“And so,” said Kit, humorously, replacing the hatchet in his belt, “there’s that to set against the captain’s little game. There’s not enough left to make even a tarantula feel lively.” They took the same way back to camp; no one had missed them; and they found the Mexican officer all smiles and ready to leave. “Good-night, Señor Young,” he was saying to the leader of the trappers, as he shook his hand. “Good-night and pleasant dreams. To-morrow, in the morning, I will come again.” He said this with an unpleasant smile which made Kit Carson nudge Dave Johnson meaningly. “In the morning I will come again; and from then on, señor, I hope to see much more of you.” “Good-night,” said Young. The Mexican hitched his sword belt into a more comfortable position. “Good-night, gentlemen,” said he, with a wave of his hand to the trappers. “You are all brave fellows; and like brave fellows the whole world over, you accept all that circumstances put in your hands.” As this was put into English for them by the comrade who knew Spanish, the men laughed and exchanged mysterious nods and winks. “You see,” said Kit, “he’s got them primed to fall into his trap. And they’d do it as sure as shooting--if”--and he laughed softly--“the trap was not already sprung.” With a final wave of the hand, the Mexican officer strode away followed by his men; and no sooner had he disappeared than Kit was at the side of his employer telling of the plot. Mr. Young’s face grew dark with anger. “I’d like to repay him for that,” said he. “But,” with a gesture, “what’s the use? I suppose, after all, it’s his way of doing his duty.” Then with sudden resolve, “There will be a constant danger of that kind all the time we are here; so at sunrise to-morrow we break camp and head for the Gila River.” As the leader turned away, Kit Carson turned swiftly to the boys. “And, so there you are!” said he. “You have the luck with you, boys. It’s the best chance that could turn up. Come with us and you’ll be following right in the trail of Spotted Snake.” “But my father,” cried Joe, as he caught his breath. “We’ve got an Indian boy here that’s been hanging around camp,” said Kit. “He’s to be trusted. Send him back with your mule, and also write a message to your father. Tell him to come ashore and hire a couple of Pueblo Indians to carry him in to the Mission of San Gabriel. The priests will look after him; they have good food and he’ll be safe.” “But,” said Dave, “couldn’t we start for the coast now and make arrangements with him in person? It’s only a little more than thirty miles there and back. We could make camp again by sunrise.” This seemed to strike Kit as a good notion; he sought out Mr. Young and put the case of the boys before him. The chief trapper nodded, slowly. “I don’t like the idea of greenhorns,” said he. “And then we’re out to catch fur, and not to trail thieving half-breeds. But if the thing’s important and there’s no other way of doing it, all right.”