farewell to his friends and galloped off. He had not ridden far
when he turned off toward an Indian village, whose people were on
friendly terms with the hunters, and, riding directly among the red
men, whose lingo he understood, he asked for one of their bravest
warriors to join him in hunting down a California Indian that had
run off with their best horses.

Such a request coming from any other hunter would have received
little notice; but those dusky barbarians not only knew Carson by
name, but looked upon him as the greatest white warrior they had
ever seen. He could have secured a score of braves had he wanted
them, but he desired only one -- a sinewy, daring fellow whom he
knew could be relied on in any emergency. This Indian required no
more time than Carson himself to make ready, and, shortly after
Kit's arrival in the village, he rode forth again with his faithful
friend at his elbow.

It was impossible for the thief to conceal the trail of the stolen
horses and he made no attempt to do so. A slight examination showed
the pursuers that it led down the Green River, the general course
being such that Carson was confident the thief was making for
California -- a long distance away.

As the fugitive was well mounted and all his horses were fleet, and
as he must have been quite certain he would be pursued, he lost no
time on the road. The trail showed he was going at a full gallop,
and, under the most favorable circumstances, the chase was sure to
be a long one.