All the day following they pursued their journey onward without cessation, and into the night following, for they could not stop until they were assured relief was to be furnished their anxious and perilous conditioned fellow soldiers. Carson pursued so straight a course and aimed so correctly for his mark that they entered the town by the most direct route, and answering "friends" to the challenge of the sentinel, it was known from whence they came, and they were at once conducted to Commodore Stockton, to whom they related their errand, and the further particulars we have already narrated. Commodore Stockton immediately detailed a force of nearly two hundred men, and, with his usual promptness, ordered them to go to the relief of their besieged countrymen by forced marches. They took with them a piece of ordnance, which the men were obliged themselves to draw, as there were no animals to be had for this work. Carson's feet were in a terrible condition, and he did not return with the soldiers; he needed rest and the best of care or he might lose his feet; but he described the position of General Kearney so accurately that the party sent to his relief could find him without difficulty, and yet had the commodore expressed the wish, Carson would have undertaken to guide the relief party upon its march. Lieutenant Beale was partially deranged for several days from the effects of the severe service, and was sent on board a frigate lying in port for medical attendance, and he did not fully recover his former health for more than two years. The relief party from Commodore Stockton reached General Kearney without encountering any Mexicans, and very soon all marched to San Diego, where the wounded soldiers received medical assistance. CHAPTER XIII. ADVENTURES OF A TRAPPER. Fifty years ago, when Kansas City consisted of a warehouse and there was not a single private residence of civilized man between the Missouri River and San Francisco, S. E. Ward, a trapper, landed from a steamer at Independence. He was a penniless youth of eighteen years, direct from the parental home in Virginia, filled with eager desire to gain a fortune in the far West. Now, at sixty-eight years of age, Mr. Ward is almost twice a millionaire and one of the most respected citizens of Western Missouri. He is one of the pioneers that are left to speak of the struggles and triumphs of early Western life. The family home is a spacious two-story brick house, 2½ miles south of Westport, on the old Santa Fé trail. The house stands upon a farm of 500 acres at the edge of the great prairie which stretches away through Kansas to the base of the Rocky Mountains. On this very spot where he now lives Mr. Ward camped more than once on his return from trading expeditions, years ago, in the Southwest.