Scouting with Kit Carson

by Everett T. Tomlinson

In response to his appeal several men ran for their rifles, but Kit Carson himself, quickly turning to his followers, said quietly: “None of that, boys. This fellow isn’t to blame for what he’s doing. Leave him to me.”

In surprise the trappers drew back and watched the scout, as quickly avoiding the rush of the black horse he soon quieted the excited animal, which was more nervous than savage. Indeed, in the days that followed, the methods which Kit Carson employed to “break” the high-spirited animal were different from those which any of his friends had ever seen or employed. In most cases horses were broken by the most brutal of means. Cruelty was so common that it was looked upon as commonplace. The new method which the scout used was so different as to cause surprise among his followers. Indeed, many of them expressed their open belief that he would never succeed and his plan would only result in damage to the one who employed it.

Kit Carson, strong and quiet, a man who did not hesitate to use the very utmost of his strength and the greatest of his resources when he was fighting, in most ways was quiet and gentle as a woman. Following his plan persistently, not many days had elapsed before the black horse was following the scout almost as a dog follows his master. Indeed he seemed to develop a feeling of strong affection for his captor, and it was plain to all the campers that they never before had seen their leader become so fond of any animal.

In the days that passed, the horse, which was named Black Jack, became the pet of the entire camp. There was one strange trait, however, which the horse developed, and that was that he was unwilling for any of the trappers to mount him save Kit Carson and, on rare occasions, Reuben. Several times Reuben had been permitted to ride the swift-footed steed, but it was plain to the beholders as well as to the rider that there was no enthusiasm in carrying the boy. The excitement attending the capture of the wild horse passed in a brief time, although Black Jack still remained a great pet of the trappers.

There were busy days that followed. The season was proving to be unusually successful, and the number of skins taken by the men rapidly increased with every passing day. The daily round of visiting the traps, the labour of skinning the animals that had been caught, and the work of drying and curing the catch occupied most of their time.

Indeed it was soon decided that the furs must be cached after the plan which had been followed once before. This time it was Reuben who assisted in selecting the spot where the hole should be dug in the ground, and it was he who looked after the preparations of the place to receive the valuable skins which represented so much toil and time.

Still the labour of trapping was steadily continued. One day while Reuben was alone, engaged in the task to which he had been assigned, he was startled when he saw before him near one of the traps the stooping figure of a man. The stranger was bending over a trap, and for a moment the lad was angered by the sight before him. He was suspicious that the visitor was striving to steal the catch of the night. And there was no crime considered more heinous among the trappers, unless it was that of horse stealing.

Hastily Reuben looked to the priming of his rifle and then advancing, quickly shouted: “Who is there? Who are you? What do you want?”

To the amazement of the startled lad the huge form of Rat arose from the opposite bank of the stream and quickly turned to face the one who had hailed him.

“Huh!” exclaimed Rat. “It’s only you, is it?” as he discovered who the party was that had hailed him.