Here Zip began to bark and whine around the wagon; and before anybody could tell what he wanted he had jumped in, trembling like a leaf.
“He’s afraid of those dogs,” said Molly, the next moment, as a pack of hounds came running toward them, followed by a man in a rough hunting-suit.
“No wonder he’s afraid,” exclaimed Kirke, rapidly counting. “One, two, three,—eight big creatures! And the smallest of them could eat Zip at a mouthful.”
“Their master is Kit Carson’s son,” observed Mr. Rowe, when they had passed the strange procession. “He lives in that hut behind the willows.”
“Does Cat Carson live with him, papa?” asked Weezy.
“No, little daughter; Kit Carson died years ago, but he was a famous scout in his day.”
“What is a cout, papa?”
“A scout, Weezy, is a man sent before an army to spy out danger.”
“Oh! is that all?” yawned Weezy, tired of the subject.
“Kit Carson led General Frémont through to the Pacific Ocean, didn’t he, papa?” asked Kirke.