Carl interrupted himself right here to say that if there was anybody on earth who could beat a Comanche in stealing horses, he had yet to hear of him. He would go inside a camp that was double guarded, get away with the best horse that could be found, and nobody would be the wiser for it until morning, by which time the Comanche would be so far away, and cover up his trail no nicely, that pursuit was impossible. When the time came for the soldiers to go to bed, he brought his horse in from the stable-lines and made his lariat fast to his wrist. Then he would go to sleep, knowing that if any Indians came about, his horse would be certain to awaken him. They always had extra sentries out, and Carl felt perfectly safe.
One night, after the guide had been with the soldiers about three or four days, he was awakened about twelve o’clock by a terrible hubbub in camp. He started up and grabbed his lariat, and found that his horse was safe; but that was more than a dozen men could tell, all owning the best stock, too. A good many men had followed his example and tied their horses fast to them, but every one of them found his lariat cut and his horse gone. Of course those Comanches must be overtaken and punished for stealing their horses, but it seemed that Carl was the only one in camp who knew how to follow the trail. The commanding officer did not know it until he told him. When daylight came half the soldiers were out examining the trails, and they all led away in different directions.
“It is of no use, men,” said the captain. “The trails branch out every which way, and those of us who have lost our horses will have to go to the fort on foot.”
That was the time for Carl to make known one of his accomplishments.
“Captain,” said he, “I can lead the men in three days to the place where these trails will all come together again.”
The captain looked at him in surprise, and during that time he surveyed him from head to foot. No doubt he thought that, for one of his years, he was talking a little too big; but after thinking a moment he ordered breakfast got ready and told the guide to go ahead.
“You say you have lived on the plains all your life,” said he. “Then you must have seen Indian trails before. Be sure you don’t disappoint me now.”
Breakfast over, the cavalcade started, and for the first fifty miles Carl never followed a single trail. He kept right ahead toward a prominent butte that could be seen in the distance, and the captain, although he did not put much faith in him, allowed him to do as he pleased. The soldiers camped that night—and a sorry camp it was, too; they had no fire to cook their grub by, and, worse than all, the boys had to do without a smoke—and about nine o’clock the next morning the guide found first one trail and then another, until he counted the tracks of a dozen shod horses. Carl looked at the captain, who reached over and shook hands with him.
“You see he was green,” said Carl in an attempt to shield the captain. “He learned something during the time he was out with me, and when I came to go with him a second time he did not ask any help. He could follow the trail himself.”
“In two days from now, if nothing happens to prevent, you will have the satisfaction of shooting at the Indians who stole your horses,” said the guide.