“Come on, lad. Don’t be afraid,” said Kit Carson quietly. “I have been here a great many times.”
“You have?” exclaimed Reuben. “I didn’t know there was an Indian camp within ten miles of ours.”
“Well, you see there is,” replied the scout dryly.
“How long has it been here?”
“A year or more.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you I have been over here a good many times and I know all about it. I have talked with some of the braves and they think I’m almost fit to be received into the tribe.” Kit Carson spoke quietly, and yet there was a tone in his voice that caused Reuben to glance sharply at him. There was no change, however, in the expression of the face of the scout, and as apparently he did not wish to continue the conversation the subject was dropped.
Not long afterward, however, both trappers were welcomed into the Indian village. The suspicion which possessed Reuben he was not able entirely to conceal. Even the dogs that came sniffing about his feet seemed to be treacherous. Few words were spoken to him, although his companion was cordially received and the statement which he had recently made to Reuben was manifestly confirmed. The Indians all looked upon him as a friend, and in the spirit of friendship bade him and his companion welcome.
Reuben, who was eager to be back in camp, found it difficult to understand why Kit Carson insisted upon remaining longer in the village. Indeed, an hour elapsed before he gave the word and the journey was resumed.
“I’m going to marry the daughter of the chief,” said Kit Carson, speaking almost as if he were referring to some ordinary occurrence.