However, after looking around awhile, he found five more dead Indians, and, doubtless, more were killed but were carried away by their companions.

The only harm the Indians did our party was to wound two of Fremont's men, slightly.

This was the last trouble we had with the Utes on the trip.

The second day from this little brush we struck a village of Goshoot Indians, and there Uncle Kit bought enough furs to make out his cargo.

We went into camp here for the night, but Uncle Kit and I did not sleep much, as we were up very late as we did not expect to meet again until the next spring, and he had a great deal to tell me before we parted.

The following morning Johnnie West, Juan and I loaded up and started for Santa Fe, and Uncle Kit went on to Los Angeles with Col. Fremont, as guide.

Before I left camp that morning, Col. Fremont, unbeknown to Uncle Kit, came to me and said:

"Willie, in about a year from now I will be on my way back to St.

Louis, and I will take you home with me if you would like to go. I will send you to school and make a man of you. You are too good a boy to spend your life here, in this wild country."

But I told him I was perfectly satisfied to remain with Kit Carson.

Had Uncle Kit known of that conversation I think he would have been very much displeased, and it might have caused serious trouble. Therefore I kept my own counsel and did not mention the matter to Carson.

Us boys were four weeks making the return trip to Santa Fe, and we did not see a hostile Indian on the way. I wondered much at that, but a year or two afterward Uncle Kit told me that the Apaches saw us every day and were protecting us, for he had seen Tawson on his return and the chief told him that we had gone through safe.

We arrived at Santa Fe about the first of October, and there I met Jim Hughes, who was waiting our arrival, and I was very glad to see him. I gave him a letter that Uncle Kit had sent him concerning our trapping for the coming winter.

Mr. Hughes said that he was glad that we had got back so early, for it was time we were getting into the mountains for our winter work.

I asked him if we would trap in the same place as the winter before, and he said we would not, as he had brought all the traps out to Taos, and we would go the next winter up to North Park, as he had just returned from there and knew we could put in a good winter's work, as it was new trapping ground that had not been worked, and it was a fine country, too.

Soon as we had got rid of our furs, which Mr. Hughes had sold before our arrival, we pulled out for Taos and begun operations for going to North Park.

All being in readiness in a few days thereafter, Mr. Hughes, Johnnie West and I had started for the new trapping ground, taking Juan along, again, to fetch our horses home. We had to travel over some rough country on the way, but found the North Park a fine region, with scattering pine timber on the hills and quaking-asp and willows along the streams. I have been told that this park is now owned by sheep men, and it is an excellent region for their business.

After looking around over our trapping field Mr. Hughes selected a suitable place for our winter cabin, and we fell to work building it. This time we built entirely above ground with pine logs, an unusual thing for trappers to do.

As soon as our cabin was built, Juan returned to Taos with the horses and we set into our winter's employment.

In those days hunters never wore boots or shoes, but moccasins from the tanned hides of elk. This winter we made enough gloves and moccasins to last us for two years, and each made himself a buckskin suit, out and out.

Game was very plentiful in that country, such as moose, elk and deer, and early in the winter a few mountain buffalo.

We were successful this winter, our beaver catch being nearly eight hundred. The winter was also an unusually long one, lasting until far into April.

After the snow had gone off so that we could travel, Jim Hughes, who had been our foreman, in the absence of Carson, asked me if I thought I could find the way back to Taos, which I said I could.

He said that one of us would have to go and get our horses to pack the furs in on.

It was now the spring of 1849 and I was seventeen years old, but it looked to me to be a big undertaking for a boy of my age, a trip of three hundred miles, a foot and alone, with my rifle and blankets; but some one had to go, and I agreed to tackle the trip.

This was on Sat.u.r.day, and as we never worked on Sundays, except to tend the traps, Mr. Hughes and Johnnie West talked the matter over and decided that before I started away we had better cache the furs and such traps as they would not use in my absence. This was done, so that in the event of their being killed by the Indians, I could find the furs on my return. It was a wise conclusion, as will be seen later on.

It was the custom of the Utes to cross over the mountains in small squads every spring and kill all the trappers they could find and take their traps and furs.

On Monday morning we all set about to cache the furs and traps that would not be used, and it took two days hard work to accomplish the task. Then I made preparations to start on my journey to Taos.

Mr. Hughes thought that as it would be a long and tedious trip, I had better rest up a day or two before starting, but I thought that as I had to make the trip I might as well begin first as last, so Wednesday morning was set as the time for my start.

CHAPTER IV.

A WINTER IN NORTH PARK--RUNNING FIGHT WITH A BAND OF UTES FOR MOKE THAN A HUNDRED MILES, ENDING HAND TO HAND--VICTORY.

On the day set for my departure, having had our breakfast, Mr.

Hughes stepped outside of the cabin, and I was just rolling up try blankets and a piece of dried venison, and Johnnie West was sympathizing with me over the long and lonesome trip that was before me, when all of a sudden Mr. Hughes came bounding into the cabin and exclaimed.

"Get your guns and knives, boys. The Indians are upon us and we must run for our lives."

Each man sprang for his gun, and by this time the Indians were in sight of the cabin and had raised the war-whoop, which, again, raised the hair on the head of your humble servant.

We made for the top of the hill, which was about one hundred and fifty yards from the cabin, and slopped The Indians were by this time at the cabin. Johnnie West counted them and said there were twenty-seven all told.

We each fired a shot among them, but could not tell whether we killed any of them or not. We then started on the run, loading our guns as we ran, the Indians in hot pursuit of us.

After running about two miles, Johnnie West proposed that we make a stand. We stopped on a little ridge, and did not have to wait long until the Indians were in gun-shot of us.

"Now, Willie," said Mr. Hughes, "don't get excited and shoot too quick, but take good aim and be sure that you get your Indian."

As they came up, each of us selected our Indian, fired and each got his man. In a moment the smoke from our guns had cleared away, and the whole band being in sight, Mr. Hughes said:

"Let's run for our lives. There are too many of them for us." And run we did, loading as we flew.

We ran about five miles and made another stand, but not with the same success as before, for we only got one Indian.

We had a running fight all that day and made three or four stands, but could not tell how many Indians we killed, for we would fire at them and then load our guns on the run. They having nothing but loose arrows and tomahawks, we could easily keep out of danger.

But they figured on running us down.

That evening near sundown, Mr. Hughes asked me, as I was a little faster on foot than the rest, to drop back far enough to count them, which I did, and found there were eleven of them still in pursuit of us.

When they saw me behind the other two they started the war-whoop and did their best to overtake me, no doubt thinking I was tired out and that the other two had left me. But they were disappointed when I ran on and overtook my friends.

We were now in sight of a large body of timber, and Mr. Hughes thought that if we could reach that by dark we might be able to dodge the Indians and get away from them.

We reached the timber just at dark and tried very hard to dodge our pursuers, but it seemed as though they could scent us like blood-hounds, for we would no more than get stopped and lie down to rest, when they would be upon us.

A number of times during the night we would build up a fire and then go a hundred yards or so from it and lie down to rest, but the redskinned devils kept close to us, and, consequently, we got but little rest during the night.

The following morning we left the timber and took to the prairie.

After running some four miles we looked back and saw four Indians very near to us and gaining at every step. Johnnie West proposed that we stop and accommodate them, saying that he felt hungry and tired enough to fight any two Indians in the band. So each man selected his Indian and fired, and we succeeded in killing two of them; the remaining two hid behind some big rocks until the others came up and, again we were compelled to flee.