“I don’t know why I didn’t,” replied Reuben. “He looks like him, and yet if it is another man it might make trouble.”
“How would it make trouble?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Reuben somewhat uneasily. “I cannot see why Jean should be down here in this valley, anyway, unless he wanted to get away from everybody.”
“Is that the reason why we came?” demanded Kit Carson quizzically.
“No, we came for the beaver skins.”
“Perhaps your friend came for the same reason. You’ll soon know, though, whether he’s the real one or not, because when we go over to the mission to look up these thieving redskins, you probably will see the man again and can find out just who he is and why he is here.”
For the time Reuben was forced to be content, and yet on the following day, when with eleven others he went to the San Gabriel Mission, the question in his mind still remained unanswered. He looked about on every side, but did not discover the messenger. Nor was he able to make inquiries, for he understood neither the Spanish nor the Indian tongue.
In a brief time, however, his thoughts were withdrawn from Jean to the task which immediately confronted them. A band of twenty-five or more soon set forth from the mission, half the men belonging to the force which Kit Carson had led into the valley.
The trappers and the volunteers from the mission rode swiftly away, and not more than three hours had elapsed when they arrived at the Indian village which they were seeking. When they drew near, the advancing party halted, while one of the white men advanced to meet three Indians who had now come forth from the village. It was impossible for Reuben to hear what was said, nor would he have understood the conversation had he been able to hear it. It was not long, however, before the white man returned to his followers with the statement that the Indians had absolutely refused to give up the redmen for whom they had come.
The village was not large, but the warriors plainly outnumbered the white men. To attack seemed foolhardy.