The trappers had gathered some nutritious roots upon which they
managed to subsist for a time, but these soon gave out, and their
situation grew desperate. When almost famishing they bled their
mules and drank the warm current. They would have killed one of
the animals, but for the fact that they could not spare it, and,
as there was no calculating how long the others would last, they
were afraid to take the step, which was likely to cripple them
fatally.

This strange source of nourishment served them for the time, but
a repetition would endanger the lives of their animals, who were
also in sore straits, inasmuch as the grass was not only poor but
very scanty. Matters rapidly grew worse, and soon became so desperate
that Carson said they would have to kill one of their animals or
else lie down and perish themselves.

At this trying crisis, they discovered a band of Indians approaching.
Perhaps the hapless situation in which all were placed left no room
for enmity, for the red men showed a friendly disposition. The high
hopes of Carson and his friends were chilled when it was found that
the Indians were in about as bad a plight as themselves. They had
barely a mouthful of food among them, and, when besought to barter
with the whites, they shook their heads. They had nothing to trade,
and, while they felt no hostility toward the suffering trappers,
they gave them to understand they could not afford any help at all.

But Carson had fixed his eyes on a plump old horse, and never did
a shrewd New Englander apply himself more persistently to secure a
prize than did he. Kit's companions put forth all their powers of
persuasion, but in vain, and they advised Carson that he was throwing