“He told me he was born in Kentucky, but that his father moved to the backwoods of Missouri when Kit was a little fellow.”
“How old is he?”
“I don’t know. I think he is about twenty-five or six.”
“Quite an old man, isn’t he?” laughed Rat. “Do you think he could throw me?”
“Yes,” said Reuben quietly.
“That’s a good one!” roared Rat. “I could take him in my hands and crack him the way I would a stick. I am told he is a little fellow.”
“Yes, he isn’t very large,” acknowledged Reuben. “He isn’t much taller than I am, and he is light. His voice is as soft as a girl’s. Any one might think when he first saw him that he was the most peaceful fellow in the county.”
“Isn’t he?”
“He never picks a quarrel, but anybody who picked a quarrel with him would wish that he had grabbed a grizzly instead of the quiet, peaceable little Kit Carson.”
“Tell me some more about him,” suggested Rat.