CHAPTER XXIX—THE GREAT SCOUT AND THE GREAT EXPLORER

Several days elapsed before the young trapper obtained any definite clue concerning his father. At that time, however, he was informed by the woman with whom he was boarding that she also had been making inquiries for him, as she had become greatly interested in her young boarder. She had been informed by a woman who occasionally visited her place with vegetables for sale that she had heard of a man named Benton who was in the poorhouse in a nearby town.

Faint as the clue was, Reuben decided to follow it. When at last he was admitted into the room in which the man who bore the same name as he was found, he said quickly: “That’s not the man. He isn’t my father.”

“Better look again,” suggested the keeper of the place. “You say it has been a good many years since you saw him.”

“Yes, it has been a long time,” replied Reuben slowly, as again he looked keenly at the old and decrepit man before him. The man’s hair was long, his clothing unkempt, but what appealed most strongly to Reuben was the fact that the man was totally blind.

At the sound of his voice there had been a strange and sudden movement on the part of the blind man. He turned his sightless face in the direction from which Reuben’s voice had been heard and a change in his expression quickly came over his countenance. There was a change, too, in Reuben at the same moment, for in the face upon which he was looking there now were certain features that somehow dimly reminded him of the father he had known in the years long gone.

“Your voice sounds like the voice of a boy of mine,” suggested the old man in trembling tones.

“What was his name?” inquired Reuben.

“Reuben Benton.”

“And what is your name?”

“My name is William Benton.”

“How long have you been here?” inquired the young trapper.

“I don’t know. It seems like many years.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Do I like it? I wish I was dead.”

Reuben’s face was glowing with a more tender expression than had been seen upon it in many a day. “We’ll try to arrange it so that you won’t have to stay here much longer,” he said.

“What do you mean?” demanded his father so eagerly that Reuben’s heart smote him again.

“I mean that I am your son and that I have come here to make arrangements to take you out of this place.”

Abruptly, and to Reuben’s intense surprise, his father suddenly buried his face in his hands and cried and sobbed as a little child might have done. It was long before Reuben could comfort him, but when at last the sightless old man was convinced that Reuben had in reality returned and that he was able to provide for his wants in his declining years, the countenance of William Benton was lighter than it had been for many days.

Nor was Reuben disappointed. In a brief time he was able to obtain the release of his father and also to purchase a little house in which they both might live. Reuben’s share in the furs which had been secured, as we know, had brought him no small amount of money, and through the influence of Kit Carson he had been able to save most of that which he had received. Because of this he was now able to provide for his father, and there was no hesitation on the part of the young trapper in deciding to remain at Pain Court, or St. Louis, as the place now was commonly called.

With Kit Carson, however, the case was radically different. He had not found any trace of his own family, and when a few days had elapsed his stay in St. Louis was ended. The strange sights of the life in the city and the activities of the busy city people were all interesting, but as Kit explained to Reuben, he wanted to be where there weren’t so many others, where there wasn’t so much noise, where he could have all the air he wanted to breathe and all the sky there was to be seen. Accordingly on the first steamboat that departed westward on the Missouri River, Kit Carson was a passenger.

Among those who were also on board was a man to whom Kit Carson felt drawn almost instinctively when first he discovered him. It was not long before he learned that the name of the stranger was Lieutenant John C. Fremont, who at that time was conducting a band of men to explore and survey certain regions of the great West.

When at last young Lieutenant Fremont found himself talking to the famous scout he explained that the guide whom he had expected to meet him had not appeared and that it was now necessary for him to find another. Kit Carson, in his quiet manner and smiling as he spoke, explained that he himself had had considerable experience in the western country and that he would be willing to accompany the party as its guide. Somewhat suspicious at first, Lieutenant Fremont’s fears soon were allayed, and Kit Carson became the guide of the expedition.

As they proceeded on their way more and more the daring young lieutenant became interested in the modest story which Kit Carson had to tell of his experiences in the great West; more and more convinced was Fremont that he had secured a man who was certain to be very valuable in the perilous expedition in which he was engaged. At last the party left the boat when it arrived at the mouth of the Kansas River, and at once the explorers set forth on their pathless journey.

To the men it seemed as if the necessities of life which they were taking with them had been reduced to the smallest possible number, but the scout looked on their equipment with amazement. It had never been his privilege to sleep under canvas tents or cross streams in rubber boots. We may be sure, however, that simple as were the tastes of Kit Carson, he found the conveniences which his new friends were carrying a source of comfort before many days had elapsed.

Steadily the party pushed forward on its journey westward. All day long the great stretches of level plains extended in every direction. The herds of buffalo were so many that only the choice bits of those that were shot were eaten. Indeed, some of the men saved for cooking only the marrow-bones and the tongues of the buffalo.

Then came the first sight which many of the explorers had ever had of the wonderful Rocky Mountains. And what a sight they were and are. Some of them stood with their summits hidden above the clouds and with great chasms cut into their sides. Some had heavy borders of trees as far up their sloping sides as the timberline, and others had rushing, noisy, clattering streams dashing down their sides from the fields of melting snow near the summits.

And now Kit Carson’s experience became of steadily increasing value to the young lieutenant. More and more the friendship between the two men became close. Kit Carson, who knew all about the buffalo and the other animals of the plains, who was modest in his manner and yet wonderfully well informed concerning most of the points about which Fremont wished to learn, his skill as a hunter and his knowledge and friendship of the Indians, daily became of greater help to the explorers.

Indeed, it was not long after this time, when Kit Carson was carrying a message to Santa Fe, that the great scout showed his fearlessness even among the most hostile Indians. At that time all the tribes in the vicinity were on the warpath, and Kit Carson was compelled to go alone on his long ride to Santa Fé, because most of the white men were afraid of the painted savages. The scout, however, selecting a different route from that which he had followed before, confidently continued on his way. Suddenly a band of braves were seen not far before him. Slipping to one side of his horse and clinging by one arm and one leg to the animal, which was running at its swiftest paces, he passed directly in front of the band of warriors without exciting any suspicion that they beheld anything more than a stray pony, which was fleeing in terror at the sight of the red-skinned warriors.

When Kit Carson returned from his long journey, his friendship with the daring explorer had become very strong. Fremont had come to value not merely the immense fund of information which the scout possessed, but also the traits of character which had endeared him to almost all his acquaintances.

When the scout was returning, accompanied only by a young Mexican, they met a party of four Indians. Although Kit Carson was suspicious of the men, for he was aware of the discontent among the tribes, he nevertheless disguised his feelings, and when one of the Indians advanced toward him with outstretched hand Kit Carson approached him in the same manner. When the brave was about to grasp his hand as a token of friendship he suddenly changed his tactics and tried to seize and obtain the gun which the scout was carrying.

Instantly Kit Carson struck the treacherous redskin a blow between his eyes with his fist. The Indian fell to the ground, but he instantly leaped to his feet and ran back to his friends as swiftly as he was able. Immediately all four Indians turned and fled from the place. They were not accustomed to that method of fighting.

When at last Carson and his young companion arrived at the place they were seeking, it was to learn that Fremont already had gone on his westward journey.

Determined to overtake him, the scout quickly set forth from the fort. It was not difficult for him to rejoin the party which was moving in advance of him, and plans were quickly made by which he was once more to become the guide of the explorers. He explained, however, to Fremont that he wished to return to Fort Bent to secure mules which would be necessary to carry their burdens when they were journeying over the mountains.

It was not long before Kit Carson had secured the animals for which he had left his companions, and in a brief time he rejoined the men on their march. After they had failed to find a better route for the wagons through South Pass they decided to go to Salt Lake, of which they all had heard but which none had seen.

On that difficult journey across the plains it is impossible to describe all the sufferings through which the men passed and the hardships they were compelled to endure. Throughout them all, however, it was Kit Carson who proved to the lieutenant that he was equal to every emergency. When the men were near starvation it was his prowess as a hunter that secured meat for them. When their horses nearly dropped upon the sands through exhaustion and hunger again it was the scout who discovered the place where grass was to be found. When the leader one day fell into the depths of a rushing torrent it was Kit Carson who saved him from drowning. When they were threatened by the Indians, again the scout was the one upon whom all depended to obtain their friendship and secure permission to pass through the country without molestation.

Again Fremont decided to explore the region of the Oregon or the Columbia River. When their work was ended the explorer decided to go southward to California. This was a difficult journey and compelled the band to cross the lofty range of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Snows that were so deep that a man might be buried in them had to be crossed. Paths for the mules and horses had to be made. Sometimes it was necessary for the men to set fire to the fallen trees so that the snow nearby would be melted and they might obtain places where their blankets might be spread for the night.

The determination of the leaders was shared by their followers, and at last they arrived at Fort Sutter, where, with an abundance of food and other fresh supplies, they soon regained their strength and spirits.

While they were returning from this expedition Kit Carson, who had been the life and inspiration of all the men, chanced to meet a Mexican and his little boy, who apparently were in great sorrow. As Kit Carson spoke Spanish fluently he entered into conversation with the man and soon learned that the Indians had stolen his horses and carried away his friends. Without stopping to consult Lieutenant Fremont, Kit Carson succeeded in inducing one of the explorers to accompany him, and together the two men set forth in their endeavour to regain the lost horses for the Mexican.

There was swift riding that night for the two men. Nor did they stop until the sun peered above the eastern horizon, and then they stopped only because they had discovered not far before them the camp of the Indians which they were seeking. Instantly Kit Carson and his companion urged their tired horses forward, and yelling as loudly as their lungs permitted, the riders dashed into the camp.

At that time the Indians were busy in their preparations for their breakfast. Before they were fully aware of what was occurring the Indian chief fell before the sure aim of Kit Carson. Without retreating, although they were two against thirty or more, the two hardy men seized their pistols and continued the attack.

The astonished redmen turned and fled from the place. Doubtless if they had known how many were in the attacking party that would have been the last we ever should have heard of Kit Carson and his deeds. As it was, however, the redmen, without waiting to discover the numbers of their enemies, fled from the spot, leaving behind them the horses which they had stolen. These were secured by the scout, and with them he returned to the camp and gave back to the heart-broken Mexican the ponies which he had lost.