With one accord, as they reached a point within a hundred yards of the camp, the Indians threw their mounts back upon their haunches and leaped to the ground; then about a dozen of them came forward, signaled the whites, and with much ostentation laid aside knife and tomahawk, long bow and quivers of arrows. Then with upraised hands and every gesture of good-will used by the red men upon such occasions, they came toward the fort. As no protest came from Kit Carson, old Zeke Matthews looked at him with eyes of wonder. “I say, Kit,” said he, “when do you reckon it’ll be time to wave them varmints back?” The other shook his head. “I’m thinking of letting them come in,” said he. The old trapper’s eyes grew bigger than ever. “Wal,” said he, “I’ve lived most of my life with Injuns near at hand; but I ain’t never got so as I could trust ’em. These braves look as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths; but give ’em a chance and they’ll have their scalping knives at work amongst us, quicker’n you could say Jack Robinson.” “I think,” said Kit Carson, to the boys, “this is the band our friend Spotted Snake and his friends joined some days ago. If it is, we may have a chance of getting back your map. And if it isn’t, why, we’ll try to see that no harm is done, anyway.” The half dozen or so redskins who formed the “talk” party were now close at hand; Kit called to them to halt, and spoke to them in one of the several Indian dialects which he knew. In after years this great frontiersman could hold a conversation in their own language with any of the nations which roamed the plains. He was but twenty years of age during the trapping venture of Ewing Young to the Californias, and so had not become as familiar with the red men as was the case later. And so when the “talk” party failed to understand him, he tried them in another tongue. This too failed; and so he invited them within the enclosure so that he might converse with them in the sign language which almost all Indians know. A tall brave, evidently a chief, was the first to enter the fort; he was a sullen-browed fellow enough, flat nosed, and with a face pitted by smallpox. But he gestured his perfect good-will, as did his companions, holding out their empty hands to show that they were unarmed. Curiously they inspected the enclosure; the great quantity of furs plainly interested them; the pack-mules, the arms and camp equipment excited nods and grunts of appreciation. Kit was engaged with the chief, endeavoring to make him understand his signs; the savage comprehended slowly, his mind apparently being more given to the treasures of the camp than what the trapper was saying to him. As Kit was asking for information with regard to Spotted Snake, both Joe and Dave were eagerly interested, watching the signs and trying to interpret the chief’s replies. In a little while the trapper felt a hand placed upon his fringed sleeve; looking around he saw Zeke Matthews at his side.