of the Rocky Mountains where the whirling
snow storms almost carried them off their feet; but north of the
dividing line, the hunters had little if anything to fear from the red
men. Though they encountered in the loneliest and most desolate distant
regions, they generally met and separated as friends. Among the perils
of the trapper's life in British America was not reckoned that from the
hostile natives.

It was far different within our own territory. Those who left our
frontier States and pushed westward, and those who penetrated northward
and eastward from the Mexican country, knew they were invading the
hunting grounds of the fiercest Indians on the American continent. We
have already told enough to show the intense hostility of the red men;
between them and the hunters and trappers raged a war that never ceased
or slackened, except when policy held it for a time in check.

The little group of horsemen, who rode out from Independence or
Westport, or who took steamer at St. Louis up the Missouri, often came
back with several of their number missing. Up among the mountains, they
had gone out to visit their traps and had never come back to camp. The
lurking Blackfoot, or Sioux, or Crow, had aimed all too well, and, as
he bounded whooping away, he swung aloft the scalp of his victim whose
trapping days were ended forever.

After recovering their horses from the band of Crows, Carson and his
companions returned to camp, where they remained until spring, when they
cached their furs and made their way to the Laramie River on another
hunting expedition. While thus employed, a couple of the men deserted
taking several of the best animals. Kit Carson and a single companion
were sent in pursuit, the rascals having a good day's start. A desperate
fight was sure to follow a meeting between the parties, for Carson would
never forgive such treachery, and the deserters were not the ones to
permit themselves to be despoiled of their booty without doing their
utmost to prevent it.

It was suspected that they were on their way to the place where the
beaver had been cached; and disregarding the trail, therefore Carson
made all haste thither. It need not be said that he lost no time on the
road, but when he reached their old camp, he found the deserters had
preceded him. They had stolen several thousand dollars worth of furs and
departed.

Carson was more anxious than ever to overtake the scoundrels. He and his
companion made dil