Indeed, according to opinion ’twas time for his return already; and in mid-afternoon of the day after their own arrival, Oliver, upon the front porch of the Carson house, his attention attracted to a bustle and to the hurrying figure of Ike, thought that Kit might be in town or at least at Bent’s Fort. Through the plaza hastened tall Ike; straight-footed, slightly bow-legged, carrying, as customary, his long rifle.
“Get yore outfit ready for the trail ag’in,” he bade, quickly, with scarce a pause. “Word from Kit says to meet him at Fort Laramie, pronto! Leave to-morrow.”
“All right,” answered Oliver, astonished, but knowing better than to delay Ike for foolish questions.
Still, this was most sudden and unexpected. What was Kit Carson doing up at Fort Laramie, on the Oregon Trail, when he should have been at Bent’s Fort, on the Santa Fé Trail? Oliver set out after information.
The first of the company whom he encountered was Mariano Medino, the Mexican, squatting and filling a powder-horn in a doorway.
“Ike has seen you?” queried Mariano.
“Yes. What’s news?”
“Ah, that Keet Carson, he say ‘Come to Laramie,’ an’ we come. That all I know,” answered Mariano, busily.
“Who brought the word?”
“Dos (two) Injuns. See? Over there,” directed Mariano, with nod of head.