Westport, or who took steamer at St. Louis up the Missouri, often
came back with several of their number missing. Up among the mountains,
they had gone out to visit their traps and had never come back to
camp. The lurking Blackfoot, or Sioux, or Crow, had aimed all too
well, and, as he bounded whooping away, he swung aloft the scalp
of his victim whose trapping days were ended forever.

After recovering their horses from the band of Crows, Carson and
his companions returned to camp, where they remained until spring,
when they cached their furs and made their way to the Laramie River
on another hunting expedition. While thus employed, a couple of the
men deserted taking several of the best animals. Kit Carson and a
single companion were sent in pursuit, the rascals having a good
day's start. A desperate fight was sure to follow a meeting between
the parties, for Carson would never forgive such treachery, and the
deserters were not the ones to permit themselves to be despoiled
of their booty without doing their utmost to prevent it.

It was suspected that they were on their way to the place where
the beaver had been cached; and disregarding the trail, therefore
Carson made all haste thither. It need not be said that he lost
no time on the road, but when he reached their old camp, he found
the deserters had preceded him. They had stolen several thousand
dollars worth of furs and departed.

Carson was more anxious than ever to overtake the scoundrels.
He and his companion made diligent search, but failed utterly to
find them. They were never seen or heard of again, and Carson was
convinced they had fallen victims to the Indians who in turn made
off with the stolen peltries.