Carson shook his head.
“Nope,” he said; “in the sixteen years the only settlements I’ve seen air trading posts o’ plains an’ mountains, an’ Touse an’ Santy Fee. I war a boy when in fall o’ Twenty-six I left home. Ought to have gone back, but didn’t. They say now Missouri’s grown a heap, an’ I won’t know Franklin town, an’ thar’s so many other towns I’ll be lost.”
“Independence air the outfit point o’ the Santy Fee caravans, now,” observed Ike Chamberlain—a fact that all knew. “Franklin air too far down-river. An’ thar’s a new movement on—to Oregon in the Northwest country; starts from the Missouri at Independence same as Santy Fee trade does. Those missionaries who went out to the lower Columbia, over the South Pass an’ the Snake River trail, in Thirty-four an’ after, have been making big talks through the States, ’bout how Oregon air the place for ’Merican farmers ’stead o’ British fur-hunters, an’ Congress has been argufying, an’ Lu has jest heard from some o’ his folks that thar’s a regular movement afoot this spring to send a big wagon-train o’ settlers out by the Platte an’ Laramie trail, over South Pass an’ clear through to the Columbia. Isn’t that so, Lu?”
Lucien Maxwell nodded. He was a dark, broad-shouldered young man, about twenty-three, and a favorite of Kit Carson’s. He was not in the Carson company, exactly, but was a trader with the Indians and for the Bent, St. Vrain & Co., on the Santa Fé Trail and between Bent’s Fort and Fort St. Vrain. He was much at Taos, where he had just married the Señorita Luz Beaubien, daughter of Charles Beaubien, one of Taos’ most cultured residents. As Maxwell was much upon the trader trail to the States, and as he lived, or at least his parents lived, at old Kaskaskia, Illinois, below St. Louis, he carried much news.
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve a letter and a newspaper from home that say that Doctor White—Elijah White, who’s been missionary doctor in Oregon; you fellows have heard him—has been appointed Indian agent for the United States in Oregon; and when he goes out this spring a lot of settlers are going, too, so as to have him take ’em through.”
“Wagh!” grunted an old trapper. “Fat doings for Injuns! Thar’ll be hosses to steal an’ ha’r to lift, I’m thinking. Sioux an’ Blackfeet air half-froze for jest sech a caravan o’ greenhorns on a trail ’crost continent. Wagh! This chile’d rather go it alone.”
“Thar ought to be a line o’ posts from the Missouri clear to the mountains, all ’long the trail; an’ over across, too, if folks from the States air going to travel it,” declared Chamberlain.
“That ees so. Dose Injuns, dey get mad when dey see so many whites in buffalo country; an’ dose Britishers in Oregon, dey jus’ as soon Americans stay on dees side Rocky Mountains,” agreed Mariano, Mexican trapper.
“Well, this paper has a message in it from Washington, and there’s talk of a government expedition going out over the trail this very spring, to survey it and maybe see what can be done,” informed Maxwell.
“Wagh!” grunted the old trapper. “Hyar’s a coon that doesn’t need ary government expedition to show him the trail. He travelled it with Ashley in Twenty-four, he did; an’ he war over the South Pass an’ into the Green River country t’other side, an’ he’s trapped through to the Columbia an’ Vancouver, an’ to Californy, too. Can’t tell mountain-men ’bout the way to Oregon.”