Edwin L. Sabin

“ Lieutenant Frémont, pale and giddy, lay with his arm over his eyes, to shut out the light; the others sat about—Clément Lambert and Joseph Descoteaux languid, their heads drooping. Silence reigned—and sharper and colder stood forth the line of pinnacles, as more swiftly sank the sun. Presently Lieutenant Frémont stirred, sat up, and spoke.
“I think that we’ve done about all that we can, in this direction,” he said. “What do you think, Kit?”
“Wall,” drawled Kit Carson, quietly, “we can climb it if we keep trying along enough. I’ve been in wuss places before.” ”

“ Barked Apache dogs; snorted Apache pony and stolen mule, stampeding here and there in the grayness. Spreading, on left and right, the charging teamsters overtook Oliver. Before, recumbent figures around the smouldering fires had up-leaped, throwing off blankets and robes, seizing weapons, hesitating, to discharge hasty bullet or arrow, and at thud of hoof, crack of rifle, and that terrible cry, “Kit Carson! Kit Carson!” half-naked to flee, through the grayness—scurrying across the level and scrambling amidst the rocky walls. ”

“ The first day’s travel conducted amidst a richly verdured country of trees and grass and flowers, secret valleys, rushing streams and gem-like lakes—a constant surprise to Kit Carson and all, who never had penetrated here before. In late afternoon were passed wonderful lakes which poured one into another by cataracts; and through a silent level forest, grassed like a city lawn, the explorers, riding on, camped in a [113] dark, rock-and-pine surrounded little gulch—“the heart,” as William New expressed, “o’ nowhere.” ”

“ So team after team settled to collar and yoke, wagon after wagon lurched forward; and presently little Oliver was once more in the rear of all, driving his cavvy through the drifting dust. Strangely enough, not a man of caravan or trappers had been wounded, and only one mule had received an arrow, in the hip.
“Wall, boy, how’d you like the Kiowas?” It was Sol Silver, again, back beside Oliver. Brown-bearded and burly, he looked the same as ever and as if he had not been in any fight. But tucked in his belt were two scalps. “Whar’s yore pelts for trophies?” ”

“ We’re boss in this camp; it’s our camp,” declaimed Kit, still angry. “They can insult us from outside, ’cause that air Injun way; but if we once get to letting ’em in, with arms, they’ll massacree us, sure. This ought to be stopped right at the start, captain.” And again he applied himself to the hateful old chief. “Get out! Go!” Pointing, with stamp of foot, while he relaxed not his glare, Kit Carson at that moment looked to Oliver as fancy once had painted him—eight feet tall and four broad.
Slightly wilting, but defiant, the old chief and his squad reluctantly slunk away. ”

“ A sentinel upon a sand-hill fired his gun to signal “Injuns! Injuns!” and rushed like wild-fire the word. Every teamster sprang to round up his picketed team, or to help collect the oxen; the sentries came in at a gallop; and men sped to help Oliver with the cavvy. Through the opening left in the circle of wagons poured men and animals, from outside to inside. And against the sunset glow could be descried a long file of black mounted figures, approaching at rapid trot.
However, Captain Blunt, viewing them by spyglass, shouted thankfully:
“Not Injuns, men! Whites! Look like traders.” ”

“ From the camp now came racing, like young Indians, upon their ponies, two boys, as if eager to inspect. One was younger than Oliver, the other was older. They, also, were dressed in easy but rough plains costume, and the younger even wore Cheyenne moccasins. With brief “Hello” they fell in alongside the leaders of the column, and accompanied it while covertly eyeing its make-up. Oliver assumed his best mountain-man pose, and with equal sly curiosity eyed them back.
“No, my men will mess by themselves,” was saying Kit Carson, to Lieutenant Frémont. ”

“ Oliver saw that here at the red cliffs the Platte came tumbling out of the mountain country. High upon either hand rose the scarlet walls, about one hundred yards apart, their shelves dotted with a few pines, their tops bearing [92] a fringe of the same dark-green. The river roared loudly, as it boiled down. Many rocks stuck up through the current.
“It’s wuss above,” quoth William New, when they all emerged, and rode away. “’Tain’t any place for human being to travel in. Thar’s one place called Fiery Narrows—wagh!”
“Ah, who fears?” laughed Descoteaux, Frenchman, of the Frémont party. ”

“ Oliver awakened to another knowledge. This was the day when the main range of the Sierras was to be assaulted. Everywhere the fresh snow lay deep and trackless; the eastern sky was pink, and about the white peaks of the Sierras, high and close in the west, the clouds were breaking into filaments.
Oliver tumbled out of his coverings. At a little distance the half-frozen horses and mules stood [236] hunched, tails to the breeze, or were pawing for herbage. Kit Carson was up, Thomas Fitzpatrick was up, the Indian guide was up. ”

“ Instantly the caravan was again in a frenzy of commotion. Teamsters curled their lashes and sent their mules into a lope, their oxen into a lumbering trot; loud rose a medley of exclamations, orders, rumbling of wheels. From behind little Oliver, who, his heart in his mouth, was shouting at his lazy cavvy, urging them forward (Oh, such a long way must he go!) , rode for him the rear-guard.
“Quick! Roust these critters!” they bade, one to another, and helped him. The cavvy was forced into a trot. ”

“ It is our best chance. To go back to the lake, among savages of whom we know naught, would be folly; to go on southward, seeking some better passage, would be folly. Here we are; there are the mountains; just on the other side is the Valley of the Sacramento. It can’t be more than a hundred miles. We’ve all heard Kit tell of the beautiful Valley of the Sacramento, with its rich pastures and its fat game, where there is no winter. ”

“ The live Kiowas, dodging and hanging to the necks of their ponies, parted before the counter-charge, swerved at the volley, let the trappers into their midst—and with a great savage yell of vengeance turned, to close. For the trappers’ pistols were empty, as the teamsters’ yagers had been! Now long scores would be settled; a trapper’s scalp was worthy many a dance. ”

“ Of course, everybody on the Santa Fé Trail knew about Kit Carson, the free-trapper and captain of trappers, who as merely a boy had made such a name for himself in the mountains and who recently had come out of them, to live at Fernandez de Taos and to supply meat for Bent’s Fort, north. Ere leaving the Missouri frontier little Oliver had heard of Kit Carson as though he were ten feet tall and four feet wide, and bore a pine-tree for a club; but now little Oliver beheld an ordinary-looking person, not much taller than himself and not nearly so tall as many of the other trappers ”

“ He rode well and easily—but with somewhat longer stirrup than the short Indian-hung stirrup of the Carson men, and sitting rather more erect than was trapper custom. His costume bore scarce a trace of army uniform; he wore a short plain blue blouse, half unbuttoned, over blue flannel shirt and ordinary jean trousers tucked into high moccasins, while his head-gear was the broad curly-brimmed wool hat of the plains and mountains. He carried no sword. However, athwart his saddle-horn was lying the inevitable rifle. His figure was more slender than Kit Carson’s ”

“ Thus, in long single file of men and of animals, exhausted and apparently lost, the cattle laboring heavily, the Frémont expedition to the Buenaventura traversed the gloomy stretch of high, unceasing, snow-enshrouded but gloomy forest, where apparently man had never been before. Suddenly the lieutenant, leading, spoke to Kit Carson, just behind. ”

“ We may be few, and you are many, in numbers, and you may think to kill us; but if you try there will be much crying of women in your villages, for many of your young men will stay behind and forget to return with the others from the mountains. Do you think that our great chief will let his soldiers die, and will not [86] cover their graves? Before the snows melt again his warriors will have swept away your villages as the fires in autumn sweep the prairies. Look around. See! I have pulled down my white lodges and my people are ready: when the sun is ten paces higher, we shall be on the march. ”

“ Agent Payette reported that sun-browned and gaunt and tattered, with wagons creaking and cattle limping, the Yankee emigrants’ train had passed through.
“An amazing sight,” affirmed Agent Payette. “Men, women and children, in they poured and out they went, piloted by your Doctor Whitman. They are eleven days ahead of you. They have come thus far—but worse awaits them, when they leave the Snake and strike into the hills for the Blue Mountains. That is a trail scarcely fit for pack-mules, so thick grows the sage.” ”

“ Oliver was nothing loth; Kit Carson had told him exactly where to strike the one entrance into the basin—the one entrance which also was the one exit. Therefore, carrying the Ike Chamberlain rifle in approved fashion in hollow of left arm, ready, Oliver forced his yellow horse into the advance.
“When we charge, everybody yell ‘Kit Carson! Kit Carson!’” he proposed, huskily. “When they hear that they’ll run, sure. They’re afraid of Kit Carson.” ”

“ When Oliver, with the van, arrived at the spot, he also joined in the shout, although not wholly knowing why—save that here the little trail united with a broad, well-defined trail, north and south.
“The Spanish Trail from Californy to Santy Fee, captain,” announced Kit Carson.
“It must be,” agreed the lieutenant. “And it takes us north, boys! Now we can cross the mountains by way of the Great Salt Lake and the Utah Lake, to strike the head of the Arkansas. We’re not to be cheated out of the fine country.” ”

“ The United States has better claim to it than England has. England has her hunters there—we’ll have our farmers there; and the man who tills the soil is the man who wins the land. He produces, and stays; the trapper only consumes, and moves on.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” responded Kit Carson, slowly. “We trappers open the way—but that’s all. I’ve often thought that I’d go to farming, an’ I believe I will. Some o’ the mountain-men air at work already, in the Columbia country.”
“Well,” quoth the lieutenant, “we’ll have to see more of that country; this isn’t the end of the trail, yet, you know. ”

“ Manly men respect manly men. Lieutenant Frémont said: “With me, Carson and truth are the same thing;” and he refers to their “enduring friendship.” Kit Carson left all—new ranch, home, wife, dear associates—which, save honor, he valued most, to accompany the lieutenant upon a [7] Third Expedition, and in every crisis of march, camp, battle and politics he stuck stanchly to him. “I owe more to Colonel Frémont than to any other man alive,” he declared. Thus friend should stand by friend. ”

“ Each picking what he considered the easiest trail, they gradually strung out. The lieutenant had left his rifle down near the mules, and wore his pistols; but some of the men had no pistols and some refused to lay aside their rifles anyway, for it was against mountain-man rules ever to move from camp without rifle in hand. Oliver carried his Kit Carson rifle; and as he toiled to keep up with Basil and Mr. Preuss, just in front of him, glancing aside he saw that the lieutenant, off by himself, was halting, to change his thick moccasins for a pair of thin ones. ”

“ When Oliver, who had been busy helping herd the cavvy, returned to the fires, he beheld there six strange Indians—the six who had been spoken of by the mansito guide, and who had been in advance of the company.
Five were Mohaves, and one was a California Indian who lived with them. All were naked; the Mohaves, of coppery bronze skin, straight legs, tall erect stature, were the handsomest Indians whom Oliver ever had seen. The party were equipped with unusually long bows, and each man carried a gourd, slung in a cord mesh, for water. ”

“ Some of our people have been killed, and our young men who have gone to the mountains are eager to avenge the blood of their relations, which has been shed by the whites. Our young men are bad, and if they meet you, they will believe that you are carrying goods and ammunition to their enemies, and will fire upon you. You have told us that this will make [83] war. We know that our great father has many soldiers and big guns, and we are anxious to keep our lives. We love the whites, and are desirous of peace. Thinking all these things, we have decided to keep you here until our warriors return. ”

“ The spells by a stout heart are much stronger than any spells by any wizard.
It was planned that the next day a voyage should be made to the nearest of the islands. Neither Kit Carson nor Lieutenant Frémont put much stock in tales of whirlpool and ravenous monsters and club-bearing giants—although, of course, who could say! But they hoped to find upon the islands flowers and fruits and crystal streams and much game, never before witnessed by human being.
Jacob, and François Badeau and Baptiste Derosier had been named to garrison the little fort. ”

“ The camp was alarmed. It was Fuentes, who explained that his horse had failed, but that Kit Carson and Godey were sticking to the trail.
The night passed; the morning passed, and the sun crossed the zenith to afternoon. The lieutenant fidgeted, ill at ease, for Kit and Godey did not reappear.
“They’ll come, captain, but they’ll find those Injuns first,” assured Thomas Fitzpatrick. “I know Kit and I know Godey. They’ll run that trail to the end. Kit never quits when once he has started.” ”