ning themselves, scarcely daring to breathe. A
Californian horseman leisurely rode by. Kit instantly squirmed
forward, and they crossed this line also.

It was nervous work, in the thick, dark brush, and amidst the barbed
prickly-pears that filled their flesh with sharp needles, all the worse
because they struck unexpectedly.

Lieutenant Beale was hoping that now an open way lay before. They had
avoided two outposts; were there others, still?

Ah! Kit Carson again flattened, motionless except that he kicked
behind him and with touch of his bare foot signaled danger. Lieutenant
Beale flattened; the Indian, third in the file, had flattened. The
brush cracked; a horseman, dimly seen, was right upon them. He was
another of the patrols. His figure towered huge as he halted, at Kit
Carson's very head. He got off his horse; and shielding himself from
the chill, damp breeze, stood there.

What was the matter? Was he searching? Should he be killed? And what
then? Young Lieutenant Scale's heart pounded so that Kit Carson
afterward said he had heard it beating "like a maul."

The sentry struck flint and steel. As some tinder in his hands caught,
they might see that he was lighting a cigarette. The glow revealed his
olive face, his flashing eyes, and the blanket shrouding him to his
chin; it momentarily revealed the brush under which the two
_Americanos_ and the Indian were lying.

Whether they had been seen, who might tell? The sentry remounted, in
careless manner, and slowly rode on--but perhaps to give the alarm and
bring reinforcements to beat the brush. Lieutenant Beale broke. He
could stand the suspense no longer. He was not used to so many close
calls without action. They are the hardest of all to bear. And to
crawl on and on, in this way, over rocks and cactus, made his heart
sick. He would rather stand up and challenge the enemy.

He crawled ahead to Kit.

"Kit, we're gone. We can't escape. Let's jump and fight it out."

Kit Carson laid hand upon his arm, and steadied him.

"No, no, boy. I've been in worse places before and got through."

Those were good words. Kit Carson knew, if anybody did. It was
fortunate that he had come! The Indian might have got through, but
Lieutenant Beale, never. Even Alex Godey, who had a great reputation
as a scout and path-finder, had been captured.

They kept on, Kit Carson leading; narrowly dodged other patrols--for
the outskirts of the hill seemed