“At night we entered the mountains, but as you know there is a moon enough, and we followed the trail clear till midnight. We rode hard, my friends, for we are two mountain-men, and not afraid of these dogs of Pah-Utes, who eat horses and lizards. Then in a black gulch we must stop. Here the moon, being low, did not shine, and the trail was faint among the rocks. We must dismount, and upon hands and knees feel for it. By the sign we knew that the savages were only a few hours in advance of us. They had not eaten, and soon they would wish to taste horse. That is the use to which these desert Indians put the horse and the mule: they eat him, they do not ride him. So lest we lose the trail altogether we tied our horses, and without fire, that we should not be spied upon, in our saddle-blankets we slept upon the cold rocks until daylight. Now might we make a very small fire, of the dried sage, which gave off no smoke, by which we warmed our hands and cooked breakfast. Through the gulch we rode, and after about two miles we sighted the rascally savages. There were four lodges of them, down in a bottom between bare hills. They thought that no one had pursued them, and that they were secure; for their horses were grazing without guard, and they themselves, about thirty in number, were feasting on horse, boiled and roasted. We could see the kettles and the steaks. Ma foi, my friends, but they were making very merry. Kit and I, we tied our horses below a ridge, and crept down for the horse-herd. By throwing stones and twigs at them we would edge them away, slowly, until we might stampede them. We were doing well, when, name of a dog! A fool of a young horse saw us on all fours, and up went his heels and how he snorted! That was enough. The Indians sprang to their arms. ‘Come!’ said Kit. ‘At them before they have any time!’ So down we charged, we two, yelling, and as bold as if we were two hundred. ‘Crack!’ spoke our rifles; but hein—one Indian fell; only one. ‘Scalp for me!’ I claimed. ‘I count coup on that fellow,’ claimed Kit. Pshaw! We had both shot at the same! No matter. I reloaded first, and at the crack I wiped out another. By this time arrows were whizzing around us, from those long, stout bows; one passed through my shirt-collar. Here—see? But the savages had enough; away they scampered, climbing the hills, and hiding in the rocks. They left a boy, and the two dead men. These two we scalped—when, horrible, the one who was shot twice, through and through, jumped up, howling. Wagh! I hope never to see another such a sight! When he howled, and before we could do what we must do, an old squaw, climbing the hill, stopped and looked back and shook her fist at us and cursed us. Maybe she was the dead man’s mother; who knows? Now we were in possession of the camp, which was cleverly hidden in a little bottom or draw, with a good spring. Four or five of the horses had been killed, for a big feast; they were cut up, all ready to fill the pots again. Many more Indians were expected; the pots, and baskets of fifty or sixty moccasins showed this. As for the boy, when he found that he was not to die immediately at our hands, he sat down and gnawed at a horse-head. Ma foi! What lack of feeling! Well, my friends, we destroyed the camp, and left there the boy, eating his horse-head, and collecting the horses we took the back trail.”
“Bravo! Good!” congratulated the company.
“You saw nothing of the Mexican prisoners?” queried the lieutenant.
Godey shook his head.
“No, captain. There was no sign. We think that they must be with the other party of the savages or else——” and Godey shrugged his shoulders, significantly.
The lieutenant spoke to Fuentes, informing him. And Fuentes, and Pablo the lad, having shaken the hands of Kit and of Godey, thanking them for the scout, enveloped themselves in their serapes, apart. Sorrow sat heavy upon them. What were the horses, as compared with wife, and father and mother, and friend?
Oliver overheard the lieutenant talking with Theodore Talbot, the Washington tenderfoot who had won veteran’s service-stripes.
“There you see an example of mountain-man work, Talbot,” was saying the lieutenant. “That’s the spirit beyond the western frontier. Here we have two men trailing Indians—a wily foe—fifty miles through an unknown country; attacking their camp, which showed four lodges, each lodge presumed to mean five to eight or more persons; driving the Indians out, and returning, with the horses, fifty miles again; all in thirty hours. And why? Not only for general good, but to avenge the wrongs suffered by Mexicans who also were strangers. I tell you, Talbot, you’ll never meet with a bolder, finer deed of arms. And who performed it? Kit Carson, of Kentucky parentage and Missouri breeding, and Alexander Godey, St. Louis Frenchman: Americans, both.”