Well mounted and armed, rode away Kit and Godey and Fuentes the Mexican. Now was it mid-afternoon; the company remained in camp at the Agua de Tomaso, to await their return.
There was little talk save upon the one topic: the venture of the two knights errant and their eager companion.
In the dusk of evening a single figure was seen, returning from the direction wherein three had ridden. He came on slowly. The camp was alarmed. It was Fuentes, who explained that his horse had failed, but that Kit Carson and Godey were sticking to the trail.
The night passed; the morning passed, and the sun crossed the zenith to afternoon. The lieutenant fidgeted, ill at ease, for Kit and Godey did not reappear.
“They’ll come, captain, but they’ll find those Injuns first,” assured Thomas Fitzpatrick. “I know Kit and I know Godey. They’ll run that trail to the end. Kit never quits when once he has started.”
Scarcely had he spoken, when shrill and clear pierced the hot air a faint, distant halloo—a long, high, quavering whoop, drifting in from the black ridge to the north.
“A scalp halloo, or I’m an Injun myself!” exclaimed Fitzpatrick. “There’s Kit and Godey, with good news, I’ll wager.”
Again rose the scalp halloo. All eyes were fastened upon the ridge which closed the vista in that direction. Presently out from around a shoulder concealing a little pass emerged a jostling bunch of horses; two riders were driving; at rapid trot and lope they crossed the little strip of plain, for the camp.
“Kit and Godey! I told you!” cried Thomas Fitzpatrick. “Look at the hosses?”
“The very horses! Those are they—I recognize them; don’t you, Pablo?” claimed Fuentes, jubilantly; and he added, now mournful: “But I see only the two persons—the same who went. Ay de mi!”