With this thought in mind, every member of Kit Carson’s band was eager to see the coming contest. At once they all drew more closely together, and although many were fearful for the life of their brave little leader, there was no one that ventured to express his opinion.
In a few moments the swaggering Rat, holding his rifle in his hand, and his face fierce in its expression of rage, rushed forward on his powerful horse. Almost at the same moment Kit Carson, light and graceful in every movement, approached on horseback from the opposite side of the camp. He carried no rifle, but from his belt there protruded the stock of his pistol.
Kit Carson had always been a lover of good horses. Several times in the journeys along the streams and in the valleys of the mountains he had turned aside a part of a day from his regular task of trapping and had caught the leaders of several bands of wild horses. The horse upon which he now was mounted was one of these captives. Its black coat was shining in the sunlight and its expression of intelligence almost seemed to convey the idea that it understood the peril of its master and was determined to do its utmost to aid him. Carson rode without any saddle. No man in all the camp was considered a better rider, or more able to compel the animal he was riding to obey his every word. At full gallop the young scout advanced swiftly toward Rat, who, as has been said, was also mounted upon a powerful horse.
Suddenly checking his horse as he approached Rat, Kit Carson in a low voice said: “Am I the man you are looking for?”
For a moment the two men gazed steadily each into the face of the other, and then Rat replied, “No.”
As he spoke, however, he lowered his rifle, and although his actions apparently were without any design, his gun was pointed directly at the heart of the scout.
But Kit Carson was not to be taken unaware. He had heard Rat’s declaration that he was not looking for trouble, but the action of the treacherous boaster when he had lowered his rifle so that it was aimed directly at his heart did not escape him. He understood fully what the plan of the treacherous man now was likely to be.
Like a flash he pulled his own pistol and fired at his enemy. True to his aim the bullet struck the arm of Rat, even while his fingers were almost upon the trigger of his rifle. Indeed, as Kit Carson fired, Rat’s rifle also was discharged, but the wound which he had received caused his arm to turn and the ball which he had intended to send into the heart of the scout passed harmlessly above his head. Instantly the men of the camp ran forward and surrounded the two fighters.
Kit Carson smiled quietly as he saw his friends approach, and then waving them back, said in a low voice: “I have done just exactly what I planned to do. I have prevented him from shooting me, and I think I have given him a lesson that he will remember for some time, and yet I have not killed him.”
“That’s right, Kit! That’s right!” spoke up Jack. “We know that you’re not quarrelsome, and this is the first time I ever saw you draw a gun on a white man.”