Christopher Carson | Page 5

from his farm. But when this fort went to decay and was unfit for use, a
new one was built near our own house. I well remember, when a little

boy, the family were sometimes waked up in the dead of night by an
express, with the report that the Indians were at hand. The express
came softly to the door and by a gentle tapping raised the family. This
was easily done, as an habitual fear made us ever watchful, and
sensible to the slightest alarm. The whole family were instantly in
motion.
"My father seized his gun and other implements of war. My mother
waked up and dressed the children as well as she could. Being myself
the oldest of the children, I had to take my share of the burdens to be
carried to the fort. There was no possibility of getting a horse in the
night to aid us. Besides the little children we caught up such articles of
clothing and provisions as we could get hold of in the dark, for we
durst not light a candle or even stir the fire. All this was done with the
utmost dispatch and in the silence of death. The greatest care was taken
not to awaken the youngest child.
"To the rest it was enough to say Indian, and not a whisper was heard
afterward. Thus it often happened that the whole number belonging to a
fort, who were in the evening at their homes, were all in their little
fortress before the dawn of the next morning. In the course of the next
day their household furniture was brought in by men under arms. Some
families belonging to each fort were much less under the influence of
fear than others. These often, after an alarm had subsided, in spite of
every remonstrance, would remove home, while their more prudent
neighbors remained in the fort. Such families were denominated
fool-hardy, and gave no small amount of trouble by creating such
frequent necessities of sending runners to warn them of their danger,
and sometimes parties of our men to protect them during their
removal."
While Kit Carson was impatiently at work on the bench of the
harness-maker, feeding his soul with the stories, often greatly
exaggerated, of the wonders of scenes and adventures to be
encountered in the boundless West, a party of traders came along, who
were on the route for Santa Fe. This city, renowned in the annals of the
West, was the capital of the Spanish province of New Mexico. It was

situated more than a thousand miles from Missouri, and contained a
mongrel population of about three thousand souls. Goods from the
States could be readily sold there at a profit of one or two hundred per
cent. Cotton cloth brought three dollars a yard.
Captain Pike, upon his return from his exploring tour, brought back
quite glowing accounts of Santa Fe and its surroundings. It was a long
and perilous journey from Missouri. The party was all strongly armed,
with their goods borne in packs upon mules and horses. They expected
to live almost entirely upon the game they could shoot by the way. Kit,
purely from the love of adventure, applied to join them. Gladly was he
received. Though but a boy of eighteen, his stable character, his
vigorous strength, and his training in all the mysteries of frontier life,
rendered him an invaluable acquisition.
The perils to which they were exposed may be inferred from the fate
which some traders encountered soon after Kit Carson's party had
accomplished the journey. There were twelve traders returning from
Santa Fe. To avoid the Indians they took an extreme southern route.
Day after day they toiled along, encountering no savages. It was
December, and in that climate mild and serene. A caravan of twenty
horses or mules travelling in single file, leaves a trail behind which can
easily be followed.
Our adventurers were on a treeless prairie, an ocean of land, where
nothing obstructed the view to the remote horizon. One beautiful
morning, just after they had taken their breakfast and resumed their
march, they perceived, not a little to their alarm, some moving object
far in the distance behind. It soon resolved itself into a band of several
hundred Indians, well mounted, painted and decorated in the highest
style of barbaric art. They were thoroughly armed with their deadly
bows and arrows and spears. It was indeed an imposing spectacle as
these savage warriors on their fleet steeds, with their long hair and
pennons streaming in the wind, came down upon them.
The little caravan halted and prepared for defence. There were twelve
bold hearts to encounter several hundred foes on the open prairie. They
knew that the main object of the Indians would be