Thus into that post of Fort Laramie which they outward-bound had left on July 21, now on August 31 they inward-bound rode again, triumphant. Nothing in particular had occurred here; ’twas they who brought the main news—of a South Pass surveyed and a highest peak christened and a Platte River boldly penetrated.

“And all we did was to wind an old chronometer!” complained Randolph, disgustedly. “But I suppose we had to.”

The day after the arrival at the fort the Taos men, including Kit Carson and Lucien Maxwell, started for home, southward; the FrÉmont party were to continue on, eastward, down the Platte, by the Oregon Trail, for Missouri; but at the parting it was understood that the next spring, after the lieutenant had made his report to the government, he was coming out with another expedition to explore along the Oregon Trail west of the Rocky Mountains to the Columbia River, and that he would want Kit Carson again.

Down to old Taos rode the Carson trappers, home bent; and home they were, ere the middle of September. Taos was glad to see them and to hear their tales.

Sol Silver and his party were still out, of course, to remain until the fall fur hunt. There was the fall fur hunt for all, and the fall buffalo hunt to supply Bent’s Fort with winter meat. Then might the Carson men settle to a winter at Taos.

It proved to be a cold and snowy winter; but right in the midst of it, or about Christmas time, arrived excitement: three strangers, ragged and frost-bitten and weary, reduced almost to eating their buckskin clothing. A squad of Taos trappers brought them in from camp in the mountains.

One of the visitors was a half-breed guide from the trading post of Fort Uncompahgre, across near to the Grand River. Another was a tall, lean, roughly bearded man, with hair peculiarly marked in white and brown, deeply-set dark-blue eyes and large mouth. This was Dr. Marcus Whitman. The third was also a bearded man, broad-shouldered, light-blue eyed, with high forehead and calm mien. This was Mr. A. L. Lovejoy.

Dr. Whitman was a missionary doctor; he had been at the Green River trapper rendezvous in 1835, on his way west; and in 1836 he had led a party of missionaries including his bride and another woman (first white women to cross the Rockies, they) from the Missouri to the mission settlements of Oregon. Mr. Lovejoy had been among those American colonists who last spring, under Sub-Indian Agent Dr. White, had made the wagon-wheel tracks seen by the FrÉmont company, up the Platte and the Sweetwater, over the South Pass, and on.

Now upon desperate mid-winter journey across continent from coast to coast was hurrying Dr. Whitman, with his brave companions, to appeal for more Americans in Oregon where the British also claimed the country. The little party had cut south, from Fort Uintah of present northeastern Utah, down through the mountains of present central Colorado, aiming for Santa FÉ and for Taos, to evade the plains Indians and the deep snows. But the latter they had not evaded, and they nearly had perished miserably. Once they had swum, horses and all, an ice-encrusted river. And they had been obliged to kill their faithful dog and eat him.

Dr. Whitman and Mr. Lovejoy had left the mission headquarters on the Columbia October 3; now it was the middle of December; after a couple of weeks’ stay at Taos, to gain strength, they pushed on, for Bent’s Fort and the Santa FÉ trail to Missouri.

The next event at Taos was the marriage of Kit Carson, on February of this new year 1843, to the SeÑorita Josefa Jaramillo, only sixteen, much younger than he. An exceedingly handsome girl was the SeÑorita Josefa, with clear creamy skin and great black eyes and dazzling teeth. The occasion was celebrated by a series of feasts and dances which lasted through several days and nights. At the close everybody was worn out, so popular were Kit and his girlish bride.

In March Sol Silver took a party of trappers upon the regulation beaver hunt. The other Carson men remained in Taos, waiting.

“Wall, boy,” remarked Kit, to Oliver, when the members of the Silver party were being told off, “which would you rather do—go up among the Blackfeet, with Sol, or out among the Chinooks, with FrÉmont?”

“FrÉmont, and you,” promptly answered Oliver; and Kit Carson laughed.

“You’re liable to find it the hard trail o’ the two,” he commented, dryly.

The spring waxed and waned, and came no word from Lieutenant FrÉmont, save the word that his report had been made to Congress, had spoken well of the Indian Country and of the trail through it, and that there was much talk of a big emigration, over the trail, this year, for Oregon.

Finally, about the middle of June, arrived a message from Kansas Landing, on the Missouri frontier, that the second exploring expedition of Lieutenant John Charles FrÉmont had started, and that the rendezvous was to be Fort St. Vrain. “White Head,” or Thomas Fitzpatrick the famous mountain-man, was the guide, and Lucien Maxwell was accompanying as far as St. Vrain, on his way to Taos.

It did not take long for the Carson party to mount and ride for Bent’s, thence to proceed on northward for St. Vrain, 200 miles. But at Bent’s was it learned that Lucien Maxwell had hastened south, from St. Vrain, to obtain mules in Taos, for the lieutenant; and that the lieutenant and a party were following, along the foothills, to meet the mules.

Now, at this time Texas was striving to be free from all claims of Mexico, and armed Texans had been invading New Mexico and threatening Santa FÉ and Santa FÉ caravans. This had caused the Mexican government to forbid intercourse back and forth across the border between New Mexico and foreigners; and the chance that Lieutenant FrÉmont might secure mules from Taos was slim. At Bent’s Kit Carson himself turned off, up the Arkansas, to meet the lieutenant and to warn him of conditions.

He met him at the little settlement of the Pueblo, about seventy miles from the post. The town is to-day Pueblo, Colorado. Lieutenant FrÉmont immediately sent Kit back to Bent’s, with a request that the fort supply some mules, if possible.

Meanwhile the Carson men, under Ike Chamberlain, rode on to St. Vrain.

Fort St. Vrain was situated opposite where the St. Vrain creek empties into the South Platte River, not far from the present Colorado town of Greeley. It was built of adobe clay bricks, and was commanded by Mr. Marcelin St. Vrain, younger brother of the Ceran St. Vrain who formed one in the partnership Bent, St. Vrain & Co., of the Santa FÉ Trail. A slim, boyish man was Marcelin St. Vrain, with black hair, black eyes and black whiskers. His wife was a Sioux girl.

The fort was out on the plains, a short distance from the foothills. Here awaiting the return of the lieutenant from his side trip up the South Platte and down to the Arkansas was Thomas Fitzpatrick with a detachment of twenty-five of the FrÉmont men.

A ruddy-faced, rather heavy-set man was Thomas Fitzpatrick, with thick hair turned snow white and with his left hand crippled. A severe adventure, in the summer of 1832, with Blackfeet Indians who had chased him and forced him to hide in a cave for three days, had whitened his hair; and the bursting of his rifle had crippled his hand. The Indians called him not only “White Head” but also “Bad Hand” and “Broken Hand.”

He and Ike and the other Taos trappers greeted each other tumultuously, for all knew and respected Thomas Fitzpatrick.

Fitzpatrick had brought the wagons and the heavy baggage. He was waiting and resting the animals. Lieutenant FrÉmont had taken one light wagon, and a cannon—a brass twelve-pounder; for this second expedition was armed with a field-piece, to be used if the Indians grew too bold.

About this cannon centred much of the post gossip. Some of the rumors said that the cannon was to be used to conquer Oregon from the British; some said that it was to be used to seize California from the Mexicans; nobody knew exactly what the plans were, save that the trail was to lead across the mountains, and west by the Snake to the Columbia, surveying the overland route until it connected with the survey north and south along the Pacific Coast in California and Oregon, made by Lieutenant Charles Wilkes of the Navy in 1841.

To operate the cannon piece the lieutenant had engaged at St. Louis a regular cannoneer, by name of Zindel—Louis Zindel, who had been a non-commissioned officer of artillery in the Prussian army. Besides, in the company was a young negro man, named Jacob Dodson, not a slave, but free born, although in service to the family of Senator Benton, the lieutenant’s father-in-law; two greenhorns, Mr. Theodore Talbot, government draughtsman of Washington, and Mr. Frederick Dwight, of Springfield, Massachusetts, who was making a tour to the Sandwich Islands by way of Vancouver; Mr. William Gilpin, also for Vancouver; and two Delaware Indians, old man and son. Then, here at St. Vrain, in the Fitzpatrick company, were two comrades of the 1842 expedition: Alexis Ayot and Baptiste Bernier, whom Oliver was glad to see. Five other members of the first expedition—Mr. Preuss, the bristly-headed German scientist, Basil Lajeunesse the fearless voyageur, Louis MÉnard (a cousin of Maxwell), FranÇois Badeau and Raphael Proue—were south with the lieutenant.

Consequently, although Oliver felt somewhat disappointed that Henry Brandt and Randolph Benton were not to be along, he foresaw, by the preparations and by the make-up of the company, that it was going to be a tremendous trip.

A few days later, in rode Kit Carson with ten fine mules from Bent’s Fort; and on the morning of July 23 in rode the lieutenant and party, including Jacob Dodson the negro youth, and Sergeant Zindel the artillerist, and Mr. Preuss, and Basil Lajeunesse. Lucien Maxwell was not with them. He had not come back from his trip after mules at Taos.

The lieutenant had left word at the Pueblo that he would wait at St. Vrain until the morning of the twenty-sixth. The morning of the twenty-sixth dawned, and no Maxwell had appeared. Evidently he was not coming. So the lieutenant ordered “Catch up!” and the company bustled for the start. At this moment arose a new complication. Lieutenant FrÉmont had decided that he ought to find a short cut from St. Vrain’s Fort across the mountains to strike the Oregon Trail somewhere near the South Pass, instead of travelling up to Fort Laramie and then turning west for the Pass. Nobody at St. Vrain’s could tell him of any trail except a danger-trail used mainly by hostile Indians. Such a trail did traverse northwest, to the Sweetwater; but it was being given over to the Plains Indians when they raided the Utes and the Snakes, and to the Crows when they raided the Plains Indians, and only recently several trappers had been killed on it.

Thereupon, hearing the plans, the two Delawares announced that the mountains looked cold to them, the trail was beset with their enemies, they were far from their own people, and they were going home.

“Very well,” said Lieutenant FrÉmont. “Let them go. We want only men. But we must find another hunter or two, to take their places.”

“Godey’ll sign up,” advised Fitzpatrick. “You get him and you’ll have somebody almost as good as Kit.”

Alexander Godey was a young French trapper and trader at the post. Everyone seemed to like him; and although he put considerable time upon his long, wavy black hair, brushing it and dressing it with Indian care, none ventured to twit him about it. He was not a man to be twitted.

“How about him, Kit?” asked the lieutenant.

“A fine fellow,” assured Kit, generously. “I don’t know a better. Take him.”

Whereupon Godey of the silky locks was engaged.

The Snake widow of a French trapper who had been shot in a Fourth of July celebration at the fort asked the lieutenant if she might not journey with the expedition as far as the Bear River, beyond the Green, so that she could join her own people; and she was accepted, and given a small tent.

The expedition made an imposing sight. The FrÉmont party numbered some forty men, as against the twenty-five of the previous year. The Carson party were fifteen. The FrÉmont men were armed with Hall flint-lock breech-loading rifles, which had been adopted by the army and were thought to be a fine gun; but the Carson men were better armed, with percussion-cap rifles, and with Colt revolving pistols. Besides the brass twelve-pounder, there was a baggage train of twelve two-wheeled carts and a light spring-wagon for the instruments, and six pack-horses loaded with the Snake squaw’s household goods.

This was altogether too large an outfit with which to thread the danger-trail of the short-cut. Therefore Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand was directed to take the baggage train and about twenty-five of the men, and proceed by the customary trail from St. Vrain’s Fort up to Fort Laramie; thence by the Oregon Trail west over the South Pass and on to the British Hudson Bay Company post of Fort Hall. The lieutenant and Kit Carson would take the rest of the company through by the short cut, and meet him at Fort Hall.

For his party the lieutenant chose Kit, and Charles Preuss the bristly-headed German, and Jacob Dodson the young colored man, and Louis Zindel the Prussian artillerist, Basil Lajeunesse and his brother FranÇois Lajeunesse, Baptiste Bernier, Louis MÉnard, Raphael Proue, Baptiste Derosier, FranÇois Badeau, Auguste Vasquez a Spanish Creole, and Henry Lee. The Snake woman with her six packs (atop of one her two black-eyed, pretty little children) accompanied; and there were the Carson men.

The course from St. Vrain’s fort was northwesterly, across a rolling country. On the third day William New announced, to Oliver his partner:

“Thar she air.”

“What?”

“The Cache-À-la-Poudre, or Hide-the-Powder Creek. We follow her up, I reckon, into the mountains. Know why she has that name?”

“Trapper name,” hazarded Oliver.

“Right. Thar war some Frenchmen hyar’bouts on the creek, five or ten year ago. Injuns got after ’em, an’ they cached their powder under-ground, so’s to save it. Don’t know whether they ever found it ag’in or not, but they always referred to the creek as their ‘Hide-the-Powder’ creek, an’ the name stuck.”

The cavalcade turned up the creek, in the rain, and entered among rugged, lofty mountains, their wild ravines and steep slopes thickly covered with brush and flowers. The Cache-À-la-Poudre was crooked, and must be crossed and recrossed; the gun-carriage, overseen by the anxious Sergeant Zindel, and the spring wagon with its precious instruments, were hauled through each time.

Thus was traversed first by explorers and map-makers the Overland Stage Route from Denver to Salt Lake.

From the head of the Cache-À-la-Poudre they all passed over a ridge to the Laramie River side of the divide here; loomed high, bare and snowy on the west, the mighty Medicine Bow Mountains, which they must go around, and now they encountered a wide Indian trail and sign of Indian travel upon it.