About a hundred and fifty miles north of Santa Fe there was a small collection of huts called Taos, inhabited by trappers and hunters.  This pursuit of game for food and fur was the employment which was congenial to him above all others.  He directed his steps to Taos and at once entered into an engagement with Mr. Ewing Young, making his cabin headquarters.

Hunting and trapping were somewhat different employments, though perhaps equally exciting.  The hunter depended upon his rifle, and was mainly in search of food.  Still the robe of the buffalo and the coat of the grizzly bear were very useful in various ways, in the cabin of the hunter, and the softly tanned skin of the deer was invaluable, furnishing every article of clothing, shirt, leggins and moccasins.  The skins of these animals had also a market value.

But the trapper was in pursuit of furs only.  Though the men engaged in this pursuit were occasionally exposed to great hardship and suffering, still, in general they probably had, in the gratification of congenial tastes, a full share of such happiness as this world can furnish.

Young Carson, at the age of nineteen, had no taste for the scholarly seclusion of Yale or Harvard, no desire to stand all day behind the counter of the dry-goods store, or to work amid the crowd and the hum of the factory; he had no wish for what is called society, or to saunter down Broadway with his cigar and his cane, to exhibit his tightly-fitting garments; but he did love to set out on a hunting and trapping expedition.  Let us follow him in one of these adventures.

It is a bright morning of the Indian summer, far along in November.  There is a small log cabin on a mound of the wilderness.  A dense forest breaks the northern winds.  A rippling stream runs by the door.  Beyond lies the prairie rich in verdure and enamelled with gorgeous autumnal flowers.  Herds of buffalo are grazing in groups of hundreds, sometimes of thousands, on the broad expanse.  Gangs of deer are seen, graceful, beautiful, following in the train of the antlered bucks, and with scent so keen and eyes so piercing that it requires the utmost skill of the hunter to approach them within rifle shot.  Clouds of prairie chickens and quails are floating here and there in their short flight.  It is the paradise of the hunter.  Let no one think this description overdrawn.  It would be difficult to exaggerate the loveliness of the flower-spangled prairie on a bright autumnal day.  Eden could scarcely have presented scenes more attractive.

Young Carson stands at the door of the cabin with a stout mule before him.  The animal is strong and plump, having been feasting upon the wild oats growing luxuriantly around.  Carson is packing his mule.  His outfit consists of a Mexican blanket, rough, thick and warm; a supply of ammunition; a kettle; possibly a coffee-pot and some coffee, which have been obtained at Santa Fe; several iron traps; some dressed deerskin for replacing clothing and moccasins, a hatchet and a few other similar articles.  In addition to his mule he may also take a pony to bear him on the way.  Thus, if by accident, one give out, he has another animal to rely upon.  And if very successful he may have furs enough to load them both on his return.