"When they go out 'gainst t'other Injins, I do; but when they hunt white men's hair, I am allowed to stay behind. This was one of the stip'lations when I took a squaw and jined the tribe." "Oh ho! that is the way you manage!" exclaimed the wag. "Yes! and I've bin the means of saving some scalps for my race too, fur the Injins believe in me, they do," continued the fellow. The wag resumed-- "Perhaps, stranger, you have heard of Kit Carson. It is said he is on the prairies somewhere, either dead or alive." The fellow answered: "You've got me! Know Kit Carson! I reckon I do. It is strange that you should ask me that, when Kit was the very last man I laid eyes on as I left our tribe." Here the fellow lowered his voice and said, as if exemplifying sympathy. "Poor Kit was in a very bad way one hour before we parted. The fact is, you know, he'd bin playin' the papers (meaning gambling) and had lost everything. However, I made him happy by giving him my gun and powder-horn. With them, you know, he will git along anywhere!" All hands, except Kit Carson, joined in the laugh at the fellow's impudence. Kit Carson's patience was exhausted in listening to the barefaced falsehoods which the man was uttering; so, with some excuse, he left the party. The fellow was unapprised of the farce which he had been acting; and, shortly after, left the town, believing that he had acquitted himself as became a hero. By way of episode, and while story-telling keeps its hold on our pen, we may as well relate a short anecdote, which, though it does not form any close connection with this part of the narrative, seems to illustrate the practical jokes which are sometimes played off by the western men upon those who have yet to undergo their novitiate.