In the Rockies with Kit Carson

After making sure that the bears were not returning, Kit Carson shouldered his rifle and made his way back to camp through the gathering dusk. It was dark when he reached there, and this made it unadvisable to take a packhorse after the carcass of the elk; so the trappers had to be content with rather short commons until the next day, when their rifles came into play and meat was had for the larder.

Joined by a trapping party under Bridger, Kit went to the rendezvous of the Rocky Mountain trappers on Green River. There were about two hundred men in this big camp, which was for the purpose of selling their furs and buying supplies. The trading being done, Kit joined a trapping company journeying into the Blackfoot country at the head of the Missouri River. But the redskins made such determined and persistent attacks that the party was forced to retire from their country.

They fell back to the Big Snake River, where they wintered. But the Blackfeet still held the trail; in a desperate battle with this dangerous tribe Kit was seriously wounded in saving the life of a comrade named Markhead; in this fight the savages received a terrible beating.

The spring season was a most fortunate one; beaver was very plentiful and their taking of the fur was rich. Kit’s wound got well rapidly, thanks to his strong constitution, and he was soon able to set his traps with the rest of them.

The long journeys through the wilderness to Taos and Santa Fé were too great a strain upon both horses and men; the dangers of the journey were too grave to be undertaken several times a year; and so the big trading camp on Green River grew very popular with the trappers. So, the season being over, the different companies all headed toward this station; the one which Kit Carson was with among them.

As the ponies pranced along the long street of the camp, and the pack animals moved more soberly under their burden of furs, the bronzed trappers waved their coonskin caps and shouted joyously to friends whom they recognized by the way. This great fair of the Rocky Mountain trappers occupied quite a beautiful site; circling it were the giant hills, crowned with mighty forests; the huts of the trappers and traders were built among the trees; some were after the fashion of Indian lodges, others were of bark and poles and sod. But the traders had structures of hewn logs to hold their stores.

Kit rode through the camp, speaking to his friends among those who came forward to greet the newcomers. He was dismounting when there came a rush of feet and he was seized by two pairs of strong arms. Two enthusiastic voices cried, joyfully:

“Here you are, at last!”

“We’ve been waiting for you a whole month!”

“I knew you’d come, Kit!”

“We’re back again; and we’ve got news!”

The young trapper wriggled out of the clutch of his assailants; and one look showed him that they were Dave Johnson and Joe Frazier.

Gripping their hands in welcome, he cried:

“Why, lads, this is a surprise, sure enough! I never expected to see you so soon.”

“We came back with the same party we went out with,” said Dave. “We heard at Taos that you were out in this region and that you would probably put in the summer at this trading camp. So there was a chance with a trader helping with the packhorses, and we jumped at it.”

“How did you find your father?” asked Kit of Joe.

“I never saw him looking better,” replied the boy. “But come over to our place; we’ve got a shanty big enough for the three of us. And hurry! We left a pair of prairie chickens roasting over the fire; and we’re to have flap-jacks and coffee.”

Dave hurried to their hut, which was in a shaded place on the edge of the camp, to see to the chickens; Joe and the trapper followed at a slower pace. The two lads helped to unsaddle the mustang, and Joe picketed him where the grass was rich and thick. Then they all sat down and watched the fowls brown on the spit and the coffee-pot send up its jet of steam.

“Your father wasn’t against your leaving him again, then?” said Kit.

“Father has gone back home,” said Joe. Then seeing the trapper’s astonishment, he added: “You see, while he was at San Gabriel he learned quite a lot of things. One of them was that even if we did recover the map and find the place it indicated, we’d hardly be permitted to wash the gold. The Mexican government and population are afraid that the Americans will some day overrun California; and so they do everything they can to discourage them, hoping to keep them away. So father thought there was no use remaining and neglecting his business at home.”

“But how does it come that you two were left behind?” asked Kit.

“Well,” laughed Dave, “we objected to going back so strongly and made such a general fuss that uncle made up his mind that he’d let us have another try. He took an American ship which sailed from San Francisco and will land him in New York. If we have no success, we are to follow next season.”

“I see,” said Kit. There was a pause, then he asked: “But the news you spoke of? What is it? Did you find something out, among the missions?”

“Not a word,” said Dave, “and we spent a couple of months prowling around among them. But,” and here he lowered his voice, “on our way here with the trading party we stumbled upon something—as real a piece of news as you could wish for.”

“Good,” said Kit, his gray eyes snapping, “and what is it?”

“There was a French Canadian named Shunan with the train, a big man, very quarrelsome and ready with his weapons.”

“I know him,” nodded Kit. “He’s a trapper, and,” in a puzzled tone, “I don’t see what he was doing with the traders.”

“He was making for this fair,” said Joe. “He had been to the settlements on a sort of mission.”

“A mission!” said Kit.

Both boys nodded.

“He’s quite loose with his tongue,” said Dave, “and we got the whole thing, bit by bit, at night by the fire. He’d talk to the men, you see, boasting of what he’s done and meant to do. He’d been sent in to Santa Fé to look about and ask questions. The person who sent him was away in the Blackfoot country, afraid to venture into civilization himself.”

Instantly Kit Carson’s quick mind grasped the situation.

“Moccasin Williams!” he cried.

“Right! And the person he was inquiring about was Lopez, the half-breed.”

“Asking if he was in Santa Fé, or in the region round about?”

“Yes; and he found, as we did, that the half-breed was away north, also in the Blackfoot country. This seemed to amuse him. Williams feared to go back to Taos or Santa Fé; he feared to go to California; for there he might meet Lopez.”

“According to what the Frenchman said, Williams is in mortal dread of the knife of the man he robbed,” said Joe.

“And instead of being safe in the place he selected for hiding, he is really in great danger, with Lopez searching for him, as Shunan heard, from one Indian village to another. It would have been much better if he had returned, or had gone to California.”

“Much better for him, perhaps,” said Kit, grimly. Then his expression changed and he added: “Well, it’s good news enough, lads; and we’ll see what can be done with it. The map is still in the hands of Williams; if it were not he’d not be so anxious to get to California. And so, if nothing else, it shows us that we still have him to look for. You were in luck to meet this man, Shunan.”

At this the trapper noted the faces of the boys change in expression.

“I don’t just know about that,” said Dave.

“We were lucky, in a way,” admitted Joe; “but in another way we were not so much so.”

“Something’s happened,” said Kit.

Dave and Joe nodded.

“Somehow,” said the former, “Shunan got to know of our interest in what he said in his boasting. It may be that he had heard of us, and, now that we’d got his attention, he’d placed us for the first time. Ever since then he’s been trying to get up some sort of a quarrel with us.”

“Ah!” said Kit Carson.

He sat looking at the boys steadfastly; and they saw a dangerous, narrowing light in his gray eyes.

“I know Shunan,” said he. “I’ve known him for some time; and as you said when you first mentioned him, he’s quarrelsome and ready with his weapons. For him to try and pick a fight with a man means only one thing—and that’s a deadly one.”

The prairie chickens were done, the flap-jacks nicely browned and the coffee piping hot when old Zeke Matthews came along. Immediately the boys sprang up and greeted him; he was invited to join them and did so with alacrity.

“Roasted birds we get out in the trapping country,” said he. “But flap-jacks seldom, coffee seldomer, and coffee with reg’lar sugar in it, never at all.”

And as Zeke ate of these delicacies, Kit told him of Shunan’s desire to quarrel with the boys, though he did not mention the reason for it. The veteran was indignant.

“What!” demanded he. “Can’t he find no one but a passel of youngsters to fight with. Well, all I got to say is, let him look out for himself!”

Released from the restraint of the wilderness where they were ever on the lookout for attacks of savage beasts or savage men, the trappers relaxed; the trading camp was a hubbub of sounds. Songs, the squeak of a fiddle, blustering talk and high pitched contention grew constant as each night passed and the day began.

During one afternoon there was a turmoil at one end of the camp, a clash of fists and the sight of bloody faces. Later there was still another outbreak of the same sort. Then little by little the thing increased until the camp roared steadily with strife.

“It’s all Shunan,” said a trader to old Zeke. “Fellows like that make more trouble than a tribe of thieving Indians.”

Once or twice during the day Kit Carson caught sight of Shunan. He was a burly fellow with the air of a bravo; his face was flushed and his eyes gleamed with menace.

“A wolf,” said Kit to the boys. “So, to avoid trouble and keep the peace, lay low. If you can avoid it, don’t let him see you.”

Both Dave Johnson and Joe Frazier were naturally boys of spirit; and their two years in the wilderness with the trappers had given them a confidence in themselves which they might not have had otherwise. So the idea of concealment, of practically hiding from a bully, was galling to them.

Kit saw this and said:

“Your keeping out of his way won’t be a mark against you boys. Nobody’ll think the worse of you for it, for more seasoned men than either of you will be for many years are dodging this man just now. So take my advice. Lay low. I don’t think it will make any real difference in the end,” as an afterthought, “for if he wants to force trouble on you, he will. But, when the time comes, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that it’s not your fault.”

The lads acted upon this suggestion; and the result was that some time went by without the bully encountering them. But his purpose was plain enough; frequently he came to that part of the camp where the boys’ hut was located, and his remarks when any one happened to be in the vicinity were brutal and offensive. Kit Carson, Zeke Matthews and some others had erected lodges near that of the lads; and they frequently listened to the bully’s boasts and threats and insults without a sign.

But finally the thing grew unbearable.

“Human nature,” said the veteran, Zeke, “can’t stand no more. He’s getting worse. He thinks we’re afraid of him. Let him talk like that just once more, and my rifle’ll answer him.”

At length the day came which brought the climax. The bully had kept the camp in hot water all morning; he had engaged in a half dozen fights with men weaker than himself, and beaten them; and so he came, roaring like a mountain bear, toward the spot where Kit sat with his friends. As it happened the two lads were in the party. Both looked up at the Frenchman from where they lay stretched upon the ground; and neither made an attempt to avoid him.

He had grown accustomed to their dodging him; and now that they failed to move it seemed to inflame him more than ever.

“It’s a camp full of coyotes,” announced he, squaring himself before them all. “Every one runs when a man comes along.”

There was an ominous silence on the part of the trappers; and he proceeded:

“Did you hear me speak?” he demanded. “Did you hear me mention coyotes? Where’s the Indian fighters that I’ve heard about? Where are they? Did they ever fight a white man? Well, here’s their chance, if they’ve got the stomachs to take it up. Here’s a man that’s willing to give them a chance to make a reputation.”

The silence of the group was still unbroken and the bully’s sneering look ran around the circle.

“All Americans, eh? Every one an American! Well, I’ve beaten all the Frenchmen in the camp; and as for the Americans, I’ll cut a stick some day and switch them around their own lodges.”

Again his sneering glance went over them; then he shrugged his huge shoulders contemptuously, turned and started away. But he had gone hardly half a dozen steps when a voice called sharply:

“Shunan!”

The man halted and wheeled. Kit Carson stood facing him. The difference in the two was very great. The Frenchman was a Hercules; a towering man, with a great chest and massive limbs; the American trapper was small and quiet in manner and seemed in no way a match for him.

But Kit Carson was never a man to stand back because the odds were not in his favor; so he advanced toward the camp bully.

“Shunan,” said he, coolly, his gray eyes fixed steadfastly upon the man before him, “we’ve all listened to you talk for some time; and we’ve said nothing. There are twenty men in this camp who could beat you in any kind of fighting you could name. But they are not trouble seekers; and so they’ve stood back. Now, I consider myself the least among them; and being such I take it on myself to say that we are all tired of you and your bullying. And, further, I want to say that you will, from this time on, stop your threats, or I’ll shoot you.”

For a moment the Frenchman stood staring at the speaker, his eyes glowing with fury; then he turned again without a word toward his own quarters.

“Gone for his gun,” said old Zeke. “And from his looks he means business.”

The group of trappers broke up immediately; sharp action was in the air, and to meet this their experience told them to be prepared. But, seeing, from their faces, what they meant to do, Kit shook his head negatively.

“This is my affair, boys,” he said. “So I must ask you all to stand aside while I go through with it.”

“But he’s got friends in camp,” protested old Zeke. “They’ll all be out to see him through.”

“If they interfere,” said Kit, “then I rely on you to see me through. But I don’t think they will. Shunan has had the run of this camp too long to think he needs help in a little matter like this. It’ll be a matter of pride with him; and you’ll see, he’ll handle it alone.”

Like lightning the news of the impending conflict ran through the camp. The trappers and traders carefully drew out of what they thought would be the line of fire, or placed themselves behind trees or the heavy log houses.

The boys went after Kit and found him tightening his saddle-girth, a little distance from his lodge.

“By all rights,” said Dave Johnson, “this fight should be mine or Joe’s. We brought the man down this way; he was always looking for us when he came. And now that trouble has come of it, I don’t see why you should shoulder it.”

Kit slapped him on the back and laughed.

“The whole thing is a public one,” said he. “The man has come to be a nuisance and a danger, and so a stop of some sort must be put to him. We have no law in the wilderness, nor law officers. But we know what we want, and somebody always comes forward to put a thing right. In this case it is Kit Carson.”

Having saddled his pony to his satisfaction, he took out a heavy dragoon pistol and looked at its priming with much care. This he placed in his belt, then swung himself into the saddle. And as Kit rode out from the line of the lodges, the sound of hoofs came to him. His quick eye turned in the direction of the sound; and he saw the Frenchman mounted on a powerful horse, a rifle in his hands, riding toward him.