“Got your men, I see,” he addressed, reining in, with a rapid glance along the column.
“And one boy, too,” added the lieutenant, with a smile at Oliver. “That will make my boys envious.”
“Wall,” remarked Kit, “he’s man an’ on the pay-roll. ’Tisn’t size that counts, always.”
The camp was close ahead. It consisted of about a dozen small cone-shaped tents of dingy canvas; one tent, slightly larger than the others, and set apart, probably was Lieutenant Frémont’s tent. The camp was thronging with whites in frontier costume, with Indians and dogs; saddles and packs were stacked in piles; and out from the creek bank, in a grassy place, were grazing horses and mules.
From the camp now came racing, like young Indians, upon their ponies, two boys, as if eager to inspect. One was younger than Oliver, the other was older. They, also, were dressed in easy but rough plains costume, and the younger even wore Cheyenne moccasins. With brief “Hello” they fell in alongside the leaders of the column, and accompanied it while covertly eyeing its make-up. Oliver assumed his best mountain-man pose, and with equal sly curiosity eyed them back.
“No, my men will mess by themselves,” was saying Kit Carson, to Lieutenant Frémont. “O’ course, thar can be a general camp, but they’ll make their own way. That’ll avoid any trouble.”
“Very well,” answered Lieutenant Frémont. “That’s understood, then. I don’t feel authorized to enlist them.”
To the camp rode on the Carson squad; and at the lifted hand of Kit, as signal, they were off saddle at once, to unpack and make another camp――an extension of first. While Oliver was busy, a voice spoke to him.
“Your name’s Oliver, Kit says.” It was Lieutenant Frémont, accosting him with another frank smile; the two boys, bridle-lines upon arms, were with him. “I want you young gentlemen to get acquainted. Oliver, this is Henry Brant, and Randolph Benton, of St. Louis. They came out by the North Platte trail, with Kit’s party.”
“Are you going all the way?” asked Randolph, eagerly. He was the younger boy, with the Cheyenne moccasins; his age was about twelve.
“I don’t know. We go as far as Kit goes, I guess.”
“That’s all the way, then. You aren’t afraid of Indians, are you?”