In his excitement Reuben, almost unmindful of his companion, started at
once toward the place where the man whom he believed to be Jean Badeau
was standing. As he approached he was speedily aware that if the man
before him was his lost friend there was no evidence of recognition of
that fact in the expression of his face. Indeed the man scarcely seemed
to be aware of the coming of the young trapper.
Puzzled and slightly alarmed by the strange appearance of the man,
Reuben stopped a moment and then said: “Who are you? What is your
name?”
To the lad’s amazement the man to whom he had spoken gazed into his
face and smiled in a manner that was like that of a little child. He
did not speak, however, and for a brief time the two men stood and
looked, each into the face of the other.
“What is your name?” again demanded Reuben.
Once more the bland expression appeared on the face of the stranger,
but no reply was given to the query.
“Are you Jean Badeau?” demanded Reuben sharply.
Again the smile was seen, but still there was no answer.
Reuben was almost persuaded that the man before him was indeed his lost
companion, but the expression in his eyes and the childlike smile on
his face certainly were not characteristics of the missing French
trapper. He was a man strong and of slow speech, even when he spoke, as
he did only on rare occasions. Unlike most of his race in the North,
apparently he did not show any signs of the impulsive temperament which
many of the early French possessed. Now the lad felt that his flesh was
creeping. There was something in the uncanny bearing and expression of
the man, who, if he was not the trapper, Jean Badeau, at least strongly
resembled Reuben’s former comrade.
“Lad, don’t you know?”
Reuben turned quickly at the unexpected question and saw that Kit
Carson was beside him. “Don’t you know,” repeated the leader, “that
this man is crazy?”
“No, I didn’t know anything about him. He looks so much like Jean
Badeau that I was sure at first that it was my friend.”
“It may be and it may not be.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is this: this man is the same one we found at San Gabriel.
Somehow he made his way to the North and the Indians have taken him
into their village.”
“Why did they do that?” inquired Reuben.
“The Indians are always good to crazy people. They think they are under
the special guidance and protection of the Great Spirit. Perhaps they
are. I don’t know,” said Kit Carson, thoughtfully. “Certainly they act
as if there was something in their life different from what we see
among the trappers.”
“That’s so,” said Reuben in a low voice, as he again looked keenly at
the subject of their conversation, who, apparently unmindful of the
attention he had aroused, had now turned away. In a low voice he was
speaking to himself and apparently was unmindful of the presence of any
one near.
“That may be Jean Badeau,” again suggested Kit Carson. “If it is he has
a long and strange story to tell.”
“What do you suppose happened to him?”
“I haven’t the remotest idea. Of course, I am not even sure that he is
your friend, nor are you positive that he is, but I am willing to take
your word for it. No one in the tribe here knows where he came from nor
what made him crazy.”
“What do you think did?”
“As I told you, I have no idea, and I am not even sure that it is your
friend. All I am saying is that he may be and that something may have
happened after you left him that brought this trouble upon him.” Reuben
was silent throughout the remainder of their stay in the village and
indeed seldom spoke when they rode back to the camp of the trappers.
Early the following morning Kit Carson appeared and at his suggestion
Reuben accompanied him in the round of his traps. An unusually good
catch was made, and the spirits of both trappers were high when soon
after noon they returned to the camp.
Directly after dinner had been served Kit Carson suggested to his young
friend: “I think it is time for us to see if the wild horses have not
come back. I don’t want that black leader to get away from us.”
Reuben laughed as he said: “Do you still believe that you’re going to
catch him?”
“I know I am,” said Kit Carson. “It’s only a question of time.”
“He certainly is able to make good time,” retorted Reuben. “He ran away
from us day before yesterday almost as if he didn’t know we were on
earth. My horse was almost winded and that fellow trotted along almost
as if he were laughing at us. Do you think a horse _can_ laugh?”
“I have heard of a ‘horse laugh,’” replied the scout, smiling dryly.
“I have not only heard of one, but heard one.”
“Well, if you heard one you haven’t forgotten it. Tell Jack, and we’ll
start right soon.”
A half-hour later the three trappers, after they had carefully looked
to their mounts, departed from the camp and again saw the valley where
the black leader and his drove had first been discovered. A careful
search was made, but no signs of the presence of the wild horses were
discovered.
“We’ll wait until night,” suggested Kit Carson. “It was after sunset
when they put into this gorge before.”
The men waited in accordance with the suggestion of their leader, but
when darkness fell the horses had not been seen.
“There’s no use,” said Kit Carson. “They aren’t coming here to-night.”
“How do you know?” inquired Reuben.
“Why, you can see for yourself. The wild ponies, as a rule, do not
travel much after dark. It is almost dark now, and if they were coming
here they would have shown up before this time.”
“Where do you think they are?”
“I don’t know where they are. I thought they were here. If I knew just
where they were I would go there, wouldn’t I? I think they will come
back here, though, and the only thing for us to do is to keep watch and
be sure to be on hand when they do come.”
On two successive days the eager trappers returned to the valley, but
the wild horses were not seen. Alone Kit Carson made excursions for
many miles in the immediate vicinity, but his efforts were unrewarded
and not a sight of the handsome black leader was had. Still the scout
did not abandon his efforts. A few days later, at his suggestion,
Reuben and Jack once more accompanied him, departing from the camp soon
after dinner.
Quietly they rode among the foothills, keeping careful watch on every
side. They had almost returned to the place where first the wild horses
had been seen when Kit Carson abruptly stopped and, pointing to a place
in advance of them, said in a low voice: “There are ponies yonder. Do
you see them?”
“I can see something moving,” replied Reuben, after a long silence.
“Well, that’s a drove of ponies. The only thing for us to do is to put
out for it and find out whether or not the horse we are after is still
there. It may be some other drove. You know they are likely to break up
into smaller bands when they get too many together.” Swiftly the
trappers rode forward, and their disappointment was keen when they
discovered that the horses before them were not those for which they
were seeking.
Apparently still as confident as before that he would capture the
animal he was so eager to have, Kit Carson either alone or in the
company of Reuben daily returned to the valley until more than a week
had elapsed. Their efforts were rewarded at last when late one
afternoon they discovered the horses making for the same valley in
which they had sought shelter when first they had been seen. There was
no elation displayed in the manner of the scout, but the determination
expressed in his face was so plain that Reuben was deeply impressed.
“Give up? Give up?” said Kit Carson in response to a suggestion of his
friend. “I never learned to do that and you can’t teach an old dog new
tricks. I simply am going to have that black rascal. It’s too bad that
Jack isn’t here, for we’ll need him, but we’ll go ahead without him and
do the best we can.”
Together the two horsemen rode swiftly forward, doing their utmost to
gain a point nearer the valley than the one where the horses were first
seen grazing. Apparently they had succeeded, when the startled leader
lifted his head, neighed sharply, and instantly warned his family of
the danger that was near.
“Come on, Reuben! Come on!” shouted Kit Carson, as putting his horse
into its swiftest paces he advanced far into the entrance of the
valley.
The efforts, however, of the trappers were doomed to failure. With a
disregard of their attempt to head him off that was almost ludicrous,
the swift horse led his followers almost directly into the entrance and
in a brief time all, including the colts, had disappeared from sight
among the boulders of the ravine.
“No use, Reuben. No use trying to do any more to-night. We have got to
think up some other way of trapping that black rascal. Did you ever see
such a handsome animal in your life?”
“I never did.”
“Nor I. And every time I see him I simply am more determined than ever
to get him. I am going to catch him just as sure as the sun rises!”
Several days later it seemed as if the words of the scout were about to
be fulfilled. Accompanied by Reuben and Jack and two others of the
campers, Kit Carson succeeded in locating the drove and immediately
attempted the plan which he had already formed for capturing the daring
leader.