fur the Injins believe in me, they do," continued the fellow.

The wag resumed--

"Perhaps, stranger, you have heard of Kit Carson. It is said he is on
the prairies somewhere, either dead or alive."

The fellow answered:

"You've got me! Know Kit Carson! I reckon I do. It is strange that you
should ask me that, when Kit was the very last man I laid eyes on as I
left our tribe."

Here the fellow lowered his voice and said, as if exemplifying
sympathy.

"Poor Kit was in a very bad way one hour before we parted. The fact
is, you know, he'd bin playin' the papers (meaning gambling) and had
lost everything. However, I made him happy by giving him my gun and
powder-horn. With them, you know, he will git along anywhere!"

All hands, except Kit Carson, joined in the laugh at the fellow's
impudence. Kit Carson's patience was exhausted in listening to the
barefaced falsehoods which the man was uttering; so, with some excuse,
he left the party. The fellow was unapprised of the farce which he had
been acting; and, shortly after, left the town, believing that he had
acquitted himself as became a hero.

By way of episode, and while story-telling keeps its hold on our pen,
we may as well relate a short anecdote, which, though it does not