Thirty-One Years on the Plains and In the Mountains | Page 6

help them, even more than myself.
I had nearly reached the door when a man who had been reading a
newspaper, but was now observing me, called out:

"My boy! come here."
I went over to the corner where he was sitting and I was trying at the
same time to dry away my tears.
This man asked my name, which I gave him. He then asked where my
parents lived, and I told him that they died when I was four years old.
Other questions from him brought out the story of my boy-life; Drake,
Gen. Jackson, the negro boys and the brutal negress; then my trip to St.
Louis--but I omitted the hornet's-nest incident. I also told this kindly
stranger that I had started out to make a living for myself and intended
to succeed.
Then he asked me where I was staying, and I told him of the Beckets.
Seeing that this man was taking quite an interest in me, gave me
courage to ask his name. He told me that his name was Kit Carson, and
that by calling he was a hunter and trapper, and asked me how I would
like to learn his trade.
I assured him that I was willing to do anything honorable for a living
and that I thought I would very much like to be a hunter and trapper.
He said he would take me with him and I was entirely delighted. Often
I had wished to own a gun, but had never thought of shooting anything
larger than a squirrel or rabbit. I was ready to start at once, and asked
him when he would go.
Smilingly he told me not to be in a hurry, and asked me where Mrs.
Becket lived. I told him as nearly as I could, and again asked when he
thought we would leave St. Louis. I was fearful that he would change
his mind about taking me with him. I didn't know him then so well as
afterward. I came to learn that his slightest word was his bond.
But visions of Mr. Drake, an old negro woman and a hornet's nest, still
haunted me and made me overanxious. I wanted to get as far out of
their reach as possible and still remain on the earth.

Mr. Carson laughed in a quiet and yet much amused way and said:
"You must learn to not do anything until you are good and ready, and
there are heaps of things to do before we can start out. Now let's go and
see Mrs. Becket."
So I piloted him to the widow's home, which, as near as I can
remember, was about four blocks from the hotel. Mr. Carson being able
to speak French first-rate, had a talk with Mrs. Becket concerning me.
The story she told him, corresponding with that which I had told him,
he concluded that I had given him nothing but truth, and then he aked
Mrs. Becket what my bill was. She replied that she had just taken me in
because I was a poor boy, until such time as I could find employment,
and that her charges were nothing. He then asked her how long I had
been with her, and being told that it was four days, he begged her to
take five dollars, which she finally accepted.
I took my little budget of clothes and tearfully bidding Mrs. Becket and
Henry good-bye, started back to the hotel with my new guardian, and I
was the happiest boy in the world, from that on, so long as I was a boy.
On the way back to the hotel Mr. Carson stopped with me at a store and
he bought me a new suit of clothes, a hat and a pair of boots, for I was
barefooted and almost bareheaded. Thus dressed I could hardly realize
that I was the Will Drannan of a few hours before.
That was the first pair of boots I had ever owned. Perhaps, dear reader,
you do not know what that means to a healthy boy of fifteen.
It means more than has ever been written, or ever will be.
I was now very ready to start out hunting, and on our way to the hotel I
asked Mr. Carson if he did not think we could get away by morning,
but he told me that to hunt I would probably need a gun, and we must
wait until he could have one made for me, of proper size for a boy.
The next day we went to a gun factory and Mr. Carson gave orders
concerning the weapon, after which we returned to the hotel. We

remained in St. Louis about three weeks and every day seemed like an
age to me. At our