Scouting with Kit Carson

by Everett T. Tomlinson

Every one in the camp now was watching the leader with intense interest, Reuben being the most excited of all. Indeed, the lad had followed Kit Carson and was only a few yards behind him when the guide stopped to watch the struggles of the animal before him. When at last the wolf became motionless, Kit Carson advanced upon it and at once lifted it to an upright position.

The strange events which had occurred were followed by those that were stranger still. Seizing the wolf by its fore-shoulders, the guide alternately with his foot and knee kicked the animal, compelling it to walk in advance of him on its hind feet.

“Look out there, Kit!” called some one in the camp. “If you let that fellow bite you it will be sure poison!”

No response was made by the guide, who had been intently watching the wolf, which when standing up on its hind feet was as tall as he. Strange to say, the animal made no attempt to bite its captor. As soon as it was discovered that all efforts to free itself were useless, the wolf was forced to approach the campfire, where the men curiously were watching the antics of the strange animal. Never before had Reuben seen a sight like the one he was now beholding. Why the wolf did not fight he was unable to understand. The very fact that it had been wounded was sufficient to arouse its anger, but, as far as he could see, it was advancing as meekly as if it had been a lamb instead of a wild animal in the hands of Kit Carson.

When the guide had brought his victim nearer to the fire in the camp, he suddenly forced back the head of his prisoner, and then with one quick motion tore back the skin, revealing the head and face of an Indian. The sight, startling as it was, caused most of the men to laugh. Reuben recalled now the stories which Jean had told him of how some of the Indians, disguising themselves as wild animals, in the darkness of the night had crept near the camp of the trappers to steal their furs or run away with the ponies that belonged to the outfit. The howlings he had heard then had been made by the Indians, and yet as Reuben looked at the prisoner it was difficult for him to believe that the human voice could so closely imitate the cries of a prowling wolf.

Meanwhile Kit Carson, who not for a moment had relaxed his grip of his captive, suddenly tore away the skin in front, and as it fell to the ground the entire body of a young Indian was revealed to the excited assembly.

“Kill him!” shouted one of the men. The cry was taken up by others, and for a brief time the fate of the young Indian was in the balance.

It was marvellous to Reuben at this time to see the young leader quietly step in front of his men and say in a low voice, “We will have none of that. He is my prisoner, anyway.” The guide, slight and boyish, in his figure, speaking in a tone so low that it did not betray any excitement under which he might be labouring, instantly checked the anger of his men.

As they made no further effort to advance, he said: “This redskin is only a boy. I shot him in the leg. I suspected just what he was trying to do, and though he played the trick well, he lost. Come up here!” he said to his captive, as taking him by the arm he led him near the fire.

A hasty examination of the wound disclosed the fact that it was slight, the ball having not more than grazed the calf of his leg. A bandage was soon made and applied, and after the feet and hands of the prisoner had been securely bound he was placed upon the ground between the fire and the trappers, who were soon asleep.