Calmly the victors selected the best of the animals, some of their number watching for the possible approach of the redskins. But the latter were too completely demoralized to venture an attack, so the trappers rode away to their camp leading a full score of pack animals, sufficient to carry all the fur they’d be likely to take, even with the best of luck, during the remainder of their work upon the Gila. “That kind of a little lesson ain’t lost on the reds,” said old Zeke, after they had reached camp and were settled down watching their meat cooking over the coals. “They won’t be so ready to pitch into every company of whites they see for some time to come.” From then on the party continued up the Gila River until they reached New Mexico; luck had continued to favor them and when they finally entered Santa Fé they had two thousand pounds of beaver fur. “At twelve dollars a pound,” said Kit Carson, “that’s about----” “Twenty-four thousand dollars,” spoke Joe. The trapper looked at him admiringly. “I never had any schooling,” said he, “except what I got from old Kin Cade one winter up north of Santa Fé. It’d take me some time to calculate that; and here you do it in your head, like a shot.” “Was this Kin Cade a schoolmaster?” asked Dave. The trapper laughed. “No; he was an old fellow I stumbled on once, away up in the hills when I first came here. He lived all alone in a hut; and he knew more about the mountains, about Indians, animals and fish than anybody I ever met. He taught me Spanish and a couple of the Indian languages; also he showed me how to tan deerskins so that they would be soft and pliable, to dye them, to make them into hunting shirts, leggins and moccasins. Indian feather and bead work I also got from him. Kin was a wise old man.” The trappers who had followed Ewing Young so hardily through all the perils of the mountains and deserts, of field and flood, were now given their share of the money brought by the pelts; they at once proceeded to Taos and there the company disbanded. However, Kit Carson and the two boys remained in Santa Fé. “Spotted Snake is or will be here,” said the trapper. “So we’ll just look around a little and see what we can see.” Santa Fé then had a mongrel population of some three thousand; its sun-baked adobe buildings, its gaily clad Mexicans in trousers slashed to the knees and adorned with rows of buttons, great sombreros and high colored mantles; the barbarous peoples from around about, who came in to trade, the half-breeds, the picturesquely clad frontiersmen from the north, all served to give this city, renowned in the history of the Great West, a most unusual appearance. The first morning there Kit Carson sought out a bronzed old trader who was outfitting for a trip among the Indians. “Buck,” said the trapper, after they had greeted each other, “have you seen anything lately of that ‘breed’ they call Spotted Snake?”