During all the talk of the company’s adventures and through the supper which shortly followed, Kit Carson noticed that the two boys were strangely silent. Now and then they showed an interest in what was said by the trappers about them; but for the most part they sat looking into the fire or talking in a low tone. But when the meal was done and the men broke up into small knots about the fires, the two approached the young trapper. They talked for a space upon different topics, and finally, after some little hesitation, Dave Johnson said: “Being from Taos, you might know a half-breed Mexican named Lopez.” Kit Carson smiled. “Well,” said he, “seeing that half the Mexicans down that way are half-breeds, it would be a hard way to pick a man. But the name Lopez is not the same as Smith or Jones,” he added thoughtfully. “What kind of a man is your half-breed for looks?” “Rather well made, wears rings in his ears and has a knife cut across his left cheek.” A gleam of surprise came into Kit Carson’s face. “Has the man anything to do with your being here?” he asked. “He has,” said Joe Frazier. “We are in search of him.” “I thought something was wrong from the way he acted when I saw him at noon.” “You saw him!” Both lads came to their feet, their rifles in their hands. “Where?” “Sit down,” said the trapper, quietly. “Don’t get excited. It’ll do you no good, for you couldn’t go looking for him to-night, anyway.” And as the boys resumed their seats on the bearskin, he went on. “I didn’t know this breed by the name of Lopez. I’d seen him often at the trading posts and the Indians called him Spotted Snake. To-day as I was riding back to camp here, with some small game that I’d been after, I met him on a badly winded horse. I was surprised to see him so far away from his usual hunting grounds. “‘Hello, Spotted Snake,’ says I to him. ‘What are you doing here?’ “At first he set out to make believe he didn’t know me and that I must have made some kind of a mistake. But in a couple of minutes he saw that it wouldn’t do, and climbed down to real facts. “‘You with some trappers?’ says he. “‘Young’s crowd,’ says I. “‘Does he want another man?’ he says. “Now I know that Spotted Snake is a good trapper, so I says to him: “‘Maybe.’ “‘Good,’ says he. And then: ‘Going away from here soon?’ “‘Not for a week,’ says I. “And with that,” said Kit Carson, his eyes on the boys, “he lost all interest in joining us. A few hours later I saw him headed south with a band of Pueblos and Mexicans who had been making ready for a big hunt.” There was a moment’s silence; then Dave Johnson asked: “What sort of a country is it to the south?” “Fine country if you stick to the water-courses. Lots of game; and,” as an afterthought, “lots of redskins.” “To-morrow,” said Dave to his friend, “we’ll send the mule back to the man we borrowed it from. Then we’ll each buy a horse and some other things that we need, and we’ll be off to the southward after Lopez.”