two or three, were Mexicans who in no respect were the superiors if indeed they were the equals of the Cheyennes. Had Carson been absent a score of warriors could have charged into camp and slain every one. Instead of a score there were several hundred of them: if they chose to make the attack he knew there was no escape.

The horses, therefore, were lashed to do their utmost. The train pushed forward with all speed, while the apprehensive leader continually glanced back over the prairie, almost certain of seeing the Cheyennes galloping toward them. When night came, there was little sleep in camp. Nearly every one stood on guard, but the night and the following day passed without molestation.

Convinced beyond question that the attack would be made unless some extraordinary means was taken to avert it, Carson took one of the fleetest footed Mexican boys outside the camp, and, pointing in the direction of the ranche of himself and Maxwell, nearly three hundred miles away, told him he must make all speed thither, and tell the soldiers that unless they hurried to his help he and all his companions were doomed to certain death at the hands of an overwhelming war party of Cheyennes. Everything depended on the quickness with which the Mexican youth brought assistance. The latter being promised a liberal reward, bounded away with the fleetness of a deer, and quickly vanished in the gloom. He went on foot because he could travel faster and last longer than could any animal in camp that he might ride.

Carson went back to his friends and kept watch until morning. As soon as it came to light, the animals were hitched to the wagons and urged forward again to the fullest extent of their ability.

Some hours later, several Cheyenne horsemen were seen riding rapidly toward them. When a hundred yards distant, Carson compelled them to halt. Then he allowed them to come closer and told them he had lost patience with their annoyances, and the night before had sent an express to Rayado (where his ranche was built), asking the troops to see that the persecution was stopped. Should it so happen that the soldiers came and found the party massacred, they would take the trail of the Cheyennes and punish them for what they had done.

The cunning Indians, before accepting the statement of the leader, said they would examine the prairie for the trail of the messenger. Carson assisted them in the search, and it did not take long to find the moccasin tracks. A brief scrutiny also satisfied the warriors he had started so many hours before, that it was useless to try to overtake him.

The result was the attack and massacre were not made, and, though the assistance which was asked was sent, yet it was not needed. One of the two experienced mountaineers with Carson on that eventful journey, declared afterward, that had any other living man than he been at the head of the party not one would have escaped. The achievement certainly ranks among the most extraordinary of the many performed by a most extraordinary man.

It would be thought that after such an experience, Carson would be content to settle down and give his entire attention to his ranche. While it cannot be said that he neglected his duties as a farmer, yet he loved the mountains and prairies too well ever to abandon them altogether.

He and Maxwell, his old friend, determined on having one more old fashioned beaver hunt, such as they were accustomed to a score of years before. They did not mean it should be child's play and they admitted no amateur hunters and trappers: all were veterans of years' standing, and, when the party was fully made up, they numbered about a score.

The expedition was a memorable one. They fixed upon one of the longest and most dangerous routes, which included many Rocky Mountain streams and involved every possible kind of danger.

In one respect, the party were pleasantly disappointed. Years before the beavers had been so effectively cleaned out that they expected to find very few if any; but because the business had been so little followed for so long a time, the animals had increased very fast and therefore the trappers met with great success.

They began operation on the South Fork of the Platte and finally ended on the Arkansas. They were gone many weeks and when they returned to their homes, nearly if not all felt that they had engaged on their last trapping expedition.

Carson had not wrought very long on his ranche, when he learned of the scarcity and high prices of sheep in California. He at once set about collecting several thousand, hired a number of men and drove the herd to Fort Laramie: thence he made his way by the old emigrant trail to California where he disposed of the sheep at prices which brought him a profit of several thousand dollars.

While in San Francisco, he visited a prominent restaurant where he ordered a good substantial dinner for six persons. When it was ready he surveyed it for a moment with satisfaction, and, seating himself at the table, disposed of it all. His journey across the plains had given him a somewhat vigorous appetite.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

In San Francisco—The Return Homeward—The Mormon Delegate Gives Carson Some Interesting Information—Carson's First Stirring Duties as Indian Agent—The Affection of the Red Men for Father Kit.

Kit Carson's old friend, Maxwell, who had been his companion in so many stirring adventures, joined him in San Francisco, whose marvellous growth even at that remote day was a continual surprise and delight. As the two veteran mountaineers made their way through the streets, where but a few years before all was a wild, untrodden wilderness, they paused and indulged in many wondering exclamations as though they were a couple of countrymen visiting the metropolis for the first time in their lives.

The couple concluded to make their way home by the southern route, passing in the neighborhood of the Gila; but the distance could be shortened so much by taking the steamer to Los Angeles that Maxwell decided to adopt that course. When he asked Carson to join him the mountaineer shook his head.

"I got enough of that in 1846," he said, alluding to his brief voyage, when serving under Fremont in California, at the beginning of the Mexican war; "I never was so sick in all my life."

"You ain't likely to be sick again," plead Maxwell; "and, if you are, it don't last long. You'll save two or three weeks in time and enjoy yourself much more."

But it was no use: Carson said he never would venture upon salt water again, and he would rather ride a thousand miles on the back of a mule than to sail a hundred in a ship. Accordingly, the party separated for the time and Maxwell took steamer to Los Angeles, where he arrived fully two weeks in advance of Carson, who rode into the quaint old town on the back of a somewhat antiquated mule.

They were soon ready for their long ride, when they struck a leisurely pace and all went well until they reached the Gila. There they entered a region which had been visited by one of those droughts which continue sometimes for many months. The grass was so dry and parched that it contained scarcely any nourishment, and the friendly Pimos told them if they pushed on their animals were sure to die of starvation. It was impossible to doubt these statements and Carson therefore proposed a new route, which though very rough and difficult in some places, would furnish all the forage that was required.

The course led them along the Gila to the mouth of the San Pedro, and finally with little difficulty they reached the copper mines of New Mexico. Shortly after Carson encountered the Mormon delegate to Congress. During the exchange of courtesies, the gentleman conveyed the interesting information that he—Carson—had been made Indian Agent for New Mexico.

The news was a surprise and a great pleasure to the mountaineer. He had no thought of any such honor and with all his modesty could not but feel that he was eminently fitted for the performance of its duties. No one had travelled so extensively through the west, and no one could understand the nature of native Americans better than he. A hundred tribes knew of "Father Kit," as he soon came to be called, and they referred to him as a man who never spoke with a "double tongue," and who was just toward them at all times. He had ventured among the hostiles more than once where the bravest white man dared not follow him, and had spent days and nights in their lodges without being offered the slightest indignity. Kit Carson was brave, truthful, kind and honest.

Aside from the gratification which one naturally feels, when receiving an appointment that is pleasant in every respect, and which he holds thoroughly "in hand," as may be said, the honest mountaineer was especially delighted over the thought that his government conferred it without any solicitation on his part.

But the man who accepts the position of Indian Agent and conscientiously attends to its duties has no sinecure on his hands. Many of them use it as such while others do still worse, thereby sowing the seeds which speedily develop into Indian outrages, massacres and wars.

When Carson reached Taos, he had his official bond made out, and sent it with his thanks and acceptance of his appointment to the proper authorities in Washington.

The Indian Agent for New Mexico had scarcely entered upon his new duties, when trouble came. A branch of the Apaches became restless and committed a number of outrages on citizens. Stern measures only would answer and a force of dragoons were sent against them. They dealt them a severe blow, killing one of their most famous chiefs, besides a considerable number of warriors.

Instead of quieting the tribe, it rather intensified their anger, though they remained quiescent for a time through fear. Not long after, Carson was notified that a large party of the tribe were encamped in the mountains, less than twenty miles from Taos. He decided at once to supplement the work of the sword with the gentle arguments of peace.

This proceeding on the part of the Indian Agent is one deserving of special notice, for it shows no less the bravery of Carson than it does the philanthropic spirit which actuated him at all times in his dealings with the red men. Alas, that so few of our officials today deem his example worth their imitation.

The venture was so dangerous that Carson went alone, unwilling that any one else should run the risk. When he arrived at their encampment, he made his way without delay to the presence of the leaders, whom he saluted in the usual elaborate fashion, and then proceeded to state the important business that took him thither.

Nearly every warrior in camp recognized the short, thickset figure and the broad, pleasant face when they presented themselves. They knew he was one of the most terrible warriors that ever charged through a camp of red men. He had met them many a time in fierce warfare, but he always fought warriors and not papooses and squaws. He was the bravest of the brave and therefore they respected him.

But he was a truthful and just man. He had never lied to them, as most of the white men did, and he had shown his confidence in them by walking alone and unattended into the very heart of their encampment. They were eager to rend to shreds every pale face upon whom they could lay hands, but "Father Kit" was safe within their lodges and wigwams.

Carson made an admirable speech. He at first caused every serpent-like eye to sparkle, by his delicate flattery. Then he tried hard to convince them that their hostility to the whites could result only in injury to themselves, since the Great Father at Washington had hundreds and thousands of warriors whom he would send to replace such as might lose their lives. Then, when he made known that the same Great Father had appointed him to see that justice was done them, they grinned with delight and gathering around, overwhelmed him with congratulations.

The Agent insisted that they should prove their sincerity by pledging to follow the line of conduct he had lain down, and they did so with such readiness that a superficial observer would have declared the mission a complete success.

But Kit Carson thought otherwise. He knew the inherent treachery of the aboriginal nature, and his estimate of Apache loyalty was the true one. The most that he was warranted in feeling was the hope that those furious warriors would be less aggressive than had been their custom. Though they had expressed a willingness to make any agreement which he might propose, yet it was their very willingness to do so which caused his distrust. Had they been more argumentative and more tenacious of their rights, their sincerity might have been credited.

The Agent could have secured their consent almost to any agreement, but the sagacious official asked as little as he could.

"And I don't believe they mean to keep even that agreement," he muttered, as he bade the effusive sachems and warriors goodbye and made his way back to Taos.



CHAPTER XXXV.

Trouble With the Apaches—Defeat of the Soldiers—Colonel Cook's Expedition Against Them—It Meets With Only Partial Success—Major Brooks' Attempt to Punish the Apaches—A Third Expedition.

Just as Carson suspected, the Apaches were insincere in their professions of good will toward the settlers. He had scarcely reached home, when they renewed their outrages. The sinewy horsemen, as daring as the Crusaders who invaded the Holy Land, seemed to be everywhere. We have already referred to those extraordinary warriors, who, for many years have caused our Government more trouble in the southwest than all the other tribes combined, and it is not necessary, therefore, to say that when any branch of the Apaches went on the war path the most frightful scenes were sure to follow.

Carson knew when to be gentle and when to be stern. If the former measures failed, he did not hesitate to use the latter. Coercive means were taken, but, in the first encounter between the red men and the United States troops, the latter were decisively defeated.

As a consequence, the Apaches became more troublesome than ever. Colonel Cook of the Second Regiment of United States Dragoons, was sent against them. He selected Kit Carson for his guide. The Agent's wish, it may be said, was to learn whether any other tribe was concerned in the outrages, and in no way could he do it as well as by accompanying the expedition, which was fully organized by the selection of a number of Pueblo Indians to act as scouts and spies. These were placed under the immediate command of the well known James H. Quinn, who died some time later.

The force proceeded northward from Taos to the stream known as the Arroya Hondo. This was followed to the Rio del Norte, which being very high, was crossed with much difficulty. As an illustration of the rugged work which such expeditions were called upon to undergo, Dr. Peters says that when they struggled to the other shore, they found themselves confronted by a mass of solid and almost perpendicular rocks, fully six hundred feet high. This was ascended, after the most exhausting labor, by means of a zigzag trail, and the journey was pushed over a rough and diversified country. Grass and water could not be found until they reached a small Mexican town where they were enabled to buy what was so sadly needed. Men and animals were so worn out that they rested for an entire day.

The next morning the line of march was taken up, and they had not gone far when Carson discovered a trail. This was followed with renewed vigor and a couple of days later the Indians were overtaken. They did not attempt any stand against such a strong force, but took to flight at once. The Apaches used their utmost endeavors to get away and they were helped by the roughness of the country. They were pressed so hard, however, that they lost most of their horses and plunder besides a number of warriors.

Two Americans were wounded, one of whom shortly died; but the soldiers having "located" the Indians, as may be said, did not give over their efforts to punish them. Pursuit was resumed at earliest daylight and men and animals did everything possible. Over mountains, through ravines, around rocks, up and down declivities, the chase continued, until the cunning Apaches resorted to their old tricks: they dissolved, as may be said, into their "original elements"—that is, they began separating until there were almost as many different trails as there were warriors. Then in their flight, they selected the worst possible ground. Being familiar with the country and possessing far more endurance than the ordinary Indian, it soon became clear that the marauders were beyond reach.

Accordingly Colonel Cook ordered the pursuit discontinued and they headed toward the nearest Mexican village, where forage and rest could be secured for the animals. When the place was reached, Colonel Cook learned of a serious mistake made by the party who were transporting the soldier wounded several days before. They discovered an Indian whom, after some difficulty, they captured. His horse and arms were taken from him under the supposition that he was one of the hostile Apaches. He was not treated very gently and watching his opportunity, he made his escape. It was afterwards learned that the warrior was a Utah, with whom the white men were at peace.

The Utahs were of a war-like nature and Colonel Cook was apprehensive they would use the occurrence as a pretext for joining the Apaches in their attack upon the settlers. He therefore sent Carson to the headquarters of his agency to do what he could to explain the matter and make all the reparation in his power.

As soon as he arrived at Taos, Carson sent a messenger with a request that the Utah chiefs would come and have a talk with him. They were always glad to meet Father Kit face to face. The agent told how the mistake was made, expressed the regret of himself and Colonel Cook and ended by restoring the property and by distributing a few presents among the chiefs. The business was managed with such tact that the sachems expressed themselves perfectly satisfied and their affection and admiration for Father Kit became greater than before.

Colonel Cook was unwilling to return without striking a more effective blow against the Apaches. Pausing only long enough, therefore, to rest and recruit his men and horses, he resumed the hunt. He had not gone far, when he struck another trail which was followed with great vigor; but before anything of the Indians could be discovered, it began snowing. In a few minutes the flakes were eddying all around them, the wind blowing so furiously that the men could hardly see each other, as they bent their heads and rode slowly against it. This rendered pursuit out of the question, because the trail was entirely hidden. Much against his will Colonel Cook was forced to give up the pursuit.

He made his way to a small town lying on his route, where he met Major Brooks, who was marching to his help with reinforcements. The latter officer instead of returning with Colonel Cook, decided to take up the hunt himself for the hostiles.

With little delay, a fresh trail was found and an energetic pursuit began. It was plain the Indians were making for the Utah country, and they were pursued without difficulty; but, when that section was reached, the soldiers came upon so many trails, which crossed and recrossed so many times that all individuality was lost. The most skilful scouts in the company were unable to identify or follow any one with certainty.

The situation was exasperating, but there was no help for it and the command was compelled to turn about and make their way home, having been in the field more than two weeks without accomplishing anything at all.

But it was known that the Apaches would speedily reorganize and the soldiers had but to wait a short while, when an opportunity would be presented for striking an effective blow. When a sufficient period had elapsed, another expedition was sent out under the command of Major Carleton, of the First Regiment of United States Dragoons. He engaged Kit Carson to act as his guide.

The force marched northward about a hundred miles to Fort Massachusetts, where all the arrangements were completed. The party was divided, the spies under Captain Quinn being sent to examine the country on the west side of the White Mountains, while the Major decided to inspect the territory to the eastward of the range.

Captain Quinn with his skilful trailers moved up the San Luis Valley until he reached the famous Mosco Pass, which was often used by the Apaches when hard pressed. They were perfectly familiar with all its diverse and peculiar windings, and, when they once dashed in among the rocks, they felt safe against any and all pursuers.

Making their way through this pass, Captain Quinn and his scouts reached Wet Mountain Valley, where he had promised to meet and report to his superior officer.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

Discovery of the Trail—Prairie Detectives.

Meanwhile, Kit Carson, who was with Major Carleton, had discovered a trail made by three of the enemy. Carefully following it up, it was found to join the principal path, a short distance away. When Quinn arrived he had also some discoveries to report, and the scouts held a consultation over the question. It was agreed by all that they were on the track of the enemy they were seeking.

The general reader is not apt to appreciate the skill, patience and intelligence shown by the scouts and hunters in tracing the flight of an enemy through a wild and desolate country. As an evidence of the wonderful attainments of border men in woodcraft, the following letter may be given, written by the surgeon at Fort Randall in Dacotah in 1869:

"The most extraordinary skill that is exhibited in this part of the country, either by the white man, or red native, is in the practice of trailing. Here it may be accounted an art as much as music, painting or sculpture is in the East. The Indian or trapper that is a shrewd trailer, is a man of close observation, quick perception, and prompt action. As he goes along, nothing escapes his observation, and what he sees and hears he accounts for immediately. Often not another step is taken until a mystery that may present itself in this line is fairly solved. The Indian trailer will stand still for hours in succession, to account for certain traces or effects in tracks, and sometimes gives to the matter unremitting attention for days and weeks.

"The trailer is not a graceful man. He carries his head much inclined, his eye is quick and restless, always on the watch, and he is practising his art unconsciously, hardly ever crossing the track of man or animal without seeing it. When he enters a house, he brings the habits he contracted in the practice of his art with him. I know a trailer as soon he enters my room. He comes in through the door softly, and with an air of exceeding caution. Before he is fairly in, or at least has sat down, he has taken note of every article and person. Though there may be a dozen vacant chairs in the room, he is not used to chairs, and, like the Indian, prefers a more humble seat. When I was employed by General Harney last summer to take charge temporarily of the Indians that were gathered here to form a new reservation, one day a guide and trailer came into the General's headquarters. I told him to be seated. He sat down on the floor, bracing his back against the wall. The General saw this, and in vexation cried out, 'My God, why don't you take a chair when there are plenty here not occupied?' The man arose and seated himself in a chair, but in so awkward and uncomfortable a manner that he looked as if he might slip from it at any moment. But when this uncouth person came to transact his business with the General, he turned out to be a man of no ordinary abilities. His description of a route he took as guide and trailer for the Ogallalas in bringing them from the Platte to this place was minute, and to me exceedingly interesting. Every war party that for the season had crossed his trail, he described with minuteness as to their number, the kinds of arms they had, and stated the tribes they belonged to. In these strange revelations that he made there was neither imposition nor supposition, for he gave satisfactory reasons for every assertion he made.

"I have rode several hundred miles with an experienced guide and trailer, Hack, whom I interrogated upon many points in the practice of this art. Nearly all tracks I saw, either old or new, as a novice in the art, I questioned him about. In going to the Niobrara River crossed the track of an Indian pony. My guide followed the track a few miles and then said, 'It is a stray, black horse, with a long, bushy tail, nearly starved to death, has a split hoof of the left fore foot, and goes very lame, and he passed here early this morning.' Astonished and incredulous, I asked him the reasons for knowing these particulars by the tracks of the animal, when he replied:

"'It was a stray horse, because it did not go in a direct line; his tail was long, for he dragged it over the snow; in brushing against a bush he left some of his hair which shows its color. He was very hungry, for, in going along, he has nipped at those high, dry weeds, which horses seldom eat. The fissure of the left fore foot left also its track, and the depth of the indentation shows the degree of his lameness; and his tracks show he was here this morning, when the snow was hard with frost.'

"At another place we came across an Indian track, and he said, 'It is an old Yankton who came across the Missouri last evening to look at his traps. In coming over he carried in his right hand a trap, and in his left a lasso to catch a pony which he had lost. He returned without finding the horse, but had caught in the trap he had out a prairie wolf, which he carried home on his back and a bundle of kinikinic wood in his right hand.' Then, he gave his reasons: 'I know he is old, by the impression his gait has made and a Yankton by that of his moccasin. He is from the other side of the river, as there are no Yanktons on this side. The trap he carried struck the snow now and then, and in same manner as when he came, shows that he did not find his pony. A drop of blood in the centre of his tracks shows that he carried the wolf on his back, and the bundle of kinikinic wood he used for a staff for support, and catching a wolf, shows that he had traps out.' But I asked, 'how do you know it is wolf; why not a fox, or a coyote, or even a deer?' Said he: 'If it had been a fox, or coyote or any other small game he would have slipped the head of the animal in his waist belt, and so carried it by his side, and not on his shoulders. Deer are not caught by traps but if it had been a deer, he would not have crossed this high hill, but would have gone back by way of the ravine, and the load would have made his steps still more tottering.'

"Another Indian track which we saw twenty miles west of this he put this serious construction upon: 'He is an upper Indian—a prowling horse thief—carried a double shot gun, and is a rascal that killed some white man lately, and passed here one week ago; for,' said he, 'a lone Indian in these parts is on mischief, and generally on the lookout for horses. He had on the shoes of a white man whom he had in all probability killed, but his steps are those of an Indian. Going through the ravine, the end of his gun hit into the deep snow. A week ago we had a very warm day, and the snow being soft, he made these deep tracks; ever since it has been intensely cold weather, which makes very shallow tracks.' I suggested that perhaps he bought those shoes. 'Indians don't buy shoes, and if they did they would not buy them as large as these were, for Indians have very small feet.'

"The most noted trailer of this country was Paul Daloria, a half breed, who died under my hands of Indian consumption last summer. I have spoken of him in a former letter. At one time I rode with him, and trailing was naturally the subject of our conversation. I begged to trail with him an old track over the prairie, in order to learn its history. I had hardly made the proposition, when he drew up his horse, which was at a ravine, and said, 'Well, here is an old elk track. Let us get off our horses and follow it.' We followed it but a few rods, when he said, it was exactly a month old, and made at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. This he knew, as then we had our last rain, and at the hour named the ground was softer than at any other time. The track before us was then made. He broke up here and there clusters of grass that lay in the path of the track, and showed me the dry ends of some, the stumps of others, and by numerous other similar items accounted for many circumstances that astonished me. We followed the trail over a mile. Now and then we saw that a wolf, a fox, and other animals had practised their trailing instincts on the elk's tracks. Here and there, he would show me where a snake, a rat, and a prairie dog had crossed the track. Nothing had followed or crossed the track that the quick eye of Daloria did not detect. He gave an account of the habits of all the animals that had left their footprints on the track, also of the state of the weather since the elk passed, and the effect of sunshine, winds, aridity, sand storms, and other influences that had a bearing on these tracks."



CHAPTER XXXVII.

The Pursuit and Attack—Two O'clock.

When Kit Carson and the other scouts found the main trail, they eagerly took up the pursuit. They had not gone far when all doubt was removed: they were upon the track of a large hostile body of warriors and were gaining steadily; but so rapid was the flight of the marauders that it was not until the sixth day that the first glimpse of the Indians was obtained. They were encamped on a mountain peak, devoid of trees, and seemingly beyond the reach of danger; but such was the energy of the attack that they reached camp before the Indians could collect their animals and make off. The fight was a hot one for a few minutes during which quite a number of warriors were killed and wounded.

When night came a squad of men hid themselves near the camp, from which the Indians had fled, in the expectation that some of them would steal back during the darkness to learn what had been done. The dismal hours passed until near midnight, when one of the soldiers made the call which the Apaches use to hail each other. The sound had hardly died out, when two squaws and two warriors appeared and began groping silently around in the gloom. The soldiers were cruel enough to fire upon the party, but in the darkness only one was killed.

Dr. Peters states that on the morning of the day when the Apache encampment was discovered Kit Carson, after diligently studying the trail, rode up to Major Carleton and told him that if no accident intervened, the Indians would be overtaken at two o'clock in the afternoon. The officer smiled and said if the Agent proved a genuine prophet, he would present him with the finest hat that could be bought in the United States.

The pursuit continued for hours, and, when the watches in the company showed that it was two o'clock, Carson triumphantly pointed to the mountain peak, far in advance where the Indian encampment was in plain sight. He had hit the truth with mathematical exactness.

Major Carleton kept his promise. To procure such a hat as he felt he had earned, required several months; but one day the Indian Agent at Taos received a superb piece of head gear within which was the following inscription:

AT 2 O'CLOCK.

KIT CARSON, FROM

MAJOR CARLETON.

Dr. Peters adds that a gentleman who was a member of the expedition subjected Carson some years later to a similar test, and he came within five minutes of naming the precise time when a band of fugitives was overtaken.

Having done all that was possible, Major Carleton returned with his command to Taos and Carson resumed his duties as Indian Agent. Some months later, another expedition was organized against the Apaches but it accomplished nothing. In the latter part of the summer Carson started on a visit to the Utahs. They were under his especial charge and he held interviews with them several times a year, they generally visiting him at his ranche, which they were glad to do, as they were sure of being very hospitably treated.

This journey required a horseback ride of two or three hundred miles, a great portion of which was through the Apache country. These Indians were in such a resentful mood towards the whites that they would have been only too glad to wrench the scalp of Father Kit from his crown; but he knew better than to run into any of their traps. He was continually on the lookout, and more than once detected their wandering bands in time to give them the slip. He was equally vigilant and consequently equally fortunate on his return.

Carson found when he met the Indians in council that they had good cause for discontent. One of their leading warriors had been waylaid and murdered by a small party of Mexicans. The officials who were with Carson promised that the murderers should be given up. It was the intention of all that justice should be done, but, as was too often the case, it miscarried altogether. Only one of the murderers was caught and he managed to escape and was never apprehended again.

To make matters worse, some of the blankets which the Superintendent had presented the Indians a short while before, proved to be infected with small pox and the dreadful disease carried off many of the leading warriors of the tribe. More than one Apache was resolute in declaring the proceeding premeditated on the part of the whites. The result was the breaking out of a most formidable Indian war. The Muache band of Utahs, under their most distinguished chieftain, joined the Apaches in waylaying and murdering travellers, attacking settlements and making off with the prisoners, besides capturing hundreds and thousands of cattle, sheep, mules and horses. For a time they overran a large portion of the territory of New Mexico. Matters at last reached such a pass, that unless the savages were checked, they would annihilate all the whites.

The Governor issued a call for volunteers. The response was prompt, and five hundred men were speedily equipped and put into the field. They were placed under charge of Colonel T. T. Fauntleroy, of the First Regiment of United States Dragoons. He engaged Kit Carson as his chief guide.

The campaign was pushed with all possible vigor, but for a time nothing important was done. The weather became intensely cold. On the second campaign, Colonel Fauntleroy surprised the main camp of the enemy and inflicted great slaughter. A severe blow was administered, but the reader knows that the peace which followed proved only temporary. The Apaches have been a thorn in our side for many years. General Crook has shown great tact, bravery and rare skill in his dealings with them and probably has brought about the most genuine peace that has been known for a generation.

It would not be worth while to follow Kit Carson on his round of duties as Indian Agent. He had to deal with the most turbulent tribes on the continent, and enough has been told to prove his peerless sagacity in solving the most difficult questions brought before him. He rode thousands of miles, visiting remote points, conferred with the leading hostiles, risked his life times without number, and was often absent from home for weeks and months. While it was beyond the attainment of human endeavor for him to make an end of wars on the frontiers, yet he averted many and did a degree of good which is beyond all calculation.

"I was in the insignificant settlement of Denver, in the autumn of 1860," said A. L. Worthington, "when a party of Arapahoes, Cheyennes and Comanches returned from an expedition against the tribe of mountain Indians know as the Utes. The allied forces were most beautifully whipped and were compelled to leave the mountains in the greatest hurry for their lives. They brought into Denver one squaw and her half dozen children as prisoners. The little barbarians, when the other youngsters came too near or molested them, would fight like young wild cats. The intention of the captors, as I learned, was to torture the squaw and her children to death. Before the arrangements were completed, Kit Carson rode to the spot and dismounted. He had a brief, earnest talk with the warriors. He did not mean to permit the cruel death that was contemplated, but instead of demanding the surrender of the captives, he ransomed them all, paying ten dollars a piece. After they were given up, he made sure that they were returned to their tribe in the mountains."

This anecdote may serve as an illustration of scores of similar duties in which the agent was engaged. It was during the same year that Carson received an injury which was the cause of his death. He was descending a mountain, so steep that he led his horse by a lariat, intending, if the animal fell, to let go of it in time to prevent being injured. The steed did fall and though Carson threw the lariat from him, he was caught by it, dragged some distance and severely injured.

When the late Civil War broke out and most of our troops were withdrawn from the mountains and plains, Carson applied to President Lincoln for permission to raise a regiment of volunteers in New Mexico, for the purpose of protecting our settlements there. Permission was given, the regiment raised and the famous mountaineer did good service with his soldiers. On one occasion he took 9,000 Navajo prisoners with less than 600 men.

At the close of the war, he was ordered to Fort Garland, where he assumed command of a large region. He was Brevet Brigadier General and retained command of a battalion of New Mexico volunteers.

Carson did not suffer immediately from his injury, but he found in time that a grave internal disturbance had been caused by his fall. In the spring of 1868, he accompanied a party of Ute Indians to Washington. He was then failing fast and consulted a number of leading physicians and surgeons. His disease was aneurism of the aorta which progressed fast. When his end was nigh, his wife suddenly died, leaving seven children, the youngest only a few weeks old. His affliction had a very depressing effect on Carson, who expired May 23, 1868.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Letter from General W. T. Sherman, and from General J. F. Rusling.

In closing the life of Kit Carson, it will be appropriate to add two letters, which were furnished at our request:

912 GARRISON AVENUE, ST. LOUIS, MO., JUNE 25, 1884.

"Kit Carson first came into public notice by Fremont's Reports of the Exploration of the Great West about 1842-3. You will find mention of Kit Carson in my memoirs, vol. I, p. 46, 47, as bringing to us the first overland mail to California in his saddle bags. I saw but little of him afterwards till after the Civil War, when, in 1866, I was the Lieutenant General commanding the Military Division of the Missouri, with headquarters in St. Louis, and made a tour of my command, including what are now Wyoming, Colorado and New Mexico. Reaching Fort Garland, New Mexico, in September of October, 1866, I found it garrisoned by some companies of New Mexico Volunteers, of which Carson was Colonel or commanding officer. I stayed with him some days, during which we had a sort of council with the Ute Indians, of which the chief Ouray was the principal feature, and over whom Carson exercised a powerful influence.

"Carson then had his family with him—wife and half a dozen children, boys and girls as wild and untrained as a brood of Mexican mustangs. One day these children ran through the room in which we were seated, half clad and boisterous, and I inquired, 'Kit, what are you doing about your children?'

"He replied: 'That is a source of great anxiety; I myself had no education,' (he could not even write, his wife always signing his name to his official reports). 'I value education as much as any man, but I have never had the advantage of schools, and now that I am getting old and infirm, I fear I have not done right by my children.'

"I explained to him that the Catholic College, at South Bend, Indiana, had, for some reason, given me a scholarship for twenty years, and that I would divide with him—that is let him send two of his boys for five years each. He seemed very grateful and said he would think of it.

"My recollection is that his regiment was mustered out of service that winter, 1866-7, and that the following summer, 1867, he (Carson) went to Washington on some business for the Utes, and on his return toward New Mexico, he stopped at Fort Lyon, on the upper Arkansas, where he died. His wife died soon after at Taos, New Mexico, and the children fell to the care of a brother in law, Mr. Boggs, who had a large ranche on the Purgation near Fort Lyon. It was reported of Carson, when notified that death was impending, that he said, 'Send William, (his eldest son) to General Sherman who has promised to educate him.' Accordingly, some time about the spring of 1868, there came to my house, in St. Louis, a stout boy with a revolver, Life of Kit Carson by Dr. Peters, United States Army, about $40 in money, and a letter from Boggs, saying that in compliance with the request of Kit Carson, on his death bed, he had sent William Carson to me. Allowing him a few days of vacation with my own children, I sent him to the college at South Bend, Ind., with a letter of explanation, and making myself responsible for his expenses. He was regularly entered in one of the classes, and reported to me regularly. I found the 'Scholarship' amounted to what is known as 'tuition,' but for three years I paid all his expenses of board, clothing, books, &c., amounting to about $300 a year. At the end of that time, the Priest reported to me that Carson was a good natured boy, willing enough, but that he had no taste or appetite for learning. His letters to me confirmed this conclusion, as he could not possibly spell. After reflection, I concluded to send him to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to the care of General Langdon C. Easton, United States Quartermaster, with instructions to employ him in some capacity in which he could earn his board and clothing, and to get some officer of the garrison to teach him just what was necessary for a Lieutenant of Cavalry. Lieutenant Beard, adjutant of the Fifth Infantry did this. He (William Carson) was employed, as a 'Messenger,' and, as he approached his twenty-first year, under the tuition of Lieutenant Beard, he made good progress. Meantime I was promoted to General in Chief at Washington, and about 1870, when Carson had become twenty-one years of age, I applied in person to the President, General Grant, to give the son of Kit Carson, the appointment of Second Lieutenant Ninth United States Cavalry, telling him somewhat of the foregoing details. General Grant promptly ordered the appointment to issue, subject to the examination as to educational qualifications, required by the law. The usual board of officers was appointed at Fort Leavenworth and Carson was ordered before it. After careful examination, the board found him deficient in reading, writing and arithmetic. Of course he could not be commissioned. I had given him four years of my guardianship, about $1,000 of my own money, and the benefit of my influence, all in vain. By nature, he was not adapted to 'modern uses.' I accordingly wrote him that I had exhausted my ability to provide for him, and advised him to return to his uncle Boggs on the Purgation to assist him in his cattle and sheep ranche.

"I heard from him by letter once or twice afterward, in one of which he asked me to procure for him the agency for the Utes. On inquiry at the proper office in Washington, I found that another person had secured the place of which I notified him, and though of late years I have often been on the Purgation, and in the Ute country, I could learn nothing of the other children of Kit Carson, or of William, who for four years was a sort of ward to me.

"Since the building of railroads in that region, the whole character of its population is changed, and were Kit Carson to arise from his grave, he could not find a buffalo, elk or deer, where he used to see millions. He could not even recognize the country with which he used to be so familiar, or find his own children, whom he loved, and for whose welfare he felt so solicitous in his later days.

"Kit Carson was a good type of a class of men most useful in their day, but now as antiquated as Jason of the Golden Fleece, Ulysses of Troy, the Chevalier La Salle of the Lakes, Daniel Boone of Kentucky, Irvin Bridger and Jim Beckwith of the Rockies, all belonging to the dead past.

"Yours Truly,

"W. T. SHERMAN."

"TRENTON, N. J., June 23, 1884.

"In accordance with your request to give my recollections of Kit Carson, I would say that I met and spent several days with him in September, 1866, at and near Fort Garland, Colorado, on the headwaters of the Rio Grande. I was then Brevet Brigadier General and Inspector United States Volunteers, on a tour of inspection of the military depots and posts in that region and across to the Pacific. General Sherman happened there at the same time, on like duty as to his Military Division, and our joint talks, as a rule, extended far into the night and over many subjects. 'Kit' was then Brevet Brigadier General United States Volunteers, and in command of Fort Garland, and a wide region thereabouts—mostly Indian—which he knew thoroughly. Fort Garland was a typical frontier post, composed of log huts chinked with mud, rough but comfortable, and in one of these Kit then lived with his Mexican wife and several half breed children.

"He was then a man apparently about fifty years of age. From what I had read about him, I had expected to see a small, wiry man, weather-beaten and reticent; but found him to be a medium sized, rather stoutish, and quite talkative person instead. His hair was already well-silvered, but his face full and florid. You would scarcely regard him, at first sight, as a very noticeable man, except as having a well knit frame and full, deep chest. But on observing him more closely, you were struck with the breadth and openness of his brow, bespeaking more than ordinary intelligence and courage; with his quick, blue eye, that caught everything at a glance apparently—an eye beaming with kindliness and benevolence, but that could blaze with anger when aroused; and with his full, square jaw and chin, that evidently could shut as tight as Sherman's or Grant's when necessary. With nothing of the swashbuckler or Buffalo Bill—of the border ruffian or the cowboy—about him, his manners were as gentle, and his voice as soft and sympathetic, as a woman's. What impressed one most about his face was its rare kindliness and charity—that here, at last, was a natural gentleman, simple as a child but brave as a lion. He soon took our hearts by storm, and the more we saw of him the more we became impressed with his true manliness and worth. Like everybody else on the border, he smoked freely, and at one time drank considerably; but he had quit drinking years before, and said he owed his excellent health and preeminence, if he had any, to his habits of almost total abstinence. In conversation he was slow and hesitating at first, approaching almost to bashfulness, often seemingly at a loss for words; but, as he warmed up, this disappeared, and you soon found him talking glibly, and with his hands and fingers as well—rapidly gesticulating—Indian fashion. He was very conscientious, and in all our talks would frequently say: 'Now, stop gentlemen! Is this right?' 'Ought we to do this?' 'Can we do that?' 'Is this like human nature?' or words to this effect, as if it was the habit of his mind to test everything by the moral law. I think that was the predominating feature of his character—his perfect honesty and truthfulness—quite as much as his matchless coolness and courage. Said Sherman to me one day while there: 'His integrity is simply perfect. The red skins know it, and would trust Kit any day before they would us, or the President, either!' And Kit well returned their confidence, by being their steadfast, unswerving friend and ready champion.

"He talked freely of his past life, unconscious of its extraordinary character. Born in Kentucky, he said, he early took to the plains and mountains, and joined the hunters and trappers, when he was so young he could not set a trap. When he became older, he turned trapper himself, and trapped all over our territories for beaver, otter, etc., from the Missouri to the Pacific, and from British America to Mexico. Next he passed into Government employ, as an Indian scout and guide, and as such piloted Fremont and others all over the Plains and through the Rocky and Sierra Nevada Mountains. Fremont, in his reports, surrounded Kit's name with a romantic valor, but he seems to have deserved it all, and more. His good sense, his large experience, and unfaltering courage, were invaluable to Fremont, and it is said about the only time the Pathfinder went seriously astray among the Mountains was when he disregarded his (Kit's) advice, and endeavored to force a passage through the Rockies northwest of Fort Garland. Kit told him the mountains could not be crossed at that time of the year; and, when Fremont nevertheless insisted on proceeding, he resigned as guide. The Pathfinder, however, went stubbornly forward, but got caught in terrible snowstorms, and presently returned—half of his men and animals having perished outright from cold and hunger. Next Kit became United States Indian Agent, and made one of the best we ever had. Familiar with the language and customs of the Indians, he frequently spent months together among them without seeing a white man, and indeed became a sort of half Indian himself. In talking with us, I noticed he frequently hesitated for the right English word; but when speaking bastard Spanish (Mexican) or Indian, with the Ute Indians there, he was as fluent as a native. Both Mexican and Indian, however, are largely pantomime, abounding in perpetual grimace and gesture, which may have helped him along somewhat. Next, when the rebellion broke out, he became a Union soldier, though the border was largely Confederate. He tendered his services to Mr. Lincoln, who at once commissioned him Colonel, and told him to take care of the frontier, as the regulars there had to come East to fight Jeff Davis. Kit straightway proceeded to raise the First Regiment of New Mexico Volunteers, in which he had little difficulty, as the New Mexicans knew him well, and had the utmost confidence in him. With these, during the war, he was busy fighting hostile Indians, and keeping others friendly, and in his famous campaign against the Navajos, in New Mexico, with only six hundred frontier volunteers captured some nine thousand prisoners. The Indians withdrew into a wild canyon, where no white man, it was said, had ever penetrated, and believed to be impregnable. But Kit pursued them from either end, and attacked them with pure Indian strategy and tactics; and the Navajos finding themselves thus surrounded, and their supplies cut off, outwitted by a keener fighter than themselves, surrendered at discretion. Then he did not slaughter them, but marched them to a goodly reservation, and put them to work herding and planting, and they had continued peaceable ever since.

"Kit seemed thoroughly familiar with Indian life and character, and it must be conceded, that no American of his time knew our aborigines better—if any so well. It must be set down to their credit, that he was their stout friend—no Boston philanthropist more so. He did not hesitate to say, that all our Indian troubles were caused originally by bad white men, if the truth were known, and was terribly severe on the brutalities and barbarities of the border. He said the Indians were very different from what they used to be, and were yearly becoming more so from contact with border ruffians and cowboys. He said he had lived for years among them with only occasional visits to the settlements, and he had never known an Indian to injure a Pale Face, where he did not deserve it; on the other hand, he had seen an Indian kill his brother even for insulting a white man in the old times. He insisted that Indians never commit outrages unless they are first provoked to them by the borderers, and that many of the peculiar and special atrocities with which they are charged are only their imitation of the bad acts of wicked white men. He pleaded for the Indians, as 'pore ignorant critters, who had no learnin', and didn't know no better,' whom we were daily robbing of their hunting grounds and homes, and solemnly asked: 'What der yer 'spose our Heavenly Father, who made both them and us, thinks of these things?' He was particularly severe upon Col. Chivington and the Sand Creek massacre of 1864, which was still fresh in the public mind, said he; 'jist to think of that dog Chivington, and his dirty hounds, up thar at Sand Creek! Whoever heerd of sich doings 'mong Christians!'

"'The pore Indians had the Stars and Stripes flying over them, our old flag thar, and they'd bin told down to Denver, that so long as they kept that flying they'd be safe enough. Well, then, one day along comes that durned Chivington and his cusses. They'd bin out several day's huntin' Hostiles, and couldn't find none nowhar, and if they had, they'd have skedaddled from 'em, you bet! So they jist lit upon these Friendlies, and massacreed 'em—yes, sir, literally massacreed 'em—in cold blood, in spite of our flag thar—yes, women and little children, even! Why, Senator Foster told me with his own lips (and him and his Committee come out yer from Washington, you know, and investigated this muss), that that thar durned miscreant and his men shot down squaws, and blew the brains out of little innocent children—pistoled little papooses in the arms of their dead mothers, and even worse than this!—them durned devils! and you call sich soldiers Christians, do ye? and pore Indians savages!'

"'I tell you what, friends; I don't like a hostile Red Skin any more than you do. And when they are hostile, I've fit 'em—fout 'em—and expect to fight 'em—hard as any man. That's my business. But I never yit drew a bead on a squaw or papoose, and I despise the man who would. 'Taint nateral for men to kill women and pore little children, and none but a coward or a dog would do it. Of course when we white men do sich awful things, why these pore ignorant critters don't know no better than to foller suit. Pore things! Pore things! I've seen as much of 'em as any man livin', and I can't help but pity 'em, right or wrong! They once owned all this country, yes, Plains and Mountains, buffalo and everything, but now they own next door to nuthin, and will soon be gone.'

"Alas, poor Kit! He has already 'gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds.' But the Indians had no truer friend, and Kit Carson would wish no prouder epitaph than this. In talking thus he would frequently get his grammar wrong, and his language was only the patois of the Border; but there was an eloquence in his eye, and a pathos in his voice, that would have touched a heart of stone, and a genuine manliness about him at all times, that would have won him hosts of friends anywhere. And so, Kit Carson, good friend, brave heart, generous soul, hail and farewell!

"Hoping these rough recollections may serve your purpose, I remain

"Very respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,

"JAMES F. RUSLING."

The following tribute to the matchless scout, hunter and guide is from the Salt Lake Tribune:

He wrote his own biography and left it where the edition will never grow dim. The alphabet he used was made of the rivers, the plains, the forests, and the eternal heights. He started in his youth with his face to the West; started toward where no trails had been blazed, where there was naught to meet him but the wilderness, the wild beast, and the still more savage man. He made his lonely camps by the rivers, and now it is a fiction with those who sleep on the same grounds that the waters in their flow murmur the great pathfinder's name. He followed the water courses to their sources, and guided by them, learned where the mountains bent their crests to make possible highways for the feet of men. He climbed the mountains and "disputed with the eagles of the crags" for points of observation; he met the wild beast and subdued him; he met the savage of the plains and of the hills, and, in his own person, gave him notice of his sovereignty in skill, in cunning and in courage. To the red man he was the voice of fate. In him they saw a materialized foreboding of their destiny. To them he was a voice crying the coming of a race against which they could not prevail; before which they were to be swept away.

THE END