great vigilance, as no one could foretell what the next hour would
bring forth. In his mountain home Kit was often visited by Indian
friends who came to smoke the pipe of peace with him and enjoy his
hospitality. When thus surrounded by rival hunters worthy of his
steel, who had sprung up, like oaks of the forest, he felt truly
happy. This happiness was greatly enhanced and augmented by the
thrifty appearance of everything that pertained to him.

He saw himself in the possession of fine lands, well watered and well
timbered. Also plenty which was ready for the plow. It was almost a
farm, made to order by the most perfect Workman. The soil, unsurpassed
in richness and fertility, was a safe and sure depository for his
seeds, telling him, in its silent, but unmistakable language, of the
rich harvest in store for him. His stock was the best which heart
could wish; and last, but with him not least, he was within a stone's
throw of splendid hunting grounds, which, to his unerring rifle, as
the reader has already seen, proved as safe an assistant, as would
have been a Wall street bank with a large credit side to his account.

We have here a picture of Kit Carson enjoying the rewards of a home
congenial to his taste and knowledge of life, while around him are
gathered the objects which his manly soul had learned to love and
live for. The painting is one which we find beautiful to the sight
and which is rich in its lessons of life. But these deductions must be
left for the sensitive and honest hearted imagination to draw. It is
not fitting to add them to these pages, however truthful they may be,
until the last sad rites which are measured out to all, shall have
been performed for the brave man of whom we write, and his noble
soul shall have winged its flight to the happier hunting grounds of
eternity.