In that day, the fierce red-man chief scoured the broad prairies, a petty king in his tribe, a ruler of his wild domain.  Bold, haughty, cautious, wily, unrelenting, revengeful, he led his impassioned warriors in the chase and to battle.  Even to-day, the lurking Indian foeman is no mean adversary to be laughed and brushed out of the way, notwithstanding disease, war, assassination and necessary chastisement have united rapidly to decimate his race, thereby gradually lessening its power.  Thirty years ago the rolling plains were alive with them, and their numbers alone made them formidable.  It is not strange that the untutored savages of the prairie, like those of their race who hailed with ungovernable curiosity the landing of the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock, should have been attracted by the wonderful inventions of the white-man intruder.  A very short period of time served to turn this ungovernable curiosity into troublesome thieving.  Knowing no law but their wild traditionary rules, they wrested from the adventurous pioneer, his rifle, knife, axe, wagon, harness, horse, powder, ball, flint, watch, compass, cooking utensils, and so forth.  The result was, sanguinary engagements ensued, which led to bitter hostility between the two races.  Doubtless the opinion may be controverted, but it nevertheless shall be hazarded, that, until the weaker party shall be exterminated by the stronger, the wild war-whoop, with its keen-edged knife and death-dealing rifle accompaniments, will continue, from time to time, to palsy the nerve, and arouse the courage of the pioneer white man.  The Indian, in his attack, no longer showers cloth-yard arrows upon his foe.  He has learned to kill his adversary with the voice of thunder and the unseen bullet.

The bold traveller, whose pathway lies over those great highroads which lead to the Pacific, must still watch for the red man’s ambush by day; and, by night, sleep under the protecting vigilance of the faithful, quick-sighted sentinel.  The savage never forgives his own or his ancestor’s foe.  Every generation of them learns from tradition the trials and exploits of its tribe.  From earliest boyhood these form the burden of their education in history; and, on performing the feat of courage or strength which admits them to the councils of the braves, their nation’s wrongs are uppermost in their thoughts, causing them to thirst for a revenge which sooner or later gives them a grave, making themselves, in turn, an object of revenge.

It has already appeared that when Kit Carson entered upon his first expedition, game was to be had in abundance.  His route lay across the western wilds to Santa Fe.  All this distance the bulk of provisions, consisting of a small quantity of flour and bacon, had to be transported by himself and his companions.  These articles were kept as a reserve, and were looked upon as luxuries; for, that man was estimated to be a very poor shot who could not obtain, with his rifle, all