“I never saw him looking better,” replied the boy. “But come over to our place; we’ve got a shanty big enough for the three of us. And hurry! We left a pair of prairie chickens roasting over the fire; and we’re to have flap-jacks and coffee.” Dave hurried to their hut, which was in a shaded place on the edge of the camp, to see to the chickens; Joe and the trapper followed at a slower pace. The two lads helped to unsaddle the mustang, and Joe picketed him where the grass was rich and thick. Then they all sat down and watched the fowls brown on the spit and the coffee-pot send up its jet of steam. “Your father wasn’t against your leaving him again, then?” said Kit. “Father has gone back home,” said Joe. Then seeing the trapper’s astonishment, he added: “You see, while he was at San Gabriel he learned quite a lot of things. One of them was that even if we did recover the map and find the place it indicated, we’d hardly be permitted to wash the gold. The Mexican government and population are afraid that the Americans will some day overrun California; and so they do everything they can to discourage them, hoping to keep them away. So father thought there was no use remaining and neglecting his business at home.” “But how does it come that you two were left behind?” asked Kit. “Well,” laughed Dave, “we objected to going back so strongly and made such a general fuss that uncle made up his mind that he’d let us have another try. He took an American ship which sailed from San Francisco and will land him in New York. If we have no success, we are to follow next season.” “I see,” said Kit. There was a pause, then he asked: “But the news you spoke of? What is it? Did you find something out, among the missions?” “Not a word,” said Dave, “and we spent a couple of months prowling around among them. But,” and here he lowered his voice, “on our way here with the trading party we stumbled upon something--as real a piece of news as you could wish for.” “Good,” said Kit, his gray eyes snapping, “and what is it?” “There was a French Canadian named Shunan with the train, a big man, very quarrelsome and ready with his weapons.” “I know him,” nodded Kit. “He’s a trapper, and,” in a puzzled tone, “I don’t see what he was doing with the traders.” “He was making for this fair,” said Joe. “He had been to the settlements on a sort of mission.” “A mission!” said Kit. Both boys nodded. “He’s quite loose with his tongue,” said Dave, “and we got the whole thing, bit by bit, at night by the fire. He’d talk to the men, you see, boasting of what he’s done and meant to do. He’d been sent in to Santa Fé to look about and ask questions. The person who sent him was away in the Blackfoot country, afraid to venture into civilization himself.” Instantly Kit Carson’s quick mind grasped the situation. “Moccasin Williams!” he cried. “Right! And the person he was inquiring about was Lopez, the half-breed.” “Asking if he was in Santa Fé, or in the region round about?”