Slowly and sadly, in that dense forest, hundreds of miles from their
nearest countrymen, was this funeral procession formed. A spot was
selected on one side of the main trail, at a distance of about one
half mile, where a rude grave was dug, and, wrapped in their blankets,
in the same common house, were deposited all that remained of these
three brave men. An observer of these obsequies, would have seen the
lips of daring men, now and then, giving spasmodic twitchings; eyes
swimming in tears, and a silence and solemnity that bespoke the truest
kind of grief. Among that party, such a one would have been sure to
have marked out the countenance of Kit Carson; for, engraven on it
were the throes which were troubling his kind heart on being thus
obliged to separate from old friends. Not a man left that grave, but
who resolved, secretly and silently, to make these dastardly Indians
suffer for the lives they had thus wantonly taken. In fact, they felt
it an imperative duty they yet owed to their departed comrades; who,
if they but stood in their places, would have sworn to be avenged;
hence, the reader must not judge them harshly if they nourished these
feelings.

That very day the two parties met and went into camp together. Plans
were concocted to chastise the red men soundly. The next day, on
quitting this last resting-place, a squad of fifteen men was left
concealed in the neighborhood, in order to watch and act against
any Indians who, by chance, might be following them from one camp to
another, in hopes of finding something. The main command then moved on
slowly, and had advanced but a few miles when they were overtaken by
their friends, who came up with two scalps. These were the sum total
of their morning's work. The two warriors to whom they had belonged
were caught following the trail as scouts of their main body. The
unerring rifles of the party in ambush had performed their fearful