It might be of interest to our readers to know how this stream acquired its name.  There was a Frenchman by the name of Virees Roubidoux camped on the stream spoken of, with a little squad of men; they were attacked by a band of Indians, and the first word uttered by Roubidoux was “Cache-la-poudre,” which means in English, “hide the powder,” and from that time on the stream has been so called.

We arrived at our proposed trapping field, and after looking over the country we found plenty of beaver sign along the streams and game in abundance, and Uncle Kit decided that there was room enough for four camps.

We returned by the way of Bent’s Fort, as Uncle Kit wished to employ the best men he could get to trap for him the coming winter.  On our way to the fort, which was four hundred miles from the proposed trapping ground, Uncle Kit told me that he would have to leave me in charge the coming winter, as he was going to the City of Mexico on business, but said that he would come out and get the camps established and return to Taos with the horses before going there.

We found plenty of men at Bent’s Fort, and, as usual, they were all broke, having squandered the money earned the winter before for whiskey and card playing.  Uncle Kit experienced no trouble in getting all the men he wanted, but had to furnish them with traps and provisions—­which took considerable money—­he to have half of the furs caught by each of them.  Everything being understood we returned to Taos, the men agreeing to meet us there two weeks later.  They were all on hand at the appointed time, but there being a large party to outfit it took some weeks to make preparations for the trip, there being eleven in the crowd.  It was about the last of October when we arrived at the trapping-ground ready to begin work.

There was a man in the crowd named Charlie Jones, who was an old friend of Johnnie West, and they and I lived in the same cabin that winter.  One morning after we had got fixed up comfortably in our winter quarters and Uncle Kit had returned to Taos with the horses, Charlie Jones waked us up very early, saying that there was a light snow and he thought we would be able to get a bear if we got out early.  We rolled out, got breakfast and were off as soon as it was light enough to see.

There were three small ridges, all pointing to our cabin; Johnnie West took up the right-hand ridge, Charlie Jones the left and I the middle one.  The ridges were open, with scattering pine trees here and there, but along the creek was heavy timber and a dense growth of underbrush.  While walking along up the ridge, keeping a sharp lookout for bear, I came in sight of Johnnie West, who beckoned me to cross over to where he was, saying that in the thicket, which covered about an acre of ground, there was a small bear.  I proposed calling Charlie Jones over before entering the thicket, but Johnnie said no, as it was such a small bear that Charlie would get mad and would not speak to either of us for a week if we should call him over for such a little bear, “and if we cannot kill that bear,” he continued, “we had better quit the mountains.”