Reuben, who was permitted to follow the men, although his friends strongly urged him to remain in the camp, was soon aware that the Indians were well armed and were not inclined to give up the prizes they had taken without a struggle. Many of the Indians now were armed with rifles, and the members of the thieving band far outnumbered those of the little party that was pursuing them. Several times among the mountains the Indians stopped and from behind huge rocks fired upon the approaching white men. Reuben was aware soon after the party had set forth that the night was to be intensely cold. Indeed, his fingers soon were so numb that he was scarcely able to hold the reins of the pony he was riding. However, he was determined not to give way to his suffering, and without a word of complaint steadily maintained his place in the line. The men were confident that the Indians were not far before them. Already they had had two brisk encounters, in which each party had fired at the other, but whatever the results may have been among the Indians, no one among the whites as yet had been hit. Kit Carson’s men were making greater haste than they would had they not been so eager to recover the horses they had lost. Because of this fact they had advanced boldly into a long and narrow valley and had not stopped to make sure that a part of the force they were pursuing had not been left at the entrance while others had gone in advance to draw the white men forward. When the angry trappers had arrived at the place midway in the valley, suddenly shots were heard not only in front of them but also from the rear. In an instant it was plain that an ambuscade had been made and the whites had been caught between the two lines of their foes. As the party still continued on its way, Kit Carson ordered every man to hold his fire. Suddenly one of the trappers, who was riding on Reuben’s right, uttered a loud cry and, dropping his rifle as he threw up his arms, almost fell from the back of his horse. “Go on, men!” called Kit Carson, instantly, while he himself dropped back to assist his companion in his peril. An instant later, however, a cry went up from all the trappers when it was seen that Kit Carson himself had been hit by a rifle ball and was reeling on the back of his pony. CHAPTER XIX—TRAPPED The confusion among the trappers instantly was almost overwhelming. The affection which every member of the party had for the brave little scout was strong, and all the men were fearful now that with the fall of Kit Carson the destruction of the band might follow. There was no one to take his place as leader. It was the wounded leader himself, however, who in his quiet tones reassured his comrades as soon as they had carried him to a place of safety. “Don’t be scared,” he urged them, when they had placed him upon the blankets which they spread upon the ground. “Where were you hit?” inquired Reuben, his voice breaking as he spoke.