Scouting with Kit Carson

Title: Scouting with Kit Carson

Author: Everett T. Tomlinson

Illustrator: John Frost

Release date: October 3, 2012 [eBook #40927] Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40927

Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

“‘Here I am, Kit! Don’t shoot!’”

Every Boy’s Library—Boy Scout Edition

SCOUTING WITH KIT CARSON

BY

EVERETT T. TOMLINSON

AUTHOR OF

SCOUTING WITH DANIEL BOONE, Etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

JOHN FROST

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1916, by

Doubleday, Page & Company

All rights reserved, including that of

translation into foreign languages,

including the Scandinavian

PREFACE

Perhaps it is unnecessary to explain that the purpose of the author primarily has been to write a story, not a biography. And yet behind the story stands the romantic character of the great trapper, scout, guide, messenger, and soldier—Kit Carson. In every way the aim has been to portray him in a manner that should be true to his unique personality and his adventurous life. There is a basis of truth for the incidents incorporated in the tale. Although exact chronology has been impossible, still an attempt has been made in a general way, to present in order, various phases of Kit Carson’s stirring life. The courage and truthfulness of the famous scout, his modesty and determination, as well as his fidelity and his friendliness are qualities of life never more in demand than to-day. Where can our boys and girls learn of their value better than in becoming familiar with a life which, whatever its limitations may have been, surely possessed these valuable qualities. Is it not high time, too, for young Americans to be taught that in the romance and adventure of the

early days of our own country there are heroes as deserving of recognition as the semi-fabulous characters in the early life of nations across the sea? Whatever may be taught of the latter, surely American boys and girls ought not to be ignorant of the early heroes of their own land.

Everett T. Tomlinson.

Elizabeth, New Jersey.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I—THE CAMP ON THE PLAINS

CHAPTER II—IN PURSUIT OF A HERD

CHAPTER III—THREE CHEYENNES

CHAPTER IV—RAT TRUE

CHAPTER V—THE FAME OF THE TRAPPER

CHAPTER VI—ALONE

CHAPTER VII—MOUNTAIN TROUT

CHAPTER VIII—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

CHAPTER IX—WOLF’S CLOTHING

CHAPTER X—ATTACKED

CHAPTER XI—A TRYING EXPERIENCE

CHAPTER XII—A PUZZLING MESSENGER

CHAPTER XIII—PURSUIT

CHAPTER XIV—CAPTURED

CHAPTER XV—A LONELY RIDE

CHAPTER XVI—A MOUNTAIN LION

CHAPTER XVII—THE COMING OF RAT

CHAPTER XVIII—A FIGHT

CHAPTER XIX—TRAPPED

CHAPTER XX—WILD HORSES

CHAPTER XXI—THE CHASE OF THE LEADER

CHAPTER XXII—A WHITE MAN IN THE INDIAN VILLAGE

CHAPTER XXIII—BAFFLED

CHAPTER XXIV—A FRESH ATTEMPT

CHAPTER XXV—THE CAPTIVE LEADER

CHAPTER XXVI—THE RETURN OF RAT

CHAPTER XXVII—THE THEFT

CHAPTER XXVIII—THE RETURN

CHAPTER XXIX—THE GREAT SCOUT AND THE GREAT EXPLORER

CHAPTER XXX—CONCLUSION

ILLUSTRATIONS

“‘Here I am, Kit! Don’t shoot!’”

“Several Indians seated themselves before the mouth of the cave”

“The trembling boy was able to see the scout as he drew his knife”

“Instantly Kit Carson struck the treacherous redskin a blow between his eyes with his fist”

SCOUTING WITH KIT CARSON

CHAPTER I—THE CAMP ON THE PLAINS

“I am glad we are going to stop here.”

“It ees so. The boy ees mooch tired?”

“Yes, I am tired,” responded Reuben Benton. “I have been in the saddle since before sun-up. Sometimes it seems to me as if I had been riding forever and a day.”

The conversation ceased, and both men, leaping from the backs of their tired horses, first stretched themselves and then danced about in a manner not in the least suggestive of weariness. The action, however, was not so much to express their pleasure as to give relief to the cramped muscles of their backs and legs that now were almost numb.

The ponies manifestly, too, were glad of the respite. It was a long trail from St. Louis, or Pain Court, as the trading post frequently was called ninety years before this story was written, to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. For many days the two weary travellers had steadily ridden across the arid plains. In certain places they had forded rivers or had crossed on boats or rafts, that now were left far behind them. Here and there along the uncertain trail they had camped near the springs that occasionally were to be found. It was a spring which now had caused the two men to halt and to prepare their camp for the night.

For a brief moment both men turned and looked sharply all about them. Not far away, although they were much farther than they appeared to be, the towering Rocky Mountains lifted their summits high in the air. Some of the peaks still were covered with snow, although nearly all of them at this time in the summer were bare and bleak. Gorges and cañons were plainly visible, and the keen look which each of the riders gave them indicated that they were aware that these great defiles among the giant hills might be the hiding-places of savage beasts or of no less savage Indians. Indeed, the latter were much more to be feared, for recently there had been an increasing hatred of the whites manifested by all the tribes of the prairies and the mountains beyond. Not that many white men as yet had ventured into the wilderness, but the few that had done so had aroused feelings of fear and anger lest the pale-faced men might be merely scouts for a larger body that was following them. Rumours of battles fought farther east between the Indians and the settlers had made their way

somehow even across the plains. Many of the actions, as well as the activities, of certain of the trappers and hunters, in their occasional visits among the tribes, also had not tended to soothe the fears or allay the feelings of the suspicious redmen.

Although thoughts of such perils were in the minds of the two men who had halted for the night, neither referred to them, nor was there any unusual anxiety betrayed by either. The horses now were hobbled, blankets were spread on the sandy soil, and a few cooking utensils were taken from the backs of the pack-horses, and all things were made ready speedily for the night that was fast approaching.

The horse of Jean Badeau, the elder of the two men, would have been noticed even by a passing stranger. Even after the long ride of the day was ended, there still was a flash in the eyes of Proveau, as Jean called his horse, and splotches of foam were still flying from his mouth when he proudly tossed his head.

The horse of Reuben Benton, though its coat was not quite as sleek and its eyes betokened a greater weariness than those of his companion’s mount, still was manifestly fleet and strong. Four other ponies also were in the little caravan, and it was not long before the burdens they carried were removed from their backs and placed together on the ground.

As soon as the contents of the packs were seen it was evident that the men were engaged in what was a not infrequent occupation in these early days: both men were trappers. Indeed, numerous traps tied together were seen among the burdens carried by the patient animals. Powder and lead, two or three blankets, a few cooking utensils, and a scanty store of provisions comprised most of the outfit of the little train.

Of the two trappers, Jean Badeau was a man of medium height, with dark hair, and eyes piercing and black as midnight. His swarthy skin as well as his manner of shrugging his shoulders indicated that he was French. Whether he had come from St. Louis or Montreal, or even from France itself, he had not explained to his companion. It was in St. Louis, however, that Reuben first had met him, and there he had agreed to accompany Jean on his long journey to the Rockies, where they were to trap until late in the fall or early winter.

Their first plan had been to go to the upper waters of the Missouri River. When, however, they learned that several large trapping parties were also planning to go to the same country, Jean decided that their opportunities would be better and their chances of success much more if they should leave their companions, and set their traps among the hills or mountains farther south, where some of the smaller streams had their rise.

Jean was about thirty-eight or forty years of age. The muscles of his neck and shoulders indicated his great physical strength. His heavy chest and long arms were silent witnesses to the power of the Frenchman.

Nor was Reuben Benton a weakling. Slightly taller than his companion, he, too, had dark hair and black eyes, but the tint of his skin indicated that it was due more to the sun and winds he had encountered on his long journey from St. Louis than to its original colouring. His eyes were expressive of the kindness of his heart, and it was clear that Reuben was not one that easily lost his temper or self-possession. Perhaps it was for this reason that Jean, whose success as a hunter and trapper was well known, had urged the lad to accompany him. He himself was the possessor of neither of these two virtues. Indeed, Reuben had told him that “he was not so much a man who had a temper as he was a man whose temper had him.”

The difficulties confronting the two men were many. The food they had brought was not sufficient to provide for their wants more than a few days, and for the greater part they must depend for supplies upon their own skill with their rifles. However, as game was plentiful in the region, neither was anxious concerning the outlook for their immediate future. They were much more fearful of the red-skinned Indians among the defiles of the mountains and of possible rivals whom they might encounter in their visits to their traps.

Of all the trappers that had gone forth that year they were the only ones who had ventured to start with only two in the party. Whether or not they were wise in their undertaking will be better understood as the story of their adventures is unfolded.

In a brief time after they had arrived at the spring their camp had been made, brush had been gathered for a fire, the horses had been hobbled, and Jean had taken his flint and tinder and after two quick attempts had started a fire in the dry brush. The sun was still well above the tops of the mountains, but darkness, when it fell, would come suddenly.

“I’m telling you,” said Jean, “that we start on Friday. That is ver’ mooch onlucky.”

“Why is it unlucky?” laughed Reuben, who was not greatly moved by the superstitious fears of his companion. “Do you think we shall have trouble or that we shan’t get any skins?”

“I fear ver’ mooch the both things.”

While Jean had been talking he had been preparing their simple supper. So engrossed was he in his occupation, as well as in the steady stream of talk he maintained, whether Reuben heeded his words or not, that he was unaware of what was occurring in the vicinity of the camp. It was plain that he had entrusted to his younger companion the guardianship of the camp, while he himself prepared their simple evening meal.

“Look out! Look out!” suddenly shouted Reuben.

At the words of his companion Jean leaped to his feet, grasped his rifle, which he had left upon the sand nearby, and hastily turned in the direction indicated by Reuben. In a brief time the sight which had aroused the younger trapper also stirred the older man.

Not far away a buffalo calf was running directly toward the camp, evidently exerting itself to the utmost of its strength. Behind it in swift pursuit were following two long, gaunt wolves.

“It is so scared,” Reuben suggested, “that it probably has taken us for a herd of buffaloes.”

The calf by this time had in all likelihood discovered its mistake, but with undiminished speed it was continuing on its way directly through the camp.

The wolves, however, swiftly moved in a circuit outside the camp, so that the fugitive secured a slight gain on its enemies, and in a moment was straining every nerve to reach a large herd which now could be seen at the foot of the hills not more than two miles away.

“Why didn’t you shoot, Jean?” inquired Reuben.

The trapper shook his head as he replied, “No waste powder.”

“It isn’t wasting powder to shoot one of those wolves!” replied Reuben. “It’s one of the best pieces of work you can do! Look yonder! It almost seems as if they had come up out of the ground. There’s one, two, three, four, five more now that have joined the two already there.”

In silence the two trappers watched the pursuit, and in a brief time they saw that the number of wolves had increased to twenty or more. Indeed, the helpless victim was overtaken long before it could find a refuge among its fellows. The little animal fell an easy prey to its savage pursuers and was half devoured even before it was dead.

“I wish I had shot heem,” muttered Jean.

“If one of our horses had been saddled I would have helped out the little beggar. I wonder why it is that one always feels that he wants the weaker side to win?” inquired Reuben.

Jean shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply, and once more resumed his task over the fire. Silence rested over the region, for Reuben was caring for the horses while his friend was busy with his labours.

“I no think they fight mooch,” said Jean in a low voice.

Reuben hastily glanced up at the words of his friend, as for a moment the flight of the buffalo calf had been forgotten. Looking in the direction indicated by Jean, he saw that four or five buffaloes had advanced from the herd, keeping well together, and were moving toward the pack of wolves that still were busy over what remained of the unfortunate calf.

“Perhaps they won’t,” responded Reuben, “but they are going to do something which is almost as bad.”

Both men stood silent as they watched the herd. Although the animals were two miles distant, as has been said, in the clear air they seemed to be much nearer, and the entire herd was advancing in a body. Out from the ravine was coming a steadily increasing number of buffaloes. Soon the great herd, forming as if some one had been giving directions which they understood, began to move in such a manner that for a moment it appeared as if the prowling wolves would be surrounded. In a brief time, however, the savage animals were aware of the threatening danger, and with incredible speed fled from the region. The advancing buffaloes, however, did not halt when they saw their enemies disperse. Their speed steadily increased. The earth rumbled beneath the heavy tread of the myriad feet, producing a sound not unlike that of distant thunder.

An exclamation of dismay or fear from Jean caused Reuben to glance hastily at his companion; and it was plain that Jean was anxious or alarmed. Not many minutes elapsed, however, before Reuben understood the source of his friend’s excitement and was sharing in his feeling of fear.

The great herd, moving now as if it was controlled by one motive, with steadily increasing speed was directly approaching the very place which the trappers had selected for their camping-place.

CHAPTER II—IN PURSUIT OF A HERD

“Queek! Queek!” called Jean. “At once! Immediately!”

Whether or not it was the call of his excited companion that influenced Reuben, his pony was quickly bridled, and almost at the same time both men leaped upon the backs of their horses. In spite of the weariness of both men and beasts, in a brief time all were alike highly excited. The great rumbling mass was steadily approaching and the horses also were aware of the peril that threatened.

In Reuben’s heart there was a thought that if he and his companion should fire at the buffaloes the course of the mighty herd might be diverted. Perhaps even the direction in which they were moving would be turned and they would then avoid the camp. The young trapper had heard many stories of men and horses that had been trampled beneath the feet of a frantic herd of buffaloes.

As the huge animals came nearer and a mighty bull was seen acting as an advance guard, Reuben glanced quickly at Jean to see whether or not he shared in his alarm. Nothing apparently would be able to stand in the way of the rush of the oncoming horde. It was a sight unlike any that Reuben ever had seen.

On, and still on, dashed the animals, moving almost as if the swaying mass was one huge creature. Neither Reuben nor Jean had as yet advanced from the camp, but both were waiting with loaded rifles, unable to discover just what the exact course of the fleeing herd was to be.

“How many are there?” inquired Reuben in a low voice.

“About seven hundred.”

Reuben whistled, but made no further response. Two minutes elapsed without any change in the direction in which the buffaloes were going. Then Jean said quickly, “I shall go to one side. It ees good for you to wait. When you shoot you must hit a cow, that ees the only meat that one can eat. Il trouverait à tondre sur un oeuf.”

Whenever Jean fell into the use of his native language Reuben was aware that his excitement was almost beyond control. What the words meant he had no conception, but an instant later he saw Jean dashing directly toward the approaching herd. His horse now apparently was as excited as its rider. The weariness of the long journey of the day was forgotten or ignored.

Without any definite plan, Reuben departed from the camp, moving in accordance with Jean’s advice toward the rear of the animals. The great mass was now less than a half-mile distant, and as the two hunters separated and approached the herd, Reuben saw that they had come within three hundred yards before the presence of the two riders was discovered. Then there was a sudden agitation in the huge body. The band apparently wavered for a moment, and some of the bulls galloped to and fro along the borders of the herd, betraying the fact that the presence of enemies had been discovered.

The progress of the trappers, however, was not stayed. Riding steadily forward, they drew nearer the buffaloes. To Reuben the interest of the chase had now become so intense that all other things were ignored.

Suddenly the movements of the dense mass were changed. The body swerved in a semicircle and apparently was in swift flight for the foothills. Within a few seconds the entire herd had joined in the flight, a guard of bulls as usual bringing up the rear. Frequently some of them stopped, and faced about as if they intended to test the strength or learn the purpose of the men on horseback. In every case, however, the huge animals speedily turned and once more dashed after the band, only to stop again and gaze at the horsemen. Indeed, as the minutes passed, Reuben was persuaded that the animals were minded to stand and fight.

Whatever may have been the impulse, however, as the hunters increased the pace at which they were riding the confusion in the herd became more manifest. The buffaloes were moving over the ground now with increasing swiftness, while the rumbling and roaring became steadily louder as the speed increased.

Reuben, who had followed directions and was making for the rear of the herd, now lost sight of his companion. He had a momentary glimpse of Jean when he was about thirty yards from the border of the herd, dashing into its midst. He heard the loud shout of the Frenchman, “A beau jeu beau retour!” but as he did not understand any of the words he was ignorant of Jean’s purpose. He saw the mass give way, and a half-dozen or more of the bulls, that were less fleet than the cows, turned to face the approaching hunter. Several of them, however, were thrown to the earth by the mass of maddened animals and rolled over and over upon the ground, hardly to be distinguished from the clouds of dust that now were settling all about them.