Bent’s Fort stands on the river, about seventy-five miles below the Pueblo.  At noon of the third day we arrived within three or four miles of it, pitched our tent under a tree, hung our looking-glasses against its trunk and having made our primitive toilet, rode toward the fort.  We soon came in sight of it, for it is visible from a considerable distance, standing with its high clay walls in the midst of the scorching plains.  It seemed as if a swarm of locusts had invaded the country.  The grass for miles around was cropped close by the horses of General Kearny’s soldiery.  When we came to the fort, we found that not only had the horses eaten up the grass, but their owners had made away with the stores of the little trading post; so that we had great difficulty in procuring the few articles which we required for our homeward journey.  The army was gone, the life and bustle passed away, and the fort was a scene of dull and lazy tranquillity.  A few invalid officers and soldiers sauntered about the area, which was oppressively hot; for the glaring sun was reflected down upon it from the high white walls around.  The proprietors were absent, and we were received by Mr. Holt, who had been left in charge of the fort.  He invited us to dinner, where, to our admiration, we found a table laid with a white cloth, with castors in the center and chairs placed around it.  This unwonted repast concluded, we rode back to our camp.

Here, as we lay smoking round the fire after supper, we saw through the dusk three men approaching from the direction of the fort.  They rode up and seated themselves near us on the ground.  The foremost was a tall, well-formed man, with a face and manner such as inspire confidence at once.  He wore a broad hat of felt, slouching and tattered, and the rest of his attire consisted of a frock and leggings of buckskin, rubbed with the yellow clay found among the mountains.  At the heel of one of his moccasins was buckled a huge iron spur, with a rowel five or six inches in diameter.  His horse, who stood quietly looking over his head, had a rude Mexican saddle, covered with a shaggy bearskin, and furnished with a pair of wooden stirrups of most preposterous size.  The next man was a sprightly, active little fellow, about five feet and a quarter high, but very strong and compact.  His face was swarthy as a Mexican’s and covered with a close, curly black beard.  An old greasy calico handkerchief was tied round his head, and his close buckskin dress was blackened and polished by grease and hard service.  The last who came up was a large strong man, dressed in the coarse homespun of the frontiers, who dragged his long limbs over the ground as if he were too lazy for the effort.  He had a sleepy gray eye, a retreating chin, an open mouth and a protruding upper lip, which gave him an air of exquisite indolence and helplessness.  He was armed with an old United States yager, which redoubtable weapon, though he could never hit his mark with it, he was accustomed to cherish as the very sovereign of firearms.