We again turn to the adventures of Kit Carson.  On the fifth day of May, 1850, accompanied by an old mountaineer named Timothy Goodel, he started with fifty head of mules and horses for Fort Laramie.  This fort is distant from Rayado, over five hundred miles.  The object which the two men had in view was to trade their animals with the emigrants who were, at that time, thronging the overland route to California.  The journey was safely accomplished, Kit Carson and Goodel arriving at the fort, with their animals all in good condition, sometime in the following June.  They remained here about one month disposing of their animals at good bargains.

A few rather amusing anecdotes have had their rise connected with this visit which Kit Carson made to Fort Laramie.  Among several other incidents the following is somewhat laughable and seems to us worth relating.  Among the line of emigrants then on the road, the report was circulated for some distance back that the famous Kit Carson was at the fort.  The result was that every man, woman and child, as fast as they arrived at the fort, were eager to gratify their curiosity by a sight of the man whose name and exploits had already been the theme of many a conversation among them.  If ever Yankee, or American, (which is the more appropriate term, we will not attempt to decide) inquisitiveness was exhibited, it certainly could be then seen at Fort Laramie.  The large majority of those who were thus anxious to see the famous guide, were led astray by the descriptions which they had heard and read, and picked out some powerfully built trader who chanced to present himself, especially if the man was tastefully dressed in a hunting shirt, with buck-skin leggins, and whose appearance indicated ferocity.  Of this kind of personages there were quite a number present at the fort.  Usually they would accost the man whom they had thus selected.  Sometimes, if their address was appropriate and the humor of the person accosted so inclined, they would get put right, but more frequently they were left to enjoy and cherish their mistake, or were made the subject of a joke.  Among the rest there came along quite a rough looking individual fresh from the cane-brakes of Arkansas.  He, also, was seeking to place his eyes upon Kit Carson.  Accidentally, or intentionally, it matters not for the story, he was directed to the place where the bona fide Kit Carson stood.  His powerful frame and determined looks, as he put his inquiries, made those inquired of, apparently, cautious how they perpetrated a joke upon the Arkansas man.  At last, standing face to face with Kit Carson, he thus interrogated him.  “I say, stranger, are you Kit Carson?” Being modestly answered in the affirmative, he stood a moment, apparently quite taken aback at beholding the short, compact and mild-looking man that stood before him.  Evidently his beau ideal of the great mountaineer did not compare with the man whom he thus faced.  This momentary hesitation resulted in the conviction that he was being deceived.  The conviction, at last, took form in words.  Rolling an immense quid of his beloved Indian weed from one cheek to its brother he said, “Look ’ere stranger, you can’t come that over me any how.  You ain’t the kind of Kit Carson I am looking for.”