alive with them. They finally met no
more, and Kit announced that they were through, he thought, at last.

But they found disappointment. Their route was cut by a wide, open
valley covered only with stones and cactus. They dared not stand up;
they might yet be seen. It was two miles across, and they hitched
along, on their knees and on hands and knees, every foot of the way,
while the rocks and cactus tortured them.

Here, where the brush grew high, Kit stopped and appeared to be
relieved.

"Put on yore shoes, boy. We're out of the trap and we can make better
time."

Hurrah! Lieutenant Beale laid his hand to his belt. What!

"I've lost my shoes, Kit."

"So've I. That's mean, but we can't help it. Come on. We've a long
way yit; we daren't line in direct. Thar'll be more o' those patrols
watchin' the trails into San Diego."

They hastened as best they might, on a circuit to avoid the trails.
The country was rough and rolling. When day dawned, they left the
mesas and kept to the dense brush of the canyons; were almost lost, so
crooked their path; but the Indian guided them, and constantly sniffed
for the salty air from the ocean. In the middle of the day they
rested; their soles, knees, and hands were raw, and body and limb
burned with the cactus; their throats were parched for lack of water.

At evening they smelled the ocean. The Indian said that they were
within twelve miles of San Diego. From a high point they might have
seen the glimmer of the Pacific. Kit Carson spoke.

"We'd better divide up, I think. Then one of us will get through.
That's safer than travelin' together. Lieutenant, you head off to
southward; amigo (that to the Indian boy, in Spanish), you go on
straight; I'll take around north'ard, whar the _Mexicanos_ probably are
thickest to close the Los Angeles trail. Whoever gets in fust will
report without wastin' any time."

"All right, sir," agreed the lieutenant.

"Bueno (Good)," muttered the Indian, nodding.

It was understood. The lieutenant and Kit shook hands; and they three
separated, to steal swiftly away in the waning twilight.

At San Diego, Commodore Stockton had landed sailors and marines to
reinforce the American Riflemen in San Diego. He was building Fort
Stockton, to command the town. The frigate _Congress_ and the
sloop-of-war _Portsmouth_ swung at anchor in the narrow channel of the
harbor.

He had learned of the plight of General Kearny, and was just