e, he departed,
no doubt with one more perfect description of what sort of personage
Kit Carson was.

From the time Kit Carson's name began to be heralded throughout the
world up to the present date, impostors have presented themselves in
various cities; and, acting on the credulity of the people, they have
palmed themselves off as the individual of whom we write; but, from
the perusal of this work, it can be seen how seldom the real Kit
Carson has enjoyed the luxuries of civilized life. It is in this way,
many persons have gathered wrong impressions concerning Kit Carson.

Within the past few years, a stranger one day presented himself in
the quiet town of Taos, and, being a fellow of words, he soon let
everybody there know his business, both past and present. In one of
the principal stores of the town, there happened to be congregated a
small party of friends, among whom was Kit Carson. They were talking
of the important affairs of their section of country, when this
strange individual entered. His familiarity with all things soon gave
him an introduction; and, after a short conversation, a wag present
was tempted, by the fellow's boasting, to quiz him. Addressing the
traveler he asked, "What part of the world, pray sir, do you come
from?"

The answer was prompt.

"I kum from the Cheyenne Nation. I've been living with them Injins fur
several years. Indeed, I consider myself more of an Injin than a white
man."

The conversation then turned upon other matters. The fellow made
some remarks which led the party to believe that he was entirely
unacquainted with the Cheyenne Indians, or any other Indians. When he
was apparently off of his guard, the wag resumed his questioning.

"I presume, stranger, you accompany the Cheyennes when they go out on
war parties, as you say that you have turned warrior."

The reply was:

"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