“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” demanded Reuben excitedly of Kit
Carson, who was riding by his side.
“Don’t you know?” laughed the leader good-naturedly.
“No, I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” replied Reuben in the
disjointed words he was able to speak, while the mule which he was
riding increased the speed at which he was running.
“They have sniffed water.”
“But I can’t see it anywhere!”
“That’s likely,” replied the hunter, smiling as he spoke. He was having
less difficulty than his young companion in controlling his mount.
The animal which Reuben was riding had stretched forth its neck and its
muscles were almost as tense and stiff as if they had been made of
bone. Occasionally one of the excited mules stopped, and, planting its
feet firmly in the ground, stretched forth its neck, elevated its tail,
and at the same time emitted another prolonged and discordant bray.
The minutes passed swiftly and no signs of the longed-for water were
discovered. An hour passed in the wild flight and still the stream was
not found. To Reuben’s protest that the mules had been mistaken, Kit
Carson made no reply save to smile in the quiet manner which was
characteristic of him, and slowly shook his head as if he still had
faith in the instinct of the strange beasts.
Ten minutes later a cry arose from the dry throats of the men when a
stream not far in advance was seen by them all. In a brief time the
entire line had gained the banks and men and animals alike plunged into
the water and drank their fill.
“I never knew before how good it seemed to have all the water I wanted
to drink,” said Reuben with a sigh of relief when he returned to the
bank and once more stood beside the leader.
“It’s just like air and sunshine and other things that are so common
that no one thinks they are worth much,” replied Carson thoughtfully.
“It is only when we lose them that we think they are worth having.”
“This certainly is worth having,” said Reuben fervently.
“It’s so good that I think we’ll stay here for a little while. Turn in,
boys,” the leader added, calling to his companions, “and we’ll make
camp.”
The courage and hope of the men had now returned in full force, and the
long journey across the desert was forgotten or ignored. Eagerly they
responded to the call of their leader, and in a brief time a
comfortable camp had been made on the banks of the little stream.
For two days the weary men remained in the camp. In a few spots near
the spring grass had grown, and this, together with the leaves of the
trees, provided food for the horses. No wild animals were seen during
the stay of the men, and on the third day, when the journey was
resumed, there were few traces to be seen of the suffering which the
trappers had endured in their ride across the desert. There still
remained, however, a long and toilsome journey between them and the
region which they were seeking. Occasionally a stream of running water
was found, and then the party went into camp for two or three days.
When at last they arrived in the beautiful valley of San Gabriel they
were nearly exhausted, but the sight which greeted their eyes did much
to restore their spirits.
In the valley was the Mission of San Gabriel, established many years
before this time by the Spanish padres in their labours among the
Indians of that region. Already the fruits of their devoted work were
to be seen. In the valley there were many fields of waving grain and
great orchards whose trees were bending under the loads of fruit which
hung from their branches. In certain parts of the valley there were
large herds of cattle, and many flocks of sheep were to be seen, almost
as numerous as the cattle.
The sight of all these good things instantly revived the drooping
spirits of the trappers. It is true they had little to offer in
exchange, but the people of the mission and the Indians of the vicinity
were kind to the newcomers, and in a brief time the wants of the nearly
famished men were all supplied.
Perhaps some of them rejoiced more over the fact that water and food
for their horses abounded than they did over the reports that were
given them of the multitudes of beaver that were to be found in the
nearby streams. To Reuben the region seemed to be a land of plenty. The
Indians were peaceful and apparently happy, and the few white men that
were to be seen in the vicinity were prosperous and contented.
After the men had been thoroughly rested, Kit Carson explained to
Reuben that the time had come for them to enter upon the work which had
been their object in seeking the marvellous valley.
“We’ll go down the San Joaquin River,” he explained. “We shan’t have
any trouble in getting the skins we want, and at the same time we’ll
find game enough to supply all our needs. All you have to do,” he
added, with a laugh, “is to look at the men. A little while ago they
were half-starved and as lean as bullrushes. Just look at them now!
Almost every one is getting so fat he won’t be able to do his
trapping.”
“Yes,” laughed Reuben. “They all look as if they would rather stay here
than go on any farther.”
“That’s just what they must do, though,” said Kit. “I have seen a good
many men in my life who did all right until they came to the last thing
that had to be done and then they gave out. I believe there are more
men that lose because they don’t follow up to the very end what they
have begun than from any other one thing. Who’s this coming?” he added
abruptly as he turned and saw a stranger approaching on horseback.
At first the approaching man was thought to be a priest, as he was
dressed in a strange garb that somewhat resembled that worn by the
priests in charge of the mission. As he came nearer, however, they
discovered that he was not a priest, and when he spoke, his words
confirmed Kit Carson in his conclusion.
“I am looking for a man named Kit Carson,” explained the newcomer.
“You won’t have to look very far,” replied the guide quietly.
“Where is he?”
“Not very far away.”
“Tell me where he is and I will go to him.”
“I reckon I am the man you’re looking for.”
“You?” exclaimed the stranger in surprise. “You? Are you Kit Carson?
Why, you’re nothing but a boy.”
“I’m not very old,” replied the guide with a smile, “but that’s a fault
I hope to correct some day. Meanwhile let me tell you that my name is
Kit Carson. If you have any message for him you had better give it to
me.”
“I came from the Mission San Gabriel,” explained the newcomer, after a
brief silence in which he had steadily looked into the face of the
young hunter. “One of the padres sent me. He says that some Indians
have run away with some of our sheep. It is the same band that stole
some horses from the mission a few weeks ago. Before that they stole
some of our cattle. The padre wants to know if some of your men will
help us to punish them.”
“Where are they?” asked Kit Carson.
“We don’t know exactly, but we suspect that they have gone to one of
the strongest of the Indian villages.”
“Will they fight?”
“I think they will.”
“Then we will go,” said the guide quickly. “You tell the padre that
we’ll help him out. How many men does he want?”
“All you can spare.”
“Tell him we’ll be at the mission to-morrow morning. There will be as
many of us as care to go, whether it is the whole eighteen or only
one.”
“You will be the one?” inquired the stranger.
“I will be one,” laughed Kit Carson, “but I do not think I will be the
only one.”
Reuben had been silent throughout the conversation and seldom had
turned his face away from the man who had brought the message from the
San Gabriel Mission.
When the messenger departed Reuben turned to Kit Carson and said: “That
man looks enough like Jean Badeau to be his own brother.”
“Who is Jean Badeau?”
“Why, he’s the trapper that I came with from St. Louis.”
“The one you lost in the camp when we first saw you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure he isn’t the same man?”
“No, I am not sure, and that’s just the trouble. Of course it is some
time since I saw him.”
“Don’t you know his voice?”
“His voice certainly sounded like Jean’s.”
“Why didn’t you ask him if he is Jean?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t,” replied Reuben. “He looks like him, and
yet if it is another man it might make trouble.”
“How would it make trouble?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Reuben somewhat uneasily. “I cannot see why
Jean should be down here in this valley, anyway, unless he wanted to
get away from everybody.”
“Is that the reason why we came?” demanded Kit Carson quizzically.
“No, we came for the beaver skins.”
“Perhaps your friend came for the same reason. You’ll soon know,
though, whether he’s the real one or not, because when we go over to
the mission to look up these thieving redskins, you probably will see
the man again and can find out just who he is and why he is here.”
For the time Reuben was forced to be content, and yet on the following
day, when with eleven others he went to the San Gabriel Mission, the
question in his mind still remained unanswered. He looked about on
every side, but did not discover the messenger. Nor was he able to make
inquiries, for he understood neither the Spanish nor the Indian tongue.
In a brief time, however, his thoughts were withdrawn from Jean to the
task which immediately confronted them. A band of twenty-five or more
soon set forth from the mission, half the men belonging to the force
which Kit Carson had led into the valley.
The trappers and the volunteers from the mission rode swiftly away, and
not more than three hours had elapsed when they arrived at the Indian
village which they were seeking. When they drew near, the advancing
party halted, while one of the white men advanced to meet three Indians
who had now come forth from the village. It was impossible for Reuben
to hear what was said, nor would he have understood the conversation
had he been able to hear it. It was not long, however, before the white
man returned to his followers with the statement that the Indians had
absolutely refused to give up the redmen for whom they had come.
The village was not large, but the warriors plainly outnumbered the
white men. To attack seemed foolhardy.
Greatly to Reuben’s surprise, after a brief consultation had been held
between Kit Carson and the leader of the men from the mission, the
hunter turned to his followers and said quietly: “There is only one way
for us to get those rascals. We must attack the village.”