be
stated of any employee, no matter what the service. Here, however, was
an example in which, the nature of the employment would of itself, at
tunes, present cause for discord, such as scarcity of game, bad luck,
and men hungry in consequence. But Kit Carson was too skillful in his
profession to allow such reasons to mar his fortunes. With the effort
the game always was at hand; for, it was not his custom to return from
his hunts empty handed.

Of course Kit Carson's duties were to supply the traders and their
men with all the animal food they wanted, an easy task when game was
plenty; but, it would often happen that bands of Indians, which were
always loitering about the trading post, would precede him in the
chase, thereby rendering his labors oftentimes very difficult. From
sunrise to sunset and not unfrequently during the night, he wandered
over the prairies and mountains within his range in search of food for
the maintenance, sometimes of forty men who composed the garrison of
the Fort and who were dependent on the skill of their hunter; but,
rarely did he fail them. He knew, for hundreds of miles about him, the
most eligible places to seek for game. During the eight years referred
to, thousands of buffalo, elk, antelope and deer fell at the crack of
Kit Carson's rifle. Each day so added to his reputation that it is not
to be wondered at, considering the practice of his previous life, that
he became unrivalled as a hunter. His name spread rapidly over the
Western Continent until, with the rifle, he was the acknowledged
"Monarch of the Prairies." The wild Indians, accustomed to measure a
man's greatness by the deeds which he is capable of performing with
powder and lead, were completely carried away in their admiration of
the man. Among the Arrapahoes, Cheyennes, Kiowas and Camanches, Kit
Carson was always an honored guest whenever he chose to visit their
lodges; and, many a night, while seated at their watch-fires, he has
narrated to them the exciting scenes of the day's adventures, to which
they have listened with eager attention and unrestrained delight. When
arrayed in his rough hunting costume and mounted upon his favorite
charger Apache, a splendid animal, Kit Carson was a picture to behold.
The buffalo were his favorite game, and well were they worthy of
such a noble adversary. In the eyes of a sportsman, the buffalo is a
glorious prey. To hunt them is oftentimes attended with great danger;
and, while thus