Carson took the lead, for, like a deer, he could find his way anywhere he wished to go.

We crossed the Arkansas river above Bent’s Fort, and from here we traveled along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, striking the Platte at the mouth of Cherry creek, which is now the center of Denver City, Colo.  Here we met Mountain Phil—­of whom you will hear more in this narrative.  He was living in a wick-i-up and had a squaw for a wife.  Uncle Kit and I, being acquainted with him, stopped and had a chat with him while our horses were feeding.  Uncle Kit asked him what he intended to do the coming winter, and he replied: 

“I will trap for you if you like, but you will have to furnish me with an outfit, for I have none of my own.”

“All right, Phil,” said Carson, “I will give you a job, but you will have to stop alone, for none of my men will live with you.”

“All right,” said Phil, “me and Klooch will be enough to stop in one cabin, anyway.”

These things being understood we rode off, Mountain Phil agreeing to meet us at Taos about two months from that time.

After we rode away I asked Uncle Kit why no one would live with Mountain Phil.  His reply was, “Phil is a very bad man, and I yet have to hear the first man speak a good word for him.”

Late that afternoon we saw a little band of Indians—­ten in number—­coming toward us, and when near them we saw that they were Arapahoes and Gray Eagle, the chief, was with them.  Uncle Kit being well acquainted, all shook hands, and the chief insisted on our going to their camp and staying all night with them.  Uncle Kit knowing the nature of the Indians, and knowing that Gray Eagle would take it as an insult if we should refuse to visit him, turned about and went home with him.  He sent two of his men ahead to the village, and we were met by about five hundred warriors with all the women and children of the village.  Just at the outer edge of the village we were honored with what they considered a great reception.

Gray Eagle took us to his own wick-i-up, his men taking charge of our horses and packs.  I had learned to speak the Arapahoe language fairly well and could understand anything they said.  When supper time came, Gray Eagle came to Uncle Kit and said:  “I have a great feast for you; my men have killed a very fat dog; supper is ready, come in and eat.”

I remarked to Uncle Kit as we were going to supper, that I was very glad we came home with Gray Eagle, for it had been a long time since I had had a good meal of dog.

Supper being over, the chief got his pipe and selected six men from his tribe and we had a peace-smoke, and he and Uncle Kit smoked and talked nearly all night.  During their conversation that night he said that Mountain Phil was a very bad man, and that he would often steal their horses and sell them to the Comanches.

Next morning after breakfast our horses were brought in, saddled up and we were off on our journey again to Cache-la-Poudre.