“That’s exactly what he wanted to do. He didn’t give up his plan, though, all that winter he was a cook for a man named Young, who had made a lot of money trapping. Kit said that was the worst winter he ever had. Sometimes he used to chase the rats out of the corn-bin and then he would say to himself, ‘Here are poor Kit Carson’s buffaloes.’ When the winter was gone he still did not find any party of trappers that was willing that he should join them. You see he was such a slight, little fellow, and, as I told you, his voice was so soft and his manner was so gentle, that the men all thought he would not be able to stand the work and they would have a sick man on their hands. “In the spring he made up his mind to go back home again. But that time, too, he met a party that was on its way to Santa Fé. They offered him a job which he took and went back with them. Finally he did find something worth doing. He went down into Mexico as an interpreter for a lot of men that were going to Chihuahua. When he got there he hired out again as a teamster for a man who was going to the copper mines. But he didn’t really get his chance to begin his scouting and trapping until he came back to Taos. He had become so used to seeing parties of trappers start off without him that when at last this Mr. Young, the man for whom he had been working, told him that he could join a party he was sending out, he took up with the offer right away. The man that hired him knew that he wasn’t afraid of anything on earth.” “Ho!” snorted Rat, breaking in upon the narrative. “I guess he wouldn’t have felt that way if he had seen me. What do you suppose a little fellow like Kit Carson would do if a man like me got after him?” “I’d feel sorry for you, if you tried to go ‘after him.’” “That’s a good un! That’s a good un!” roared Rat. “Do you think he could run away from me?” “I don’t think he would try.” “Well, if he didn’t run and I once got my hands on him I would break his back as easily as I would a stick.” Reuben smiled and did not reply to the boastings of the braggart. “How many men were in this party you are telling about?” demanded Rat. “About forty.” “How old was Kit then?” “About twenty.” “Ho, ho!” roared Rat again. “And yet you say he wasn’t afraid of anything on earth? How do you know he wasn’t? Because he told you so?” Still Reuben refused to make any explanations to his companion. He was aware that Rat was deeply interested, although the cause of his interest was not yet apparent. “Probably your wonderful Kit,” suggested Rat, “caught more beaver, shot and scalped more redskins, killed more deer and buffalo than any other man in the band.” “I don’t know about that. He never told me. He wasn’t the one that told about these other things, either. He did say that scouts were always sent ahead of the men to find out whether any Indians were near. Every night they had guards for the camp.” “They didn’t find any Indians, did they?”