The men talked and smoked their pipes about the fire for an hour or two after supper; then, after a guard had been set, they, one by one, rolled themselves in their blankets and soon were asleep. For some time, however, the boys lay awake; the crackling of the logs on the fires, the stamping of the horses, and the stirring of the breeze in the trees was new to them; and then from the hills and the forests the faint voice of the wilderness called to them as it calls to every one, telling of its rushing rivers, its trackless wastes, its splendid game, its breathless dangers. And, also, somewhere ahead was Spotted Snake, and as they grew heavy eyed and slow of thought, they seemed to realize for the first time what the pursuit of him in such a region as this might mean; months might go by without a sight of him, and many and nameless perils might be met by the way. At dawn on the following day the camp was astir; breakfast was cooked and eaten, packs were adjusted and made fast; then the party mounted and began the day’s journey. It was a picturesque cavalcade; each man led or rode beside a packhorse or mule; across his back was slung his rifle, in his belt was his hunting knife, his whetstone and his hatchet; his clothing was of soft buckskin, fringed and ornamented with porcupine quills, dyed in many and brilliant colors. The country through which they passed was an ever changing one; streams were crossed; paths were forced through green ravines; mountainsides were conquered; thick woods were encountered everywhere. Toward the middle of the day the boys found themselves riding ahead of the trapper company, with Kit Carson; after a time he grew silent and seemed to be studying the ground as they went along. At length he drew in his pony and waited until Mr. Young came up. “The signs say that a company of trappers went over this route not long ago,” he said to his chief. “And I think it might be Spotted Snake and the party he engaged with.” “Like as not,” replied the other, his eyes searching the ground. “The trail leads away to the left a little piece on,” observed Kit. “I think I’ll have a look at it with the boys. We’ll bring up with you in a little while.” Upon a nod from Mr. Young he rode forward, the two eager lads at his side; they also studied the ground; hoof marks there were to a certainty; but what told Kit they had been made by a trapping party, they were puzzled to know. “It’s plain enough,” said the young man when Joe had put the question to him. “Each man in the party rode a pony and led a pack-mule; no other party but a trapper’s is ever made up like that.” Off to the left they turned, following the trail as it led toward a distant range of hills. “It’s rather a peculiar move,” spoke Kit after a time; “and no direction for a company to take which aims to trap on the Gila River.”