“Yes; we must begin at the beginning,” admitted Dave. “But,” and there was a flash in his eyes, “we’ll find him for all that, and we’ll find the map too.” Kit and Captain Gaunt were conversing aside. “I was warned against the fellow,” said the head trapper. “They told me he wasn’t to be trusted.” Then with some curiosity in his voice, “Anything particular you wanted of him?” “A kind of private matter,” said Kit. “Some sort of rascality, I’ll venture to say,” was the captain’s comment. Then the five wanderers from Fitzpatrick’s outfit held council together. Zeke and the other trapper, as has been noted, intended to join Gaunt’s party from their start for the South Park; and now Kit and the lads could see nothing but the same process for themselves. Gaunt was glad enough to secure them, as he had come out with fewer men than he intended, so the routine of camp and trap and rifle was taken up once more. They had been with Gaunt’s men for some time, ever on the outlook for news of a white man among the savages of the region, when one night a band of marauders crept up to the camp. The guard was slack, perhaps; but that the night was a dark one was a certainty. At any rate the Indians managed to get among the horses without being detected; and when dawn came, nine of the very best animals were missing. Zeke Matthews made the discovery, and his whoop startled the camp. “Injuns,” stated he, pointing to the ground, where the “signs” were plentiful enough. “And they’ve driv’ off a lot of the hosses.” From some articles of equipment lost by the savages, it was learned that they were Crows; and their trail led broad and plain into the hills. Captain Gaunt surveyed his men. “I want a party to take the trail, bring back the nags and show the thieves that there’s a punishment waiting for every one who doesn’t respect the law of the wilderness,” said he. “Who will go?” Kit Carson stepped out from among the men; the boys, who would have followed him anywhere, did the same; in a moment there was a party of a dozen saddling their mustangs and making ready for the chase. “We’ll hold this camp until you return,” said Gaunt. “And bring back the horses.” Along the trail sped the twelve, Kit Carson riding silently ahead, his eyes searching the ground. That the Crows were a rather numerous party was evident from the hoof-prints of the ridden horses. “They’re ten to one against us,” said old Zeke, who was one of the pursuers and whose experienced eyes also searched the trail. “But that ain’t of no account. A white man ought to be good for twice that many redskins, any day!” After following the trail something like five miles it grew greatly confused. During the night a huge herd of buffalo had crossed and recrossed it; but the genius of the wilderness was strong in Kit Carson even at that early time; in spite of everything he never failed to pick up the track each time it was lost.