constant lookout for Indians, who would have spared no effort to
circumvent and slay him, had they known of his presence in their
country. He was so placed, indeed, that only by the most consummate
skill could he hope to run the continuous gauntlet, hundreds of
miles in length.

He had gone but a short distance when he detected the trails of his
enemies, showing they were numerous and liable to be encountered
at any moment. When night came, he picketed his horses and lay down
on the prairie or in some grove, ready to leap to his feet, bound
upon one of his steeds and gallop away on a dead run. Where the
hunter has no friend to mount guard, he is often compelled to depend
upon his horses, who frequently prove the best kind of sentinels.
They are quick to detect the approach of strangers, and a slight
neigh or stamp of the foot is enough to give the saving warning.

A large portion of the country over which he rode, was a treeless
plain and the keen blue eyes of the matchless mountaineer were kept
on a continual strain. A moving speck in the distant horizon, the
faint column of thin smoke rising from the far off grove, or a
faint yellow dust against the blue sky, could only mean one thing
-- the presence of enemies, for he was in a region which contained
not a single friend.

One afternoon Carson discovered an Indian village directly ahead of
him and on the trail which he was following. He instantly withdrew
beyond sight of any who might be on guard, and, hunting a sparse
grove of timber, kept within it until dark; then he made a long
circuit, and came back to the trail far beyond it. He travelled
a long distance that night and by daylight was in no danger of