“I think he’s gone,” suggested Reuben.
“Did you have any question about that?” laughed Kit Carson quietly. “That he had ‘gone’ was the reason why we started after him.”
“Yes, but I think he’s gone where we can’t find him.”
Carson smiled as he shook his head, but made no response to the discouraged lad.
An Indian village was located in the valley not far ahead of them. The signs which had aroused the interest of Kit Carson had been the discovery of the bones and part of the hide of a horse which had been left on the sands by its border. “That’s one of our horses,” said the scout quietly to Reuben.
“Is it?” inquired the younger scout as he quickly jumped from his horse and began to investigate the remains of the unfortunate animal. “I could not say,” he said at last when he arose and resumed his seat in the saddle.
“I am sure it is,” said Kit Carson in a low voice, “and we shall find that the Indians either are having a feast on horseflesh, or that they have just finished one. The best plan, Reuben, will be for you to stay here while I go alone into the village.”
Reuben glanced nervously about him, for his confidence in his own ability to protect himself in case he should be attacked was not strong. However, he made no reference to his own feelings and watched his companion as he slowly rode toward the wigwams, the tops of which could be seen in the distance.
Two hours passed before Kit Carson returned to his companion. At first the scout was not inclined to relate what had befallen him in his visit. In a brief time, however, he said: “I found the Indians all friendly.”
“Did you?” inquired Reuben. “Were they having a feast?”