Then he passed on, never giving them another glance; and when the boys found themselves at their lodge that night with Kit Carson, they mentioned the matter. The trapper seemed pleased. “I think,” said he, “that that proves he’s going to carry news to his friend, Moccasin Williams. Anyway, it shows that he expects to meet him, and doesn’t want any one in the party who has a knowledge of his errand.” The chief trapper of the big expedition into the Blackfoot country was named Fontenelle; he was an experienced woodsman, and of a very determined character. With the packhorses loaded and the trappers mounted upon their mustangs, he addressed them. “Every time we’ve gone into the region round about the head waters of the Missouri,” said he, “we’ve been attacked, our horses have been stolen, our traps taken, our men killed; and in almost every case it has ended in our being driven out.” A murmur went up from the men. The Blackfeet were a hardy and warlike people who claimed a vast extent of country as their hunting ground. The tribe was at that time some thirty thousand strong and counted the finest of the many races of American Indians. As hunters they were unexcelled; their marksmanship was deadly; and as riders and horse breakers they were only led by the Comanches. “This time they’ll not drive us back,” said old Zeke Matthews, who had engaged to go out with Fontenelle. He slapped the stock of his long rifle as he spoke. “It’s our turn now; and we’ll make the red thieves run.” It is doubtful if any such band of trappers ever left the Green River before; they were hardy, seasoned mountaineers, inured to the wild life of the Rockies, expert in the craft of beaver taking, and accomplished in Indian warfare. Straight on they pushed through the wilderness, day after day. In the country of the Crows they met with friendly greetings; perhaps it was the unusual size of the party, and perhaps it was because it was headed for the hunting grounds of the Blackfeet--for years the deadly foes of the Crows. On the Yellowstone, which was in the heart of the Blackfoot region, they set about the serious business of taking fur. The company was divided--fifty men to attend the traps and fifty to guard the camp. The men lived with their rifles in their hands. As Zeke Matthews put it: “The cook turns the meat on the spit with one hand and has a loaded pistol in the other.” Fontenelle was constantly urging the men not to relax. “We can hold our own with them,” said he. “But we must not let them surprise us. Keep your eyes peeled; don’t overlook a sign.” Kit Carson and his two boy friends needed no urging. And they not only watched for Blackfeet; they kept an eye upon the movements of Shunan as well. However, it was impossible to watch the man at all times; now and then he’d be out of their sight for hours at a time.