His coat and pants were heavily fringed, in which the quills of the
porcupine bore a conspicuous part. A cap of fox-skin surmounted his head,
with four coon's tails sticking out around the edges of the cap. On his
feet were moccasins. His never-failing rifle was strapped to his back, as
also a powder-horn and bullet-pouch, which latter contained bullets, lead
and moulds. Around his waist there was a heavy belt, which was fastened by
a large, highly polished silver buckle. Attached to the belt, were a pair
of revolvers and a hunting knife.

The noble steed by which he stood, was gayly caparisoned, in true Mexican
style. In many places his trappings were covered with gold and silver. His
bridle also glittered with silver ornaments and buckles.

Thus Kit Carson stands before you, the beau ideal of a mountain man, or
trapper, always ready to help every one in distress, or to avenge an
injury, and no matter what the odds, would fight to the death, believing
that if he went under, fighting for his friends, it was all right.

Kit Carson was a host in himself. It is my belief that he was feared,
singly and alone, more than any other trapper in the Indian country. For
my own part, in an Indian fight, many a one of which I have been in, I
would rather have Carson than twenty common men. His name struck terror
to an Indian. And if it were known that Kit, with a companion or two, was
on their trail, they would flee faster than they would from a whole
regiment of Uncle Sam's men. If Kit was after them, they might as well
commence their death song at once, and prepare for their happy hunting
grounds, for he would surely catch them any where this side of that.

But I must not forget the names of other brave trappers, with whom I
became acquainted, and who often shared with me my camp in the Indian
country, such as Peg Leg Smith, Joseph Walker, and a host of other brave
men. I will here tell you how Smith got his name of Peg Leg.

Thirty years ago, he and some of his companions were trapping in the
Indian country. They had made a hut in a ravine. For a camping place, it
was so well concealed, that for a long time they were undisturbed. One
day, however, Smith and three or four of his party were discovered by
Indians, about two miles from camp. A fight took place, in which Smith was
struck by a rifle ball, that shattered the bone below the knee. He fell,
and during the melee managed to crawl into a thicket, unobserved either by
the I