“Not until they came to Salt River. There they found they were likely to be attacked by the same redskins that had killed the last party of trappers that had been there.” “This time I suppose Kit single-handed killed every one o’ them?” “I don’t know; I suppose he did his part. This Mr. Young played a trick on the Indians.” “What did he do?” “Why, he sent a few men ahead and hid the rest of them among the bushes and trees, and then when the Indians saw the little party they did not know there were any others, so they chased them clear back into the woods. When they came close to the place where the men were hiding the trappers all fired their rifles.” “And killed all the redskins?” laughed Rat. “Kit Carson said they killed fifteen. Then the Indians ran and never once attacked them again. They did steal their ponies and traps, but they didn’t make any more attacks on them. By the time the men had reached the headwaters of the San Francisco River they had so many beaver skins that Mr. Young sent some of the men back to Taos. He kept some of the best ones, though, to go on with him into California.” “I suppose he kept Kit Carson, of course?” “Yes, sir, he did. It was a terrible time they had, too. There weren’t many trails and they couldn’t find much grass for the horses, or water for any one, or even wood enough to make a fire. Out there on the desert there weren’t any buffaloes or deer, but there were enemies that were a good deal more dangerous than either of them.” “What were they?” “Hunger and thirst. The men had a little deer meat and some water bags they had made of deerskin, and Kit said they were mighty careful every day when they measured out the water and divided up the meat. When they had been out four days, all at once the donkeys stretched out their necks and began to run. Everybody knew what that meant.” “What did it mean?” “Why, they had sniffed water somewhere. Pretty soon they came to a stream. Kit said he never had anything in his life taste as good as that water. It didn’t seem as if they could get enough. The men rested up a while and then started on again across the desert. On the fourth day they came to Colorado. There they stopped to rest and to cook an old horse which they had bought off the Indians.” “Pretty fine feast,” laughed Rat. “Cold water and horse meat! Which did they take first—the water or the horse meat?” “I don’t know. What difference does it make?” “Why, I know a man back East who lives on dried apples. He has dried apples for breakfast, cold water for dinner, and swells up for supper. Perhaps the horse meat served in the same way.” “By and by they came to a mission down in the San Gabriel Valley. The priests had taught the Indians there how to make farms. There was everything one wanted to eat.” “What did they do? Help themselves?” “No, they didn’t. They paid for what they took.” “That’s a good un,” laughed Rat.