Not far in advance the body of an Indian was seen lying directly across
the trail. The entire band stopped abruptly at a signal from Kit
Carson, and a moment later all were running forward to the place where
the Indian was seen.
“He may not be dead,” suggested one of the men. “He may be playing
’possum.”
“That’s right, too,” suggested another. “They may be fixing a trap for
us.”
At the bidding of the leader the men all halted, every one holding his
rifle in readiness for instant use, and all alike striving to keep
watch on the various points from which they thought an attack upon them
might be made.
Alone and cautiously, Kit Carson advanced, and in a brief time he
returned saying: “The man is dead. He had the smallpox. I don’t want
any of you to go near him.”
It was well known by the trappers what a terrible scourge smallpox was
among the Indian tribes. Entire villages had been wiped out of
existence by its ravages.
“What do you think, Kit?” inquired one of the men. “Is this redskin
left here for us, or do you think the village was trying to run away?”
“Perhaps both,” replied the guide quietly. “At all events we’ll go
around the hill.”
“Better than that,” suggested one of the men. “I have had the smallpox
and I’ll go ahead and drag the body out of the way.”
At last the advice of the volunteer was accepted, and as soon as the
dead body had been removed from the pathway the advance was resumed.
Although he did not explain nor share his feelings with his companions,
it soon became evident that Kit Carson was suspicious of the presence
of other foes. Several times he had dropped behind the little cavalcade
and as frequently had gone in advance of the body. It seemed more and
more strange to Reuben that a man so boyish and slight as Kit Carson,
in spite of his youth, should have such absolute control and such loyal
support of the men who made up the little company.
Late in the afternoon Carson, who had been serving for an hour as the
advance guard, hastily rejoined his fellows and said: “There are
twenty-five redskins ahead. They have stopped right near the trail.”
“What are they?” inquired one of the men in a whisper.
“Blackfeet.”
“Are they armed?”
“Yes.”
“How many horses have they?”
“There are as many horses as there are men.”
“Do you think they know we are coming?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“What shall we do?”
“Drive them out.”
“It can’t be done! It can’t be done! We haven’t but seven men.”
“Yes, it can be done,” said Kit quietly. “Now if you’ll do just what I
say, I’ll show you how.”
Seeing his calmness and confidence, a new spirit of enthusiasm entered
the hearts of the men, and they all cordially and willingly followed
the directions of the young scout. Three of them were selected to
advance along the trail toward the Indians. The other four, together
with their prisoner, were to be concealed in a cluster of bushes near
which the halt had been made. Just what the young Indian in their midst
would do if left to himself no one of the trappers knew, but as they
were fearful that he might try to betray them it was deemed wiser to
compel him to remain where he then was.
“Now, men,” said Kit Carson, as he and one of the trappers, named Jake,
and Reuben prepared to leave their companions, “see that you do not
expose yourselves. Every one of you hide and keep hidden until we have
joined you. You may think when you first see us that you ought to fire
right away, but hold your powder until we come. Now, don’t forget
that!”
As soon as these instructions had been given, the scout, together with
his two companions, started along the trail in the direction of the
place where the Indians had been seen.
Reuben was excited and yet he was so elated over the consent which had
been given him to accompany Kit Carson on this perilous adventure that
he was almost unmindful of the danger that confronted him. They had
left their ponies behind them, and now as they drew near the place
where they were expecting to behold the Blackfeet Reuben glanced
excitedly at his two companions. Neither of them, however, betrayed any
alarm, and in a brief time they had come within sight of the camp.
“I want both of you to show yourselves directly behind me,” directed
the scout, “and then I want you to jump back into the bushes on either
side of the trail, run back a few feet, and then come out where you can
be seen again. We must make these redskins think there are at least a
dozen of us. You’ll have to move fast, too, because we aren’t going to
stay here very long.”
A few moments later the men came within sight of the Indians. The
discovery of their presence was greeted by a shout, but as yet none of
the braves manifested any desire to start in pursuit of the white men.
Acting promptly upon the suggestion of Kit Carson, Reuben and Jake
darted into the bushes, emerging several times in a manner that might
confuse their foes and lead them to believe that there were more in the
party than at first appeared. Soon after the war-whoop of the Blackfeet
had been heard Kit Carson and his companions started swiftly back over
the trail by which they had come. Their flight was greeted with a loud
yell, and instantly most of the Indians started in swift pursuit.
“It’s the same band that killed the last party of trappers,” said Kit
Carson in a low voice to Reuben. “We’ll fix them this time so that they
won’t make any more trouble of that kind.”
Reuben was running rapidly, but all three knew that they were a
considerable distance from the Indians and that their own friends were
not far back on the trail; so he was not unduly alarmed. Somehow his
complete confidence in the young guide caused him to believe that even
in their present peril he would find a way out.
The yelling band of braves soon appeared. They were running swiftly and
it was evident that they had cast aside their usual caution. The
confidence of the attacking party was unabated. If Kit Carson was
correct in his statement that the band following them was one which had
destroyed the company of trappers the preceding year, it was plain now
that they were equally sure the whites were afraid of them.
At all events they were swiftly pursuing and were steadily gaining upon
the three fugitives. The air resounded with blood-curdling war-whoops.
The faces of the warriors, smeared with war-paint, were terrifying, and
every time Reuben glanced behind him his fear increased, although he
still was convinced that Kit Carson was not attempting any trick for
which he was not fully prepared.
Strong in their belief that the men who were fleeing were afraid, the
Indians pressed still closer in their pursuit. Indeed they were almost
upon the heels of the fleeing men. A few steps more and the venturesome
trappers would be in their power.
At last Reuben and his companions arrived at the thicket in which their
friends were concealed. Darting quickly into the midst of the band,
they cast themselves upon the ground, concealing themselves behind the
trees, and prepared to join in the counter-attack which was about to be
made. At that moment a shower of arrows fell among the bushes, and
almost as if in response to this action the thicket resounded with the
reports of the guns. The resounding yell of triumph from the eager
Blackfeet was lost in the midst of the roar of the guns. Clouds of
smoke slowly rose above the bushes and hid the scene from the sight of
the anxious defenders. However, as soon as the smoke lifted a little,
the bodies of the fallen Indians were seen upon the ground. On every
side was the neighing of the terrified and the riderless horses. The
startled Blackfeet in the midst of it all heard the click that
indicated the reloading of the guns of their enemies. Too late they
were aware of the mistake they had made.
The band of warriors instantly broke and fled, and in the midst of the
wild confusion that followed the first attack the weapons of the
trappers had been reloaded and again the reports of the rifles rang
out. With wild cries of terror the Indians continued their flight. Nor
did they stop until they had disappeared from sight and had run far
into the wilderness.
Then it was that Kit Carson, bidding his men follow him, led them once
more upon the trail. Scattered on the ground nearby were the bodies of
ten of the Indians that had fallen under the fire of the trappers.
Brave as the redmen had been, too late they had discovered that their
bows and arrows were of no avail when they were fired upon by men armed
with rifles and who were expert shots.
Convinced at last that the danger was passed, Kit Carson summoned his
men about him and first of all inquired whether or not any one had been
hit in the shower of arrows that had fallen upon them. Fortunately no
one had been injured, for the Indians had fired without any sight of
the white men, simply trusting to their knowledge that some of them at
least were concealed within the underbrush.
“What will happen next?” inquired Jake.
“No man can say,” replied Kit Carson.
“Do you think they will attack us again?”
“Not soon. They have learned a lesson which they will not forget right
away.”
“Then we can go right ahead?”
“We shall keep on,” replied the guide quietly, “although I am sure that
we are not done with our troubles.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I am sure they will not leave us. They will follow us, and when night
comes they will try to steal our horses, and if we were trapping here
they would try to get our traps. I shall be surprised if we do not find
that they are watching us all the while.”
“Don’t you think we had better turn back?”
“I have never travelled that way,” replied Kit Carson lightly. “The
safest thing for us will be to show the Blackfeet that we are not
afraid of them and are prepared to meet them.”
In accordance with the suggestion of the scout, preparations were made
at once for resuming the journey. It was plain, however, that not all
of the men were of the same mind as their leader and that some were
still fearful of attacks by the band which they had successfully driven
off. Some time elapsed, however, before the true purposes of the
Blackfeet were discovered.