“Jean Badeau.” “Where is he?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean?” “Just what I say. I don’t know where he is. I wish I did. We came out here day before yesterday. We made a camp, and while we were there a herd of buffaloes came along and Jean and I started after them. I haven’t seen him since.” “He may have been trampled by the herd,” suggested Kit Carson. “I don’t think so,” asserted Reuben. “There was a man here who helped me look for the place where we had camped and after a while we found it, but the ponies and saddles and traps and everything were gone.” “A man with you?” inquired the guide, glancing keenly at Reuben as he spoke. “Yes.” “Who was he?” “Rat True.” For a moment Kit Carson was silent as he looked steadily at Reuben. “What has become of him? Where is he?” he inquired at last. “He left last night and took his ponies and his traps and said he was going up among the hills. He said he wanted to trap alone. That’s what Jean said, too, and that was the reason why we camped down here.” “He cannot be very far away, then?” “I don’t know how far. He took his ponies with him, and the little beasts were tough, and they may have been able to make good time.” “And you haven’t any idea what has become of Jean?” “No. I don’t know where he is. I must look him up to-day. He may have been captured by the Indians and they may have carried off his ponies and his belongings.” “So they might,” said Kit Carson in a low voice. “Very likely that’s just what they did. We’ll have to give you a lift, however, and help you try to find him. Have you had any breakfast?” “Yes. Your dogs chased a wounded buffalo into the gorge where I was and I shot it.” “Yes,” explained Kit Carson. “We saw a big herd this morning and cut out two or three cows, but two of them gave us the slip and the third we wounded, but it got away, though the dogs took after it.” “It is only a little way back yonder; you’ll find the carcass there now.” “I don’t think we shall go back for the carcass,” said the guide quietly. “There are too many herds around here for us to bother about a little thing like that. How are the streams?” “I don’t know,” answered Reuben. “The only ones I have seen were in that valley where I was, and there they were not very full.” “Did you see any beaver?” “Yes. Jean and I found several dams.” “Have you seen any Indians?” “Yes, the night I lost Jean I met three Cheyennes, two braves and a boy. They had been out trying to steal horses from the Pawnees. They said the Pawnees were cowards because they kept their horses shut up every night.” A smile appeared on the face of the guide as he said: “The redskins are like the rest of us. When we don’t get what we want we’re down on our luck, or blame the other fellow. How old a boy was the young Indian?” “About fifteen or sixteen.”