Kit Carson regarded the lads quizzically. “It’ll take a good trailer to follow that party with any chance of overtaking them,” he said. “And outside that, it’s a mighty dangerous thing for two people to get out there without anything to back ’em up. The reds would gobble ’em quicker’n it takes to tell it.” He studied them for a moment longer and then said quietly, “If the thing’s not too much of a secret, let’s hear it. You’ve got a reason for wanting to come up with Spotted Snake; and, who knows--maybe if it’s a good enough one--I might be able to help you.” “It seems to me,” said Joe, sturdily, “every person we’ve met to-day has to listen to our troubles. But I guess,” comically, “we’ll have to saddle you with the story, too, Mr. Carson, if you’re to understand how we came here and what we’re after.” “It has been all of six months ago,” spoke Dave, “though I’ve about lost track of the time, that we left New Orleans in the bark ‘Gloria Santos.’ She traded all along the coast until we came to Rio Janeiro; then we shifted to the English square rigger ‘North Star,’ which carried us around the Horn and to Valparaiso. At that city we got passage on the trader ‘Gadfly,’ which worked along until we reached the mouth of the Los Angeles River.” “You came alone on this trip?” asked the trapper. “No,” replied Joe. “That’s what I thought,” said Kit. “But go on.” “My father’s been thinking of making the voyage for the past five years,” said Joe. “And he thought he’d wait until Dave and I were old enough to join him. Dave and I are cousins, you see.” “But we never knew what his object was until we reached this coast,” said Dave. “Then we found that he had a sort of map or plan of a particular place on a California river, which had been given him by an old seaman for whom he had done an important service while they served under MacDonough on the Lakes in the last war with England.” “Plan of a place on a river, eh?” spoke Kit. “Well, I’ve trapped along all these streams and while they’re good for beaver and other fur bearing critters, still I don’t see anything about them that would take a man all that way a-looking for them.” Dave glanced about at the groups of trappers as though to make sure that he was not overheard; bending forward he whispered something in Kit Carson’s ear. “No!” exclaimed the trapper, incredulously. Both boys nodded a vigorous affirmative. “The old seaman who gave my uncle the map,” said Dave, “had visited the country years ago. He was sure that there were great quantities of gold in the beds of all the streams. He was very old when my uncle met him, and that is why he didn’t make the venture himself. The map was made by him on a spot where he had seen the Indians washing out gold to make ornaments.” “It may be so,” said Kit, slowly. “They find it just that way, I’m told; so why not in California as well as any other place?”