The plan was speedily approved, and as the men sat about the camp talking of the return which they were now eager to make, the proceedings were interrupted by the approach of a stranger.
Instantly Reuben recognized him as Rat, the braggart whom he had last seen when he was among the foothills of the Rockies.
Confidently, as if the man himself had been a member of the band for a long time, the stranger approached and said: “I want to stop with you over night.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Kit Carson, nevertheless gazing keenly at the stranger as he spoke.
“I have taken about fifteen hundred skins,” said the visitor, laughing loudly as he spoke.
“Where are they?” inquired the scout.
“They are where I have hidden them so that neither you nor anybody else ever will find them, if I don’t want you to. There isn’t a man this side of Pain Court that can make a cache as good as the one I made.”
“You’re fortunate,” said Kit Carson quietly. “You’re lucky not only to have the skins, but to be able to hide them so that no one will ever find them.”
“That’s where you’re right,” laughed the stranger. “What have you done with all your skins?” he added as he looked about the camp.
“We have been lucky, too,” said Kit Carson quietly. “Captain White of the Charming Nancy has shipped a lot of our furs as a part of his cargo.”