I had often heard Uncle Kit tell how the Indians robbed the camps of trappers and that they invariably burned the cabins.

As soon as I got sight of the Indians, I dropped back over the ridge, for, luckily, they had not got sight of me. In a few seconds I did some powerful thinking, and I came to the conclusion that it would never do to let them find our dug-out, for while it would hardly burn, they might carry off our bedding, or destroy it. So I crawled up to a log, took good aim at the leader and fired, striking him just under the arm, bringing him down. The other two dropped to their knees, and looked all around, and I suppose the only thing that saved me was the wind was coming from them to me and blew the smoke from my gun down the canyon, so that they did not see where the shot came from.

I heard Uncle Kit tell of lying on his back and loading his rifle, when in a close place, so I did likewise and crawled up to my log again. The remaining two Indians, having looked all around and seeing no one, had got on their feet again, and were standing with bow and arrow in hand, each having a quiver full of arrows on his back, and if they had got sight of me that would have been the last of Young Kit. But I took aim at one of them and fired, with the same result as before. As my second Indian fell, the third one started back up the ridge, in the direction from which they had come, and if I ever saw an Indian do tall sprinting, that one did.

I watched him until he was out of sight, and then loaded my gun, shouldered my deer and went to where the two Indians were lying.

They were both as dead as dried herring.

I had never seen an Indian scalped, but had often heard how it was done, so I pulled my hunting-knife and took their top-nots, and again started for the dug-out, a great hunter and Indian fighter, in my own estimation.

I hung the scalps up inside the dug-out, directly in front of the door, so that Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes would see them the first thing on entering the cabin. Then I set about getting supper, all the while thinking what a mighty deed I had done in saving our cabin, which was probably true.

The two men did not return until after dark and they were very tired and hungry, having walked forty miles that day, carrying on the return trip a hundred pounds each. That is a heavy load for a man to carry twenty miles, but they did it, and it was no uncommon thing for the hardy frontiersmen of that day to perform like feats of strength and endurance.

When they pushed open the heavy log door, the scalps were almost in their faces.

"Who did this?" said Uncle Kit, as he threw his heavy pack on the dirt floor.

I told him and he was very much astonished.

"How was it, Willie?" he asked, and I told him the whole story.

While I was telling him the story, as briefly as I could, he showed more agitation than I had ever seen him exhibit.

During all the time I had been with him, he had never spoken a harsh word to me, up to this time. But while we were at supper he said to me:

"My boy, don't let me ever hear of you taking such chances again.

Not that I care for you killin' the Injuns, but you took great chances for losing your own hair, for had them redskins got sight of you, by the time they had got through with you, your hide wouldn't have held corn shucks. And it's a mystery to me that they didn't see you."

The following morning after breakfast we all took a trip up the canyon, where I had gone the morning before, and we took with us twelve beaver traps that they had brought up from the cache, and these we set at different places along the stream.

After they were set Uncle Kit asked me if I thought I could find all of them again, and I said I thought I could.

"All right then," he said. "It will be your job to tend these traps, until Jim and me get the balance of the stuff packed up from the cache. Now le's go and see your Injuns."

I took them to where I had shot the two Indians, and Uncle Kit, as soon as he saw them, said:

"They are Utes, and the wust hoss-thieves on the waters of the Colorado. Willie, I'm dog-goned glad you killed 'em. I would a give the best hoss I've got to a been here with you, for I think Old Black Leg would a caught the other feller, afore he got to the top o' the mountain."

"Black Leg" was Uncle Kit's pet name for his rifle.

That night, before going to bed, Uncle Kit said we must be up early next morning, as he and Hughes would have to make another trip to the cache, and that I must tend to the traps and keep a sharp lookout for Indians "But whatever happens," he said, "don't ever be taken prisoner."

They started very early the next morning, and as soon as it was light I struck out to examine the traps. From the twelve I took nine beaver, skinned them, reset the traps, returned to the dug- out and stretched the skins.

The stretching is done by making a bow of a small willow or other pliant wood, for each hide, and then pulling the hide over it. The hides are thus left until they are dry, when the bows are taken out and the hides are packed in a frame made for that purpose, fifty in a bale.

All of this kind of work I had learned at Bent's Fort, while there, from the many trappers there. Besides, Uncle Kit had given me other lessons in the work.

Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes made a trip to the cache every other day until the stuff was all packed up to our winter quarters.

I had my hands full attending to the traps, as the men brought more of them on the second trip, and they set enough of them to make double work for me. One dozen traps is called a "string," and it is considered one man's work, ordinarily, to "tend a string."

The two men brought all the stuff up from the cache in five trips.

On the day the last trip was made, I went out early, as usual, to attend to the traps, of which we had thirty-six. That morning I took twenty-three beaver, and seeing that it would be impossible for me to skin them all, I set about to carry them to the dug-out.

If ever a boy worked, I did that day, and had just got through carrying them in when Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes returned.

After we had got caught up with our work and rested a few days, Uncle Kit said one morning that we must be out early next day and get our work done so that we could go and kill some elk. "For,"

said he, "we have got to have meat for the winter and we must have some hides for beds."

In those days the trappers made their beds by first constructing a frame or rough bedstand, over which they stretched a green elk hide, securing that by thongs or strings cut from a green deer skin. By lying on these at once, before they are dry, they get shaped to the body and they make a first-cla.s.s bed for comfort.

We were out early to the traps next morning, and the catch being somewhat smaller than usual, we got through by 11 o'clock, and after eating a "snack"--a lunch--we started on the elk hunt.

After going about four miles we jumped up a band of fifty elk, which was considered a small herd then. But we didn't get close enough to shoot any of them.

"Let 'em go," said Uncle Kit; "no doubt they will go to the quaking-asp grove, and we can git 'em to-morrow." So we returned to camp without any elk. But the next morning we went to the quaking-asp thicket, and there, sure enough, we found the same band of elk, and succeeded in killing five of them. Thus we had enough meat to last a year, if we had wanted that much, and we had skins enough for our beds and moccasins for the winter.

Now we were in no danger of starving, and from now on we could devote our whole attention to the traps.

I had to work very hard that winter, but I was much better contented than when I was with Drake and in the grasp of that old "n.i.g.g.e.r wench."

Not until now did I tell Uncle Kit of the prank I played on the black tyrant. I also told him why I was so anxious to get away from St. Louis. That it was I feared Drake would discover me and take me back to his farm and the society of his slaves.

Mr. Hughes here interrupted me to say: "Well Willie, you are safe enough from Drake and the wench, but I think by the time you get out o' here in the spring, you would much rather be with them."

I a.s.sured him, however, that he was mistaken, and that I was bent on being a hunter and trapper.

"And an Indian fighter?" he added.

"Yes, and an Indian fighter, too, if you like;" I replied.

Well, we remained at this camp all winter, not seeing a person outside of our own crowd, and to take it on the whole, it was one of the most enjoyable winters of my life. It being my first winter in the mountains, I was learning something new every day, and whenever I found the track of any wild animal that I was not acquainted with, I would report to Uncle Kit, and he would go miles with me to see the sign, and would take great pains to tell me what sort of an animal it was and all about its nature and habits.

This was one of the most successful winter's trapping he had ever had, as we were on entirely new ground, where trapping had not been done before, and, moreover, the weather was particularly favorable.

Winter began to break up about a month earlier than usual, it being toward the last days of March when the snow commenced going off. We then took a pair of blankets each, and enough provisions to last us on our trip, and started for Taos, the only kind of provisions we had left being dried elk and venison. It was an easy matter to cure meat in this style in that country, for the air is so light that meat stuck upon the top of a pole eight or ten feet high, will quickly become dried, or "jerked." Trappers seldom take enough flour and coffee to last all winter, as it made too much bulk and weight to pack so far. Sugar was almost unknown in a trapper camp.

The second day after leaving the dug-out we met Juan, the Mexican boy. He was not bringing our horses, but was carrying a letter for Uncle Kit, from Col. John C. Fremont, asking him to come to Taos, as he wished to employ him as guide for his expedition to California.

That evening, after reading the letter, Uncle Kit said: "Willie, I have got to go to California in the summer to pilot Col. Fremont through. Do you want to go along?"

I said I was perfectly willing to go anywhere that he went.

He said: "We will pa.s.s through some mighty rough country, and also through the country of the Utes. If you go, you will, no doubt, have plenty of chances to try your hand at shootin' Injuns, for them Utes are tough nuts."

That didn't scare me a bit, for I was now sixteen years' old, had killed and scalped two Indians, and had already begun to consider myself a hunter and Indian fighter from away back. Besides, when the story of my killing the two Indians got out, I came to be generally called "the boy scalper." But Uncle Kit never spoke of me in that way, for he always respected me as a father would his own son.

Now Uncle Kit was anxious to reach Taos and meet Col. Fremont, so we pushed on with all possible speed until the third day from where we met Juan with the letter, we met Col. Fremont at the crossing of the Arkansas river. He had became over-anxious and had started out to meet us.