I looked on that night with much interest, but declined to participate further than that. I learned better in a little while, and the fandango, with the tinkle of guitars and mandolins, the clink of the cavalleros' spurs, and the laugh and beauty of the Mexican senoritas, became a great pleasure to me.
Thus began our life at the little Mexican town of Taos, the home of that great hero of the West, Kit Carson.
CHAPTER III.
HUNTING AND TRAPPING IN SOUTH PARK, WHERE A BOY, UNAIDED, KILLS AND SCALPS TWO INDIANS—MEETING WITH FREMONT, THE "PATH-FINDER."
One evening in October as I was getting ready to retire for the night, Uncle Kit said to me:
"Now Willie, to-morrow you must put in the day moulding bullets, for we must begin making preparations to go trapping."
This was pleasant news to me, for I had laid around so long with nothing to do but skylark with those Mexican boys, that life was getting to be monotonous.
The reader will understand that in those early days we had only muzzle-loading guns, and for every one of those we had to have a pair of bullet-moulds the size of the rifle, and before starting out on an expedition it was necessary to mould enough bullets to last several weeks, if not the entire trip, and when you realize that almost any time we were liable to get into a "scrap" with the Indians, you can understand that it required a great number of these little leaden missiles to accommodate the red brethren, as well as to meet other uses.
That evening after I had gone to bed, Mr. Hughes said:
"Kit, what are you going to do with that boy?"