d been known for
years as the "Old Spanish Trail."

They reached White River without mishap, and made their way down it
until Green River was forded, when they struck across the country to
Winty River, where they came upon a party of twenty hunters, who were
engaged in trading and trapping as opportunity offered. They affiliated
at once, for there is something in the presence of a common danger which
draws men closely together.

The weather became very cold and snow began to fall. It was decided,
therefore, to go into winter quarters near the mouth of Winty River.
There they erected skin lodges, such as are used by many tribes of
American Indians, and were content to wait the coming of spring.

The skill and address of Carson seemed to create a call for his
services, no matter where he happened to be, and it was not long before
he became involved in a most remarkable adventure.

Among the employees of the other party, was a shrewd civilized Indian,
who was held in high regard by the whites on account of his native
keenness, and who stood well in the confidence of his employer; but one
day he disappeared, simultaneously with several of the very best
horses. The circumstances were such that there could be no doubt the two
occurrences were inseparably connected.

The loss was too serious to be borne, and the angered leader of the
other company (though he had not the least claim upon young Carson),
appealed to him to help him to recover his property. Carson said he was
perfectly willing, provided Captain Lee would give his consent, and as
the Captain was more willing to help his friend, he directed Carson to
do as he saw fit.

The matchless hunter made sure his weapons were in the best order, and,
mounting one of the fleetest horses in camp, he waved a merry farewell
to his friends and galloped off. He had not ridden far when he turned
off toward an Indian village, whose people were on friendly terms with
the hunters, and, riding directly among the red men, whose lingo he
understood, he asked for one of their bravest warriors to join him
in hunting down a California Indian that had run off with their best
horses.

Such a request coming from any other hunter would have received little
notice; but those dusky barbarians not only knew Carson by name, but
looked upon him as the greatest white warrior they had ever seen. He
could have secured a score of braves had he wanted them, but he desired
only one--a sinewy, darin