At first Reuben was unable to decide whether the noises that came into
the narrow valley were the howlings of wolves or the yelpings of dogs.
Startled by the unexpected sound, he hastily seized his rifle and,
taking his stand behind one of the huge boulders, awaited developments.
In a brief time he saw, plunging up the narrow defile, a wounded
buffalo cow. Only one glance was required to show the young trapper
that the animal had been hurt, for she was limping badly, though her
flight was not slow in spite of her trouble.
In a brief time it was manifest that the sounds that came from beyond
were the yelpings of several dogs that were in pursuit of the fleeing
buffalo. How dogs could be there, far from the habitation or the camps
of man, was a problem Reuben was unable to solve. The sight, however,
of the fleeing animal recalled to him the possibility of securing
breakfast. As the buffalo came near, he raised his rifle and fired at
her.
The buffalo was under such momentum that, although the shot had been
true, she plunged forward several yards before she fell to the ground.
Running hastily to the spot, Reuben quickly saw that his aim had been
fatal and the animal was lifeless. He hastily reloaded his gun and
prepared to face the dogs. He was aware that his shot might reveal his
presence to enemies if they were near. It was well known that the
Blackfoot Indians and several other tribes were intensely hostile to
the whites. They were determined that the white man should not enter
the grounds which they believed belonged to themselves, inasmuch as
they had received them from their forefathers. Not only had several
parties of trappers been attacked, as Reuben knew from the stories of
Kit Carson and Jean, but also some of the white men had been killed and
many more had been driven away from the streams where they had set
their traps and had been compelled to withdraw from the region.
Thoughts of his own danger now returned with increased force. He did
not believe the dogs belonged to any Indian tribe, but if they were
owned by trappers, how had it come to pass that white men were now in
this region? He had understood from Jean that Kit Carson’s party had
gone far to the north and that in all probability no men of their own
colour were likely to be seen until they returned to Pain Court.
Reuben’s meditations were interrupted by the coming of the dogs. He saw
four of the savage animals approaching, and the sight convinced him
that he would as willingly face the gaunt and savage timber-wolves as
the animals he now saw before him. It might be necessary for him to
defend himself against their attack.
By this time the dogs had discovered the young trapper. Instantly
stopping in their tracks, about one hundred feet distant, they were all
silent for a moment as they stared at the unexpected sight. A moment
later, however, all four, throwing back their heads, emitted the most
plaintive and prolonged howls to which Reuben had ever listened. They
did not, however, make any advance upon him.
This fact caused Reuben to decide that he would attempt to drive the
animals away. Doubtless the men who owned them were not far distant and
if they had heard the shot they soon would appear. Seizing two stones
and still holding his gun, Reuben ran toward the brutes and shouted in
his loudest tones, “Get out! Get out!” At the same time he hurled one
of the missiles and was delighted when he saw all four of the dogs turn
about and run swiftly down the defile.
Reuben waited half an hour for the return of the dogs or the appearance
of the party to which they belonged. The minutes passed, however, and
he was still alone. At last, persuaded that his hiding-place was
unsuspected, he hastened to the spot where the body of the dead buffalo
was lying and cut from the carcass the pieces which he already had
learned were the most eatable. In a brief time he had his fire kindled
and was busily engaged in the preparation of his morning meal.
Frequently he glanced toward the entrance to the valley below him,
still aware of the possibilities that his hiding-place might not escape
the attention of others who might be in the vicinity. If they were
white men he believed that his safety would be assured. His great
danger lay in the fact that the dogs which he had seen might belong to
some roving band of Pawnee or Blackfoot Indians.
Time passed, however, without interruption, and when his hunger had
been appeased, Reuben took his rifle and cautiously began his descent
of the valley. When he came out into the more open country he was
startled at the sight of a campfire not far away. Gathered about it
were half a dozen men, and to them doubtless belonged the dogs which he
had seen. Indeed, while he was looking at the camp he saw these same
dogs moving about near the spot.
Assured that he would find help there, Reuben started toward the place
where the fire was burning. He had left his saddle and bridle and a few
other belongings in the defile among the mountains, but he was
convinced that if he could secure aid from these men it would be an
easy matter to obtain his possessions which for a little while he had
abandoned. As he came near the camp the dogs discovered his presence
and, with loud barking, started toward him.
At the sound the men about the campfire instantly leaped to their feet
and seized their rifles, and all were looking in the direction from
which the young trapper was approaching. Apparently convinced by what
they saw that they were in no danger of an immediate attack by enemies,
they waited for Reuben to approach the camp.
Greatly to the astonishment of the lad when he had come near enough to
distinguish the faces of the men, he saw that the leader of the little
party was none other than Kit Carson himself. How it was that the
trapper and guide was so far south of the region into which he with his
company originally had gone Reuben did not understand. There was no
question, however, as to the person before him, and he was greatly
pleased when a moment later the guide said to him: “You are Reuben
Benton. The last time I saw you was in Pain Court. What are you doing
out here on the plains?”
By this time Reuben had been admitted within the circle. The glances of
suspicion which were given him when first he had appeared were gone as
soon as the leader explained that he personally knew the young trapper.
“I came out here with Jean,” explained Reuben.
“Jean? Jean who?” inquired Kit Carson.
“Jean Badeau.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say. I don’t know where he is. I wish I did. We came out
here day before yesterday. We made a camp, and while we were there a
herd of buffaloes came along and Jean and I started after them. I
haven’t seen him since.”
“He may have been trampled by the herd,” suggested Kit Carson.
“I don’t think so,” asserted Reuben. “There was a man here who helped
me look for the place where we had camped and after a while we found
it, but the ponies and saddles and traps and everything were gone.”
“A man with you?” inquired the guide, glancing keenly at Reuben as he
spoke.
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
“Rat True.”
For a moment Kit Carson was silent as he looked steadily at Reuben.
“What has become of him? Where is he?” he inquired at last.
“He left last night and took his ponies and his traps and said he was
going up among the hills. He said he wanted to trap alone. That’s what
Jean said, too, and that was the reason why we camped down here.”
“He cannot be very far away, then?”
“I don’t know how far. He took his ponies with him, and the little
beasts were tough, and they may have been able to make good time.”
“And you haven’t any idea what has become of Jean?”
“No. I don’t know where he is. I must look him up to-day. He may have
been captured by the Indians and they may have carried off his ponies
and his belongings.”
“So they might,” said Kit Carson in a low voice. “Very likely that’s
just what they did. We’ll have to give you a lift, however, and help
you try to find him. Have you had any breakfast?”
“Yes. Your dogs chased a wounded buffalo into the gorge where I was and
I shot it.”
“Yes,” explained Kit Carson. “We saw a big herd this morning and cut
out two or three cows, but two of them gave us the slip and the third
we wounded, but it got away, though the dogs took after it.”
“It is only a little way back yonder; you’ll find the carcass there
now.”
“I don’t think we shall go back for the carcass,” said the guide
quietly. “There are too many herds around here for us to bother about a
little thing like that. How are the streams?”
“I don’t know,” answered Reuben. “The only ones I have seen were in
that valley where I was, and there they were not very full.”
“Did you see any beaver?”
“Yes. Jean and I found several dams.”
“Have you seen any Indians?”
“Yes, the night I lost Jean I met three Cheyennes, two braves and a
boy. They had been out trying to steal horses from the Pawnees. They
said the Pawnees were cowards because they kept their horses shut up
every night.”
A smile appeared on the face of the guide as he said: “The redskins are
like the rest of us. When we don’t get what we want we’re down on our
luck, or blame the other fellow. How old a boy was the young Indian?”
“About fifteen or sixteen.”
Turning to his men Kit Carson related the story which Reuben had told
him, and in response to his suggestion the men all declared that they
were more than willing to join in a search for the missing Jean.
Soon afterward, Reuben conducted the men to the place where Jean’s camp
had been made, but a careful investigation failed to reveal any signs
of the fate which had overtaken the trapper.
The men then separated into three parties and, moving in different
directions, tried to ride in circles about the camping-place in their
efforts to discover some indications of what might have befallen the
missing Jean. Their search was continued throughout the day, but when
night fell it was still unrewarded. Not a sign had been discovered as
to what had been the fate of the trapper.
Upon the suggestion of Kit Carson, Reuben then led the way to the
defile where he had passed the preceding night. Abundance of food had
been secured, because late in the afternoon a herd of buffaloes,
numbering no less than five hundred, had appeared. Several of the
animals had been shot by the hunters, who brought the meat which they
had secured to the place that had been selected for the camp.
Although Kit Carson did not refer to his fears, it was evident that he
was somewhat uneasy, as several times signs of Indians had been
discovered by the men in their search of the afternoon. Although he
still did not refer to his fears, when arrangements for the night were
made he insisted upon a guard being established.
Before darkness had fallen upon the region the trappers became aware
that their hiding-place had been discovered.