“Mounted on a fine horse, with his faithful dog and gun, early each day he would start out on the prairies, to engage in the chase.  In a few hours he would return on foot with his noble hunter loaded down with choice game.  Sometimes it would be an antelope or elk.  On another occasion it would consist of black-tailed deer, which are celebrated as being the largest and finest specimens of venison that roam the forests of any country, and are only to be found in the Rocky mountains; on another, wild turkeys, and then mountain grouse and prairie chickens, helped to complete the load.  When thus provided for, it is no wonder that Kit’s workmen loved their employment, and labored with good will.

“In his mountain home he was often visited by Indian friends who came to smoke the pipe of peace with him, and to enjoy his hospitality.  He saw himself in possession of fine lands, well watered and well timbered.  The soil, unsurpassed in richness and fertility, was a safe and sure depository for his seeds, telling him in its silent but unmistakable language, of the harvest in store for him.  His stock was the best which heart could wish.  And last, but not least, he was within a stone’s throw of splendid hunting-grounds.”

During the summer two gentlemen, Messrs. Brevoort and Weatherhead, were going to the United States from Santa Fe, with a large sum of money to purchase goods.  One of the worst of frontier vagabonds, a fellow by the name of Fox, offered his services as guide, and to organize a company to escort them over the plains.  He was a shrewd and plausible scoundrel, and his services were accepted.  He enlisted a small but very energetic band of desperadoes, and conspired with them to murder and rob the gentlemen on the way.  The deed was to be perpetrated when they should have got nearly across the plains.  The murderers could then divide the rich booty among themselves, and scatter throughout the States.

One wretch who had been applied to to join the gang, but who for some unknown reason had declined, divulged the plot when he thought that his friend Fox was so far on his way that there was no danger of his being overtaken and arrested.  The rumors of the diabolical plot reached the ears of Kit Carson.  He knew Fox and his depraved associates well.  The murder was to be perpetrated when the party should reach Cimaron river, about three hundred miles from Santa Fe.

In an hour the energetic man was mounted with a small band of his employes, all upon the fleetest and most powerful steeds.  Most of the workmen on Mr. Carson’s extended ranche were veteran pioneers.  Every man was well armed, and led a horse in addition to the one upon which he rode.  It was possible, and that was all, that by the most expeditious riding the travellers might be overtaken before the bloody deed had been performed.

Their path was over the open prairie.  Onward they went as fast as their steeds could be safely urged.  The second night out, they came upon a detachment of United States troops bound for California as recruits.  The officer in command, Captain Ewell, knowing that the plains were infested with powerful bands of Indians, by whom the small party of Mr. Carson might be cut off, generously joined him with twenty men, leaving the rest of his party to proceed on their journey by slow marches.