hands were not long in being snugly seated in it around a good fire,
listening to the important news fresh from the civilized world.

[Footnote 19: Blunt projecting mountains.]

Fremont sat up until about one o'clock reading his letters from the
United States. Kit Carson and Owens, wrapped in their saddle blankets,
had picked out their beds near the fire, as the night was cold. On
concluding the reading of his correspondence, Fremont turned in and
was soon sound asleep. All was quiet for awhile, when Kit Carson heard
a noise that awaked him; the sound was like the stroke of an axe.
Rising to his feet, he discovered Indians in the camp. While in the
act of reaching for his rifle, he gave the alarm, to his slumbering
companions; but, two of them were already sleeping their last sleep,
for the fatal tomahawk had been buried in their brains. One of these
victims was the brave Lajeunesse, while the other was a full-blooded
Delaware Indian. As Kit Carson left the fire, where he was too
conspicuous an object, he saw several warriors approaching towards it.
There lay near to it four other Delawares, who, on hearing the alarm,
sprang to their feet. One of them by the name of Crane, seized hold of
a rifle which, unfortunately, was not his own, and was not loaded. The
poor fellow was not aware of this important fact. He kept trying to
fire it while he stood erect, and manfully received five arrows,
all of which penetrated his left breast, and either one of which was
sufficient to cause his death. At last, he fell. On grasping his gun,
Kit Carson remembered that the evening before, he had discharged it
for the purpose of cleaning it, and while doing so had accidentally
broken its cap tube, and consequently he had not reloaded it. As this
flashed across his mind, he threw the rifle down and drew from his
belt a single-barrelled pistol, with which he made at the warrior