When the angry trappers had arrived at the place midway in the valley, suddenly shots were heard not only in front of them but also from the rear. In an instant it was plain that an ambuscade had been made and the whites had been caught between the two lines of their foes.
As the party still continued on its way, Kit Carson ordered every man to hold his fire. Suddenly one of the trappers, who was riding on Reuben’s right, uttered a loud cry and, dropping his rifle as he threw up his arms, almost fell from the back of his horse.
“Go on, men!” called Kit Carson, instantly, while he himself dropped back to assist his companion in his peril.
An instant later, however, a cry went up from all the trappers when it was seen that Kit Carson himself had been hit by a rifle ball and was reeling on the back of his pony.
[CHAPTER XIX—TRAPPED]
The confusion among the trappers instantly was almost overwhelming. The affection which every member of the party had for the brave little scout was strong, and all the men were fearful now that with the fall of Kit Carson the destruction of the band might follow. There was no one to take his place as leader.
It was the wounded leader himself, however, who in his quiet tones reassured his comrades as soon as they had carried him to a place of safety. “Don’t be scared,” he urged them, when they had placed him upon the blankets which they spread upon the ground.
“Where were you hit?” inquired Reuben, his voice breaking as he spoke.
“The fellow got me in the shoulder,” replied Kit Carson. In a moment his hunting shirt was torn away by his excited friends. The weather was intensely cold and the blood from his wound had quickly frozen on his clothing.
After one or two attempts had been made to lay bare the wound, the young scout, who was suffering intensely, said: “It will be better if only one of you tries to help me.” His face was drawn and colourless, but his courage in the midst of his suffering appealed so strongly to his friends that his directions were instantly followed.