trust him as a sentinel, therefore, he had to take upon himself all of that important duty.  While on the lookout, he usually posted himself in the top limbs of a tree and always took care to select one that commanded a good prospect of the surrounding country.  After several days passed without having proper rest, Kit, in the monotony of his position as sentinel, would feel sleep stealing over him, until it was difficult to keep longer awake.  He would close his eyes and commence to nod, but on these occasions he was sure to be quickly aroused on almost losing his balance, by which, however, he endangered his neck.  One day, while thus employed, he was perched in the highest branches of a lofty old cotton-wood on the banks of the River Timchera and not far off from the “Spanish Peaks.”  Nearly ten hours had passed without anything special having attracted his attention, when, all at once, a band of straggling Apaches came into view not over one half mile distant.  A single look was sufficient to convince him that, as yet, neither himself nor his companion had been discovered.  No time was to be lost, so Kit, as quickly as possible, descended and ran to where his friend was, and informed him of their danger.  The animals were soon saddled, and the two men mounting them, struck out in a direction just the opposite to that in which the Indians were traveling.  Fortune favored them, as, soon after they had emerged from the timber into the open prairies, night set in, thus shutting them out from the view of the savages.  Profiting by the darkness and the level country which lay before them, they reached, by the rising of the next morning’s sun, the Mexican town of Red River, which was sixty-five miles distant from the place they had last started from.  All dangers having been now surmounted, they made a sufficient stay at Red River to rest themselves and animals.

On resuming their journey, they jogged along over the now rough trail and, after a ride of thirty miles, came to Taos, where they were once more safe from the perils that had so recently surrounded them, and where they were well provided for by kind friends.

Rio Colorado, or Red River settlement, is, next to Taos, the oldest town in northern New Mexico.  It is located on a small stream of the same name, which flows into the Rio Grande.  The town itself contains some two or three hundred inhabitants, and occupies rather a pretty site, being built on a high bank, while between it and the river there is a large strip of bottom land, which is under cultivation.  The scenery about is picturesque, embracing lofty and bold mountains, beautiful wood-land and open prairies.  The external appearance of the village is that of abject poverty; and, on entering it, one readily sees that his eyesight has not deceived him, but that his first impressions are fully realized.  It was here that Fremont and his men found a haven of safety after meeting their trying reverses on the fourth exploring expedition.  To them, the sight of this