“No, I didn’t. I didn’t try.” “Whar war ye, then?” Oliver flushed more and hung his head. “Under a wagon.” “Haw! Haw!” roared Sol, and chuckled through his beard. “What war the matter?” Oliver wanted to cry. “I guess I was afraid.” “Haw! Haw!” roared Sol. “Guess mebbe you war.” Then he sobered. “You fetched yore cavvy in, though, I hear tell.” “Men helped me.” “But you come in behind an’ not ahead, jest the same,” asserted Sol. “That war right. Warn’t ye afraid the Injuns’d get ye, ’fore you war forted?” Oliver nodded. “That’s right, that’s right,” said Sol. “You corralled yore cavvy fust, an’ then you crawled under the wagon. Don’t blame ye for being afraid. Only a fool’s never afraid. Being afraid doesn’t make anybody a coward. I ’spec’ you thought us trappers war afraid, too, when we crawled into the wagons, ’fore you crawled under one.” Oliver must nod again. “We warn’t; not this time. But I reckon we’ve all been afraid, many another time. This time we crawled into the wagons so the Injuns wouldn’t see us. If the Injuns spied Kit Carson men riding with a wagon-train they’d never attack, you bet. These Southwest Injuns know us Kit Carson men by sight, now. An’ you jest say ‘Kit Carson’ to ’em, an’ out comes the peace-pipe mighty quick. They can depend on Kit to fight ’em if they’re bound to fight, or to talk straight with ’em if they want to talk straight. He air a bad enemy, an’ he air a best friend. He shoots plumb centre, with both tongue an’ rifle.” The noon camp was very brief; long enough only for the animals to breathe, and for the men to munch a strip each of dried meat, while coffee boiled. But it was long enough for Oliver to sidle near where Kit Carson appeared to be telling stories to a group of caravan men. Anybody should know that Kit Carson must have marvellous stories to tell. “But what about that time you sneaked on hands an’ knees, through the snow, close to the Injun fort, near head o’ the Arkansas, an’ cut the hosses loose an’ drove ’em off with snow-balls?” asked Teamster Henry. “When war that?” inquired Kit Carson, as if mildly surprised. “Some years back. When you fust went into the mountains.” “Oh,” said Kit Carson, slowly rubbing his chin. “That war some o’ Captain Gant’s men. Captain Gant had lost some hosses, by these Crows, an’ his men went an’ got ’em. Can’t do without hosses, in the mountains.” “But weren’t you along?” “Wall, I might have followed,” drawled Carson, uneasily. “I don’t exactly remember ’bout that. They war brave fellows, though. They――――” “Reckon you’ve made a heap o’ Injuns run, all the same,” interrupted an admiring caravaner. “Sartinly, sartinly,” agreed Kit Carson. “Part the time I’ve been running after them, an’ most the time they’ve been running after _me_.” “You gave ’em a good dose this time, though.”