Meanwhile the bully, groaning loudly and holding his wounded arm in his hand, was led from the spot, while two of the trappers, with water from the spring, washed his wound and bound up his hand after the fashion employed by the men of the frontier. In the days that followed Reuben was not able to induce Kit Carson to refer to the fight into which he had been drawn.
Not many days elapsed, however, before Rat declared that he would no longer stay in the camp, and true to his word, he soon afterward withdrew from the place. Nor was he seen again until several months had elapsed, and then it was under conditions that caused every member of the band to remember his coming.
“It’s time for us to be turning back,” said Kit Carson early one morning, not long after the contest which has just been described.
“Go back where?” inquired Reuben quickly. “To Pain Court?”
“No. I don’t intend to go back there for years.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Taos.”
“We’ll have to come back here again,” suggested Reuben. “We have cached our furs.”
“Oh, we shall come back,” replied Carson, smiling as he spoke. “Very likely we’ll be back here the next trapping season.”
In accordance with the word of the leader, it was not long before the few wagons in which the trappers had brought their provisions, in addition to the supplies which had been carried on the backs of their ponies and mules, were loaded with the furs which had been secured after the cache had been made. Then following the course which already had been decided upon, the men slowly made their way down the Colorado, trapping as they went, until they at last arrived at the Gila. Then, turning once more in their course, they trapped along the banks of the latter river and finally, well laden with the skins they had taken, set forth on their journey to Taos.