A very little while proved that he was right, and Zeke, veteran though he was in Indian warfare, was wrong. Out of the strongholds rushed the Crows, and with yells of fury charged the hunters. So fierce was their attack that the white men were forced to fall back; but the deadly rifles continued to ring through the dawn and savage after savage fell before them. Three trappers had been left with the horses; these, hearing the continuous fire, now joined their comrades. The additional rifles were more than the redskins could stand; completely defeated, they drew off. The trappers did not wait for them to ponder the situation, but fell back to their horses; mounting in haste and leading the recaptured animals they headed for the Arkansas River, where the camp of Captain Gaunt was then located. For some time longer Kit and the boys remained with the Gaunt expedition; then, as nothing seemed to develop in the matter of Moccasin Williams, and as the fur taking had grown poor, the three made up their minds to a desperate venture. This was nothing less than to leave the company of trappers and make their way back to Taos. “It’s a dangerous journey,” said Captain Gaunt; “but if your minds are made up, go ahead. You are under no obligations to me.” By great good fortune along the whole of the long route through the wilderness they did not sight a single Indian. Now and then they came upon a cold encampment and other signs of the red man’s presence; but never a plume of the warrior himself. On the way they trapped and had rare good fortune; when they reached Taos they had a rich taking of beaver pelts which just then were in great demand and consequently high in price. At once their inquiries were put afoot as to Moccasin Williams; neither of the lads had ever seen the man, but Kit Carson’s description of him was so complete and they bore it so thoroughly in mind that they were confident that they would know him if they ever met with him. But the result was the same as before. Old Diaz, whom they visited, shook his head and tugged at his goat’s beard sorrowfully. “I have never laid eyes on him, señor,” said he. “Not once since you were here last. And not once have I seen Lopez either since that day. He is away, there,” one trembling hand indicating the north, “away among the Crows and Blackfeet searching for the Americano, Williams.” After a week in Taos, Joe grew restless. He had heard of an expedition, much like that of Young’s, which was to head secretly for California. “It’s been two years since we saw my father,” he said to Dave. “And it’s been almost as long since we wrote to him. Let us go out with this party; after we see him, and if he is willing, we will come back and take up the trail once more.” Seeing how Joe felt in the matter, Dave gave a ready consent; they spoke to Kit, and though the trapper was sorry to lose them, he saw that this was the right thing for them to do.