“I told you I couldn’t stay here all day,” continued Rat. “Now will you go back with me to the place where we started, or do you want to go on alone? I shan’t let you have that pony if you don’t go back with me, and if you do go I want you to understand right now that we part company when we get back to the gorge.” Still Reuben did not respond to the rough declaration, for he was yet uncertain what his best course would be. “Come, make up your mind,” called Rat, as he turned his horse about so that he faced the direction from which they had come. “I’m going back with you,” said Reuben quietly. “All right, then, come along.” Together the two men departed from the camp, but they had not gone far before Rat insisted upon drawing his young companion into conversation. “You was tellin’ about Kit Carson a spell ago,” he suggested. “Yes.” “Well, what about him? What is his name anyway? What does ‘Kit’ stand for?” “Christopher.” “And they call him Kit for short?” “Yes.” “Same as they call me Rat instead of Erastus.” “I didn’t know but Rat was your real name,” said Reuben. “It is,” laughed Rat, “only it isn’t all there is of it when my mother speaks to me. Speaking of Kit Carson, you say you have seen him?” “Lots of times.” “Did you ever talk to him?” “Yes.” “Tell me about him.” Instantly Reuben’s face lighted and it was evident that the request of his companion was one that touched a responsive chord. “He’s the greatest man I ever saw,” he declared enthusiastically. “The biggest?” “No, I didn’t say biggest, I said greatest.” “What’s the difference?” roared Rat. “I cannot explain it to you,” said Reuben truthfully, for his feeling toward the boastful Erastus was rapidly becoming one of disgust. The man was so blatant and boastful that the reaction had taken place which led Reuben to believe that he was not all that he claimed to be. “Where did he come from?” inquired Rat. “He told me he was born in Kentucky, but that his father moved to the backwoods of Missouri when Kit was a little fellow.” “How old is he?” “I don’t know. I think he is about twenty-five or six.” “Quite an old man, isn’t he?” laughed Rat. “Do you think he could throw me?” “Yes,” said Reuben quietly. “That’s a good one!” roared Rat. “I could take him in my hands and crack him the way I would a stick. I am told he is a little fellow.” “Yes, he isn’t very large,” acknowledged Reuben. “He isn’t much taller than I am, and he is light. His voice is as soft as a girl’s. Any one might think when he first saw him that he was the most peaceful fellow in the county.” “Isn’t he?” “He never picks a quarrel, but anybody who picked a quarrel with him would wish that he had grabbed a grizzly instead of the quiet, peaceable little Kit Carson.” “Tell me some more about him,” suggested Rat. “I don’t know that I know very much. I have talked with him and asked him a good many times to tell me about his adventures, but he is very modest.”