There was at that time residing at Taos, an old mountaineer friend of Kit Carson, by the name of Maxwell, who had become quite rich. Fifty miles east from Taos, there is one of the most lovely valleys in the world called Razado. Fringed with lofty hills of luxuriant foliage, with a mountain stream meandering through the heart of the valley, and with the fertile prairie extending on either side, waving with grass and flowers, a scene is presented which is quite enchanting. This valley Maxwell and Carson selected for their vast farms, or ranches, as they were called, containing thousands of acres. Maxwell erected a mansion which would be an ornament to any country town. Mr. Carson's dwelling, though more modest, was tasteful, and abounding with comforts. While earnestly engaged in developing and cultivating his farm, he heard that an American merchant by the name of White, while approaching Santa Fe in his private carriage, had been killed by the Apaches, and his wife and only child were carried off by the savages. A command was immediately organized to pursue the murderers, and rescue the lady if possible. Kit Carson proffered his services for the expedition. The first object was to find the trail. They soon reached the place where the crime had been committed. The ground was strewn with boxes, trunks and pieces of harness, etc., which the savages had not thought it worth while to carry away. They struck the trail and followed it for twelve days without overtaking the fugitives. At last their camp was seen far away in the distance. Kit Carson was the first who caught a glimpse of it. He urged that they should draw unseen as near the camp as possible, and then make a sudden rush upon the Indians, with constant and unerring discharges from their rifles. He said that the savages in their consternation would run, each one to save his own life, without thinking of their captives. If there were a few moments allowed them for thought, they would certainly kill them before effecting their escape. Unfortunately his counsel was not followed. There was hesitation, delay, and talk of parley. At length they made the attack. The Indians fled before them like deer. The body of Mrs. White was found in the camp, still warm, with an arrow piercing her heart. The savages, on their fresh horses, could not be overtaken by the wearied steeds of the dragoons. They were pursued for six miles. One warrior was killed, and several wounded. Sadly they returned. The little child of Mrs. White had annoyed the Indians by its cries, and with one blow of a tomahawk, its skull had been split open. Mr. Carson speaking of this adventure modestly writes: