“Well, I would rather have them fight one another than to fight me,” said the first trapper. “I don’t envy Kit his job back yonder.”
Reuben had been silent throughout the conversation, and his fears for his friend were greatly increased in consequence of it. He was becoming alarmed for the safety of the lithe little scout, but there was nothing to be done except to carry out his desires, and in silence he proceeded on his way to the camp.
When the men arrived they found their companions eager listeners to the story they had to tell of the capture of the black horse. Others of the men also were concerned now for the safety of the scout, but against the suggestion that they should go to his relief the strong protests made by the men who had accompanied Carson in the chase at last prevailed, and no one departed from the camp.
Meanwhile, although it was seldom that reference was made to the fear in the heart of every one, the anxiety among the trappers increased as the slow moments passed. When an hour had elapsed the suggestion was renewed by Reuben that the men should go to the aid of their leader. But the suggestion was again refused. Another hour passed, and still there were no signs of the coming of the missing trapper.
A half-hour later, however, Kit Carson was seen approaching the camp, riding his own pony and leading his captive. The black horse was following meekly, his dejected bearing clearly showing the sufferings he had undergone. The scout made no comment when he rode into the camp. He at once quietly dismounted and threw the bridle rein over the head of the pony he had been riding and then turned to his captive.
At first it seemed as if the spirit of the black horse was broken. In a moment, however, when Kit Carson tried to lead forward the nearly exhausted animal, the wild pony reared and with a scream of anger attempted to strike the scout with his forefeet. Carson, however, was too quick, and the attempt of his prisoner to injure him proved futile.
Again the scout pulled upon the halter, although as Reuben watched him he was puzzled to understand how the daring man had succeeded in placing a halter on the head of the powerful animal. The pony this time responded, and although he was apparently unaware of what he was doing, he followed his captor as he led him to a stake which had been securely driven into the ground on the border of the camp. There the captured horse was tied. Once more, however, Kit Carson barely escaped the onrush of the beast as he dashed upon him with wide-open jaws. It was impossible for any one in the camp now to hobble the animal, and for a time he was left to his vain efforts to escape. Desperately the poor beast pulled upon the thongs that held him, but without avail. After a struggle of a few minutes the attempt was abandoned, and for a time it seemed as if the black horse, his spirits drooping and his whole bearing dejected, had at last decided to yield to his fate.
Kit Carson declared that the horse should not be fed or watered throughout the night. When morning came, with some oats in his hat which he was holding in his outstretched hand, the scout again approached the captive. Hunger and thirst by this time had deprived the beast of still more of his fiery energy. He was weak now as well as suffering. Stretching forth his head, he ate a few oats, and then, apparently overcome by his recollection of his humiliation, with a scream of anger he arose upon his hind feet and again endeavoured to crush the scout.
[CHAPTER XXVI—THE RETURN OF RAT]
“Come on, shoot the brute!” shouted Jack, greatly excited as he saw the peril of the scout.