With a shrill, throaty cry of exultation, Lopez darted forward; the boys saw him reach the prostrate form, a knife in his hand. But as he bent over it the form showed unexpected life. Moccasin Williams sprang to his feet, drawing an Indian hatchet from his belt as he did so, and both men struck at each other. Both blows took effect; then their arms encircled each other, there was a frenzied clutching at each other’s throats, and they fell to the earth. And when Kit Carson returned from the pursuit of the Indians, which was but a short one, he found the boys standing above the two dead bodies. “Your property?” he asked, his swift eyes telling him what had occurred. “Here,” said Joe, and he held up a folded paper. “Good!” said the trapper. “Take care of it, for you’ve had a hard fight to get it back; and the next time you might not be so lucky.” The blow dealt the Blackfeet that day was a heavy one; and they remembered it, as Zeke Matthews had prophesied, for a long time after. Great good luck followed the Fontenelle band in their labors after this; and when they finally journeyed to the trading camp, held that year on Mud River, they took with them a great wealth of furs. And it was on Mud River, some weeks later, that Kit Carson parted with the boys, who proposed to join an ingoing party as far as Santa Fé, and then take ship at one of the Gulf ports for New York. “Good-bye, lads,” he said, as he pressed their hands. “Some day I may go east, and if I ever do, I’ll be sure to look you up.” “East!” exclaimed Joe. “West, you mean, Kit. In a year we’ll be in California again, digging and washing along that wonderful river which, as old Goat Beard said, runs with gold.” And Joe was right as to place. But he was wrong about the time. The next time the three met it was in California; but fifteen years or more had passed. The boys had become bronzed men and were accounted the richest in the New Eldorado. And Kit Carson was then the most famous man in the great west; his fame as an Indian fighter and pathfinder had gone around the globe. “You found your river of gold then,” said he, as they gripped hands once more. “Yes,” laughed Dave. “It proved to be the Sacramento.” “But we had to wait until the United States took California over, after the war with Mexico,” said Joe, rather ruefully. “It was a long time, but,” and his eyes laughed much as they used to do, “it was worth the waiting.” “I should think so, indeed,” said the trapper. CHAPTER XV SKETCH OF CARSON’S LIFE Christopher or “Kit” Carson was born in Madison County, Kentucky, in December, 1809. The great state had been opened only a few years and was, in many parts, still a trackless wilderness. Kit was reared in the log house of the frontier; and like most noted frontiersmen grew accustomed to the rifle at an early age.