THE VALLEY OF THE CIMARRON

Because of the next stretch to certain water, a matter of about thirty-five miles, another very early start was made after the surrounding country had been searched by the plainsmen for signs of Indians. Although later in the season than usual for a caravan to cover this part of the route, the dreaded dry stretch along the usually empty river bed was found broken here and there by shallow pools and advantage was taken of these to soak the wooden rims of some of the older and more faulty wagon wheels. One trader with a wagon which never should have left Missouri had been put to great trouble to keep the tires on his two front wheels and had "borrowed" about all the wire and hoop-iron his friends felt disposed to give him. He had driven so many pieces of iron between the felloes and the tires that daylight could be seen between the two; and on topping a little hill between two ravines near the river bank one of the tires slipped off and went rolling and bounding down the slope onto the dry river bed. Amid roars of laughter the column stopped until he had recovered it and re-wedged it onto the wheel, and at the next nooning stop he drove the wagon into a trickle of water running down the middle of the river bed and spent most of his time backing and pulling to get every part of the wheels soaked.

A strong body of scouts which had pushed on ahead of the column returned shortly after the noon camp had been left, and reported that about ten miles farther on a section of the river several hundred yards long was full of water. Not being able to make the Middle Spring that day, this wet section of the river was decided upon for the night camp. A score of mounted men were sent on ahead to scour the country for signs of Indians, but became so hungry for the numerous kinds of wild fruits and berries along the sides of the ravines, that they did their work poorly and did not reach the proposed camp site much before the caravan got there.

The country was cut by a maze of ravines and gullies and studded with small hills, little pastures of excellent grass nestling between them. As the wagons filed down a narrow road onto a pasture fronting on the Cimarron a plainsman, who had pushed on ahead of the caravan because he doubted the seriousness and intelligence of the scouting party, was seen dashing down to the farther bank of the river and splashing across it without checking the speed of his horse.

One look at him was enough for Woodson, and the sharp blast of the bugle cut the air. Wagoners whipped their tired teams into the best speed they could give and the clatter and screeching of the rumbling wagons filled the air as they raced around into the circular formation. The scout barely had left the river and the wagons still were forming when over the crest of a hill across the stream appeared a mass of horsemen, their lances standing like drunken pickets against the sky. No need to ask what tribe they belonged to, for the hint conveyed by their lances soon was endorsed by their fantastic two-color blankets, one half red and the other half blue. Most of them wore, in addition to the regular attire of the plains Indians, a leather jacket, and from the heels of their moccasins trailed tassels, another mark of their tribe.

These warriors, magnificent specimens of manhood and superb horsemen, appeared to be gigantic as they paused and spread out along the crest of the hill, boldly outlined against the bright sky behind them. They watched the running circle of wagons stop by jerks as vehicle after vehicle crowded against the one ahead of it and came to a stand, the teams inside the corral. They rode slowly down the hill, their numbers constantly growing, as a line of defenders moved out from the encampment to interpose itself between the camp and the Comanche warriors; and as the line stopped to wait for the cannons to get into position the red enemy charged with a bedlam of whoops and yells. The two quick roars of the cannons and the hurtling solid shot, which raised dust-puffs high up on the hill, checked them and they spread out into two thin lines of racing horsemen running toward both sides of the encampment.

Woodson, glad that the cannoneers had missed in their panicky aim, ordered the defenders to fall back to the wagons, which they were only too glad to do; but they did not obey his command to cease firing, and sent their hastily aimed balls in the general direction of the enemy. No harm was done by these, not only because of the poor aim but also because the racing Indians were as yet well out of rifle shot and were hanging over on the far side of their mounts.

Tom ran to the frantically working cannoneers and threw himself among them without regard to how he handled them, shouting for them not to fire until Woodson gave the word, and then to load with musket balls and fire as fast and true as they could. Franklin joined him, his face as black as a thunder cloud, and made threats they knew he would carry out if the instructions were not obeyed.

The racing line drew nearer and nearer, those of the warriors who had guns discharging them into the air. It looked like a desperate fight was only a few seconds away when Hank yelled his discovery. Over the crest of the same hill appeared the women and children of the tribe, their dogs dragging burdens on their small travoises and the horses pulling the dragging lodgepoles loaded down with the possessions of their owners. This meant peace, for if war was intended, all but the warriors would have been sent away. Some of the more quickwitted of the plainsmen and traders waved their hats at the debouching village across the river, and Woodson, with Tom and Franklin at his side, held up his hand and walked toward the slowing line. An arrow suddenly quivered in the ground almost under his feet and he stopped, raising both hands. An Indian dashed back across the river, where he berated a group of non-combatants and waved them toward the top of the hill. The traveling village instantly became a confusion of quick movement and climbed the hill and dipped over its crest much quicker than it had appeared.

Woodson swore under his breath. "Reckon we got ter fight, boys. Look sharp an' fall back ter th' caravan. Drop th' first brave that lifts bow an' arrer!" He glanced back to see how far they had to go and glimpsed a dozen men under Hank and Zeb coming to their aid. He raised his hand to them and they instantly dropped to their knees, their rifles leaping to their shoulders. "Now," he grated. "We're bein' covered; turn an' run!" As the three men reached the covering party they checked themselves, joined it, faced the savages, and the entire party fell slowly back to the wagons.

"Funny they didn't send in more'n that one arrer," growled Woodson, thoroughly puzzled. "These hyar ain't Pawnee hoss-stealers; thar fightin' men. Knock down that gun!" he snapped as a tenderfoot rested a powerful rifle across a wagon wheel. The man beside the ambitious Indian fighter struck it aside and the ball went into the ground. "Th' next man as pulls trigger till I says fer him to is goin' to be d——d sorry!" cried the captain, drawing his pistol.

The running line, moving back farther under the threat of the two cannons, gradually stopped, facing the waiting defenders. It seemed like the calm that precedes a storm. Then down the hill across the river came a small group of savages more outrageously decked out than any seen so far.

"Th' chiefs," growled Woodson. "Hope we git out o' this without a fight. Even th' Comanches ain't usually anxious ter git inter a clawin' match with Americans, though they air th' best o' th' prairie tribes."

"They do about what they please with th' Mexicans," replied Tom; "but they've larned that Americans air a different breed, an' have better guns. But some o' thar raids inter Texas have puffed 'em up. I don't like thar village climbin' back over that hill."

"If it's ter be peace, I'd a cussed sight ruther have it over th' hill than planted somewhar close ter us; they'd over-run th' camp an' friction would be shore ter grow. While mebby they can't steal as slick as th' Pawnees, they kin do it good enough ter make us cross-eyed watchin' 'em. Some tenderfoot shore will ketch one of 'em stealin' his belongin's an' start a fight thar an' then, with a hull passel o' 'em inside th' corral. Wall, we'll soon find out what's goin' ter come of it; they've jined th' line."

The white defenders eagerly watched the pow-wow being held to the southwest of the encampment, their rifles balanced for quick handling; then they slowly relaxed and some rested their weapons on the ground. The consulting group of warriors split and from it, riding with slow dignity toward the wagons, came two chiefs and two lesser warriors. They held up their hands when within rifle shot and stopped. Woodson, Tom, Franklin, and Haviland, mounted this time, rode with the same slow dignity out to meet them. Franklin could speak their tongue well enough to make himself understood, and Woodson and Tom knew the universal sign language well enough to express themselves in it. As they left the camp they caught a glimpse of another band of warriors riding around the upper end of the hill and roughly estimated the combined force to be close to five hundred. Here was good reason to be as tactful as possible. When within speaking distance of the Comanche envoys they drew up and the two groups eyed each other in silence for several minutes.

"Our village on the Washita is no more," said a chief who had enough long hair to supply any hirsute deficiency of a dozen men and not suffer by it. "Its ashes are blown by the winds and its smoke brings tears to the eyes of our squaws and children. Our winter maize is gone and our storehouses lie about the ground. White Buffalo and his braves were hunting the buffalo beyond the Cimarron. Their old men and their squaws and children were with them. Some of my young men have just returned and brought us this news. What have the white men to say of this?"

"Our hearts are heavy for our friends the Comanches," answered Woodson. "There are many tribes of white men, as there are many tribes of Indians. There are the Americanos, the Mexicanos, the Englise, and the Tejanos. The Americans come from the North and the East along their great trail, with goods to trade and with friendship for the Comanches. The Mexicanos would not dare to burn a Comanche village; but with the Tejanos are not the Comanches at war? And we have seen Tejanos near the trail. We have seen where they defeated Armijo's soldiers, almost within sight of the Arkansas River. Cannot White Buffalo read the signs on the earth? Our trail is plain for many days to the east, for all to see. Has he seen our wagon tracks to the Washita? Are his young men blind? We are many and strong and have thunder guns, but we do not fight except to protect ourselves and our goods. We are traders."

"We are warriors!" exclaimed the chief. "We also are many and strong, and our lances are short that our courage may be long. White Buffalo has listened. He believes that the white chief speaks with a single tongue. His warriors want the white man's guns and powder; medicine guns that shoot like the clapping of hands. Such have the Tejanos. He has skins and meat and mulos."

"The medicine guns are Tejano medicine," replied Woodson. "We have only such as I see in the hands of some of our friends, the Comanches. Powder and lead we have little, for we have come far and killed much game; blue and red cloth we have, medicine glasses, beads, awls, knives, tobacco, and firewater we have much of. Our mules are strong and we need no more." He looked shrewdly at a much-bedecked Indian at the chief's side. "We have presents for the Comanche Medicine Man that only his eyes may see."

The medicine man's face did not change a muscle but there came a gleam to his eyes that Woodson noted.

"The Comanches are not like the Pawnees or Cheyennes to kill their eyes and ears with firewater," retorted the chief. "We are not Pawnee dogs that we must hide from ourselves and see things that are not. Our hair is long, that those may take it who can. I have spoken."

There was some further talk in which was arranged a visit from the Comanche chief; the bartering price of mules, skins, and meat, as was the custom of this tribe; a long-winded exchange of compliments and assurances of love and good will, in the latter both sides making plenty of reservations.

When Woodson and his companions returned to the encampment they went among the members of the caravan with explicit instructions, hoping by the use of tact and common sense to avert friction with their expected visitors. Small articles were put away and the wagon covers tightly drawn to minimize the opportunities of the Indians for theft.

The night passed quietly and the doubled guard apparently was wasted. Shortly after daylight the opposite hill suddenly swarmed with dashing warriors, whose horsemanship was a revelation to some of the tenderfeet. Following the warriors came the non-combatants of the tribe, pouring down the slope in noisy confusion. Woodson swore under his breath as he saw the moving village enter the shallow waters of the river to camp on the same side with the caravan, for it seemed that his flowery assurances of love and esteem had been taken at their face value; but he was too wise to credit this, knowing that Indians were quick to take advantage of any excuse that furthered their ends. The closer together the two camps were the more easily could the Indians over-run the corralled traders.

Reaching the encampment's side of the stream the lodges were erected with most praiseworthy speed, laid out in rows, and the work finished in a remarkably short time. The conical lodges averaged more than a dozen feet in diameter and some of them, notably that of the chief, were somewhere near twice that size.

In the middle of the morning the chiefs and the more important warriors paid their visit to the corral and were at once put in good spirits by a salute from the cannons, a passing of the red-stone pipes, and by receiving presents of tobacco and trade goods. While they sat on the ground before Woodson's wagon and smoked, the medicine man seemed restless and finally arose to wander about. He bumped into Tom Boyd, who had been waiting to see him alone, and was quickly led to Franklin's wagon where the owner, hiding his laughter, was waiting. It is well to have the good will of the chiefs, but it is better also to have that of the medicine man; and wily Hank Marshall never overlooked that end of it when on a trading expedition among the Indians. He had let Woodson into his secret before the parley of the day before, and now his scheme was about to bear fruit.

Franklin made some mysterious passes over a little pile of goods which was covered with a gaudy red cloth on which had been fastened some beads and tinsel; and as he did so, both Tom and Hank knelt and bowed their heads. Franklin stepped back as if fearful of instant destruction, and then turned to the medicine man, who had overlooked nothing, with an expression of reverent awe on his face.

For the next few minutes Franklin did very well, considering that he knew very little of what he was talking about, but he managed to convey the information that under the red cloth was great medicine, found near the "Thunderer's Nest," not far from the great and sacred red pipestone quarry of the far north. The mention of this Mecca of the Indians, sacred in almost every system of Indian mythology, made a great impression on the medicine man and it was all he could do to keep his avaricious fingers off the cloth and wait until Franklin's discourse was finished. The orator wound up almost in a whisper.

"Here is a sour water that has the power to foretell peace or war," he declaimed, tragically. "There are two powders, found by the chief of the Hurons, under the very nest of the Thunder Bird. They look alike, yet they are different. One has no taste and if it is put into some of the sour water the water sleeps and tells of peace; but if the other, which has a taste, is put in the medicine water, the water boils and cries for war. It is powerful medicine and always works."

The eyes of the red fakir gleamed, for with him often lay the decision as to peace or war, and in this respect his power was greater even than that of a chief. After a short demonstration with the water, to which had been added a few drops of acid, the two powders, one of which was soda, were tested out. The medicine man slipped his presents under his robe, placed his fingers on his lips and strode away. When the next Comanche war-council was held he would be a dominating figure, and the fame of his medicine would spread far and wide over the Indian country.

"Got him, body an' soul!" chuckled Franklin, rubbing his hands. "Did ye see his mean ol' eyes near pop out when she fizzed? He saw all th' rest o' th' stuff an' he won't rest till he gits it all; an' he won't git it all till his tribe or us has left. He plumb likes th' fizz combination, an' mebby would want to try it out hyar an' now. Thar won't be no trouble with these Injuns this trip."

"An' that thar black sand ye gave him," laughed Hank, leaning back against a wagon wheel, "that looks like powder, so he kin make his spell over real powder, slip th' sand in its place, an' show how his medicine will fix th' powder of thar enemies so it won't touch off! Did ye see th' grin on his leather face, when he savvied that? He's a wise ol' fakir, he is!"

Tom grinned at Franklin. "Hank, here, has got th' medicine men o' th' Piegan Blackfeet eatin' out o' his hand. Every time th' Crows git after him too danged hot he heads fer th' Blackfoot country. They only follered him thar onct. What all did ye give 'em, Hank?"

"Oh, lots o' little things," chuckled Hank, reminiscently. "Th' medicine men o' th' Blackfeet air th' greatest in th' world; thar ain't no others kin come within a mile o' 'em, thanks ter me an' a chemist I know back in St. Louie. Th' other traders allus git what I leave."

When the important Indian visitors left there was quite a little ceremony, and the camp was quiet until after the noon meal. Early in the afternoon, according to the agreement with the chief and the medicine man, the Indians visited the encampment in squads, and at no time was there more than thirty or forty savages in the encampment at once. Instead of the usual attempted stampede of the animals at night all was peaceful; and instead of having to remain for two or three days in camp, at all times in danger of a change in the mood of the savages, the caravan was permitted to leave on the following morning, which miracle threw Woodson into more or less of a daze. As the last wagon rounded a hillock several miles from the camp site a mounted Comanche rode out of the brush and went along the column until he espied Franklin; and a few moments later he rode into the brush again, a bulging red cloth bundle stowed under his highly ornamented robe.

But there was more than the desire to trade, the professed friendship and the bribery of the medicine man that operated for peace in the minds of the Comanches. Never so early in the history of the trail had they attacked any caravan as large as this one and got the best of the fight. In all the early years of the trail the white men killed in such encounters under such conditions, could be counted on the fingers of one hand; while the Indian losses had been considerable. With all their vaunted courage the Comanches early had learned the difference between Americans and Mexicans, and most of their attempts against large caravans had been more for the purpose of stampeding the animals than for fighting, and their efforts mostly had been "full of sound and fury," like Macbeth's idiot's tale, and signified nothing. Still, the caravan breathed easier as mile after mile took it away from that encampment; but their escape was not regarded so seriously as to make them pass Middle Spring, where good water always could be found, and here they corralled.

Tom and his friends had grown more alert since leaving the Arkansas, and without showing it had kept a close watch over Pedro and his companions. The actions of these and of a few Americans, Franklin among the latter, seemed to merit scrutiny. A subtle change was taking place in them. Franklin spent more of his time near Tom and Hank, and Pedro and some of the Mexicans were showing a veiled elation tinged with anxiety. Wherever Tom went he was watched, and if he joined the advance guard, or the rear guard, or the flanking parties, Franklin was certain to show up. He seemed to have taken a belated but strong fancy to the young plainsman. When Hank and Tom took the packs from the backs of their mules at night not a move they made was missed; and they soon learned that quite a few of the Mexicans were sleeping in the wagons of friends during the morning traveling.

It was here at Middle Spring where Tom and Jim Ogden staged a serious disagreement, which spread to one between Hank Marshall and Zeb Houghton, and resulted in the two sets of partners becoming estranged. When questioned about it in indirect ways by Franklin, Ogden sullenly said that he could handle his troubles without the aid of others, and would handle them "danged quick" if a certain plainsman didn't look out. Zeb was not so cautious and his remarks, vague as they were, were plain enough to bring fleeting smiles to the faces of Pedro and his friends.

The grass was better here than at any place since the Arkansas had been left and as some of the animals were beginning to show unmistakable signs of the long journey, it was decided to remain here another night and give them a chance to recuperate a little. The news was hailed joyfully and numerous hunting parties were arranged at the fires the first night. Woodson called for volunteers to form a strong day guard for the animals, which he wanted driven from the camp to graze over the best grass, and he asked for another strong guard to watch the corral, since Comanches, Pawnee Picts, Kiowas, and even more northern tribes out on horse-stealing expeditions could be looked for without unduly straining the imagination. Arapahoes, Utes, and even Cheyennes were not strangers to the valley of the Cimarron, and once in a while Apache raiders paid it flying visits.

Woodson made the round of the fires, trying to discourage the formation of so many small hunting parties while the caravan was corralled in such broken and dangerous country, and succeeded in reducing the numbers of the hunters about half and in consolidating them into two large parties, capable of offering some sort of resistance to an Indian attack. One of these he put under the command of Hank, to that person's great disgust, for Hank had planned to go on a hunt with his partner, and to join Ogden and Houghton when well away from the camp. Tom was to remain with the wagons; Ogden was to have charge of the other hunting party, and Houghton and Franklin were to stay near the grazing herd.

The fires dimmed here and there as their builders forsook them for blankets; others glowed brilliantly, among them the fire of Tom and Hank. The former had said good night to Joe Cooper and Patience and was walking toward his fire when Pedro silently joined him and went along with him. Hank was off entertaining a party of tenderfeet with tales of miraculous adventures in the mountains, and after lying to the best of his ability for two hours, and hardly being questioned, he described a wonderful country lying east of Henry's Fork of the Snake River; south of the Snow Mountains; north of Jackson's Lake and west of the Shoshones Mountains. It lay along the Yellowstone River and the headwaters of the Stinking Water, and it contained all manner of natural wonders, which he described earnestly and graphically, to bursts of laughter. The more earnest he became the more his auditors roared and finally he got to his feet, glared around the circle, declared he was not going to "eddicate airy passel o' danged fools," and stalked away in high dudgeon, muttering fiercely. Reaching his own fire he threw himself down by it and glared at the glowing embers as if he held them responsible.

Tom nudged Pedro. "Somebody ask ye fer a left-hand wipin' stick, Hank?" he asked.

"Thar a passel o' fools!" snorted Hank. "If hoss sense war ten paces wide an' ten miles long in every man, ye couldn't collect enough o' it in th' whole danged party fer ter make an ear tab fer a buffaler gnat!"

"Tellin' 'em about that thar river ye saw that couldn't find no way outer th' valley, an' finally had ter flow up over a mounting?"

"Ye mean them up-side-down water falls?" queried Hank, grinning. "Yes, an' some o' 'em come clost ter swallerin' it. Why, I sot thar an' filled 'em plumb ter th' ears with lies an' they didn't hardly wink an eye. Then I told 'em o' that valley on th' Yallerstun, whar th' Injuns won't go because they figger it's th' home o' th' Devil. An' th' more I told 'em about it, th' more th' danged fools laughed! I'd like ter hold 'em over one o' them thar water-squirts, or push 'em down into th' bilin' mud pots! Swallered th' lies, dang 'em, an' spit out th' truth!"

Tom roared and after a moment looked curiously at his partner. "I thought ye said you'd never tell nobody about that country ag'in?"

"Oh, I felt so danged sorry fer thar ignorance that I reckoned I'd eddicate 'em, th' dumb fools! If I had a ox an' it didn't know more'n them all put together, danged if I wouldn't shoot it!" He sliced off a pipeful of tobacco and pulled an ember from the fire. "What you an' Pedro been hatchin' out?"

"Nothin', yit," answered Tom; "but I would like ter hear a little more 'bout that thar roundabout trail inter Santa Fe." He looked at Pedro. "How fur away from hyar does it begin?"

"Not so ver' far, seÑor," answered the Mexican. "Thees way from thee Upper Spr-ring, where thee soldats are used to meet thee car-ravan. We come to eet soon. We should leeve thees camp tomor-row night."

"What's th' use o' that when ye said th' soldiers ain't goin' ter meet us this year?" demanded Tom.

"Why don't they meet th' trains whar they oughter, 'stead o' waitin' till they git past th' Injun dangers?" demanded Hank with some feeling.

"Does not thee seÑor know?" chuckled Pedro. "Eet ees not for protec' thee car-ravan that they meet eet. Eet ees that no man may leave thee tr-rail an' smuggle hees goods past thee customs. For what does Manuel Armijo care for protec' thee traders? Eef he deed, would he not meet them at thee Arkansas? Eet ees only for thee customs that he sends thee soldats. To get away fr-rom theese we mus' tak thee other tr-rail befo' eet ees too late."

"That's all right fer other years," growled Tom; "but if they ain't goin' ter meet us this time we kin stick ter th' trail an' leave it a lot closer ter Santer Fe."

Pedro was doing his best to play safe from all angles. If the troops tried to take Tom Boyd from the caravan, or show that he was a prisoner, a great deal of trouble might come out of it, for these Americans were devils for sticking together. If that fear were groundless, then Tom Boyd and his trapper friends, on sight of the troops, might cut and run; and if forced to stand and fight they could be counted on to give a good account of themselves against the poorer arms of their Mexican enemies; and somewhere in the hills he thought there were Texans and he knew them well enough to know that they would only be too glad to take a hand in any fight against Mexicans if they learned of it in time. At first he had been content to get Tom Boyd to the Upper Spring or to Cold Spring, only a few miles farther on, and there turn his responsibility over to the commander of the troops. If he could get them to slip away from their friends and be captured out of sight and hearing of the caravan it would suit him much better; and if he could coax them to take their goods with them, he and his friends could divide the spoils and slip the plunder past the customs officers. The caravan was now within fifty miles of Cold Spring and he must make up his mind and act quickly.

"Eet ees then you weesh to pay thee char-rges?" the Mexican asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No!" growled Hank. "They air a robbery, plain an' simple."

"No!" said Tom, who was giving but little thought to the customs duties, but a great deal to his own personal freedom. He did not want to meet any kind of officers, customs or otherwise. He would have jumped at a secret trail into the settlements had he not known so much about Pedro. "At th' same time I ain't hankerin' fer ter leave th' caravan so soon. We're nigh three hundred miles from Sante Fe, an' thar ain't no way we kin go that'll cut off ten miles. This wagon road runs nigh as straight as th' crow flies. What about grass fer th' mules, an' water?"

"Ah," breathed Pedro. "We weel not go to Santa Fe, seÑor; we go near Taos, less than two hundred mile away from here. Along thee Ocate Cr-reek I haf fr-riends who know ver' well thee mountains. They weel tak us over them. How can thee seÑores sell their goods onless by ways that ar-re made? Weeth us we haf men that know that tr-rail. We weel send one befor-re to thee Ocate, an' follow heem fast."

Tom studied the fire for a few moments and then looked up at his guest. "We want ter think this over, Pedro," he said. "You figger what per cent o' th' customs savings you want fer yer share, an' we'll decide tomorrow night. Hank, here, wants ter go ter Bent's an' reckons we kin git a good price thar fer our goods. Let you know then. Good night."

After Pedro had painted the picture of the innocent-looking loads of faggots and sheepskins, hay and produce, towering over the backs of the nearly hidden pack mules as they toiled through the canon and over the rough trail leading from the Valley of Taos into Santa Fe, their loads passing the customs house without drawing even a careless glance and then, by many turnings, safely arriving at various destinations with their smuggled goods; after he had described the care and foresight of his friends and their trustworthiness, and made many knowing bows and grimaces, he smilingly departed and left the partners to themselves.

Knowing that they were being watched they idled before the fire, careless now of their store of wood, of which plenty was at hand, and talked at random; but through the droning of their careless words many times there could be heard the name "Bent's Fort," which Hank mentioned with affectionate inflections. It seemed that he very strongly preferred to go to that great trading post and rendezvous of hunters and trappers, where old friends would be met and new ones made. Tom held out for Santa Fe, but did not show much enthusiasm. Finally they rolled up in their blankets, feet toward the fire and heads close together and simulated sleep. Half an hour later they were holding a whispered conversation which was pitched so low they barely could hear each other.