Occasionally his memory would not solve the question, what is the next
course? He had neither map, chart, nor compass, and depended entirely
upon old landmarks. Occasionally, the resemblance of different
mountains, one to another, would serve to embarrass him. For a time,
he would become doubtful as to the exact course to pursue. At such
moments, the mischievous dispositions of the men would get the better
of their judgment, and they would exert their lungs in shouting to
him, as he spurred his riding animal to keep out of the sound of their
raillery. He was not always successful in this, and occasionally a few
sentences reached him like the following:

"Hurrah!"

"I say! are you the famous Kit Carson, who knows this country so
well?"

"Are you really a good pilot, or are you lost?"

These and similar expressions saluted Kit's ear--a language to which
he had not been heretofore accustomed--as some impediment, such as a
fallen tree, a rock, a swamp, or a creek staid, for a brief period,
his progress, thus allowing the party to approach within speaking
distance. The remarks might have temporarily chafed his spirit; but,
he had too much good sense to allow his friends to see that they had
gained any advantage over him. He rode boldly on, and answered their
raillery with silence. He knew, however, very well, that his turn
would come; and, when he had brought them in safety to a spot with
which all were familiar, he turned the tables on them by retorting
to their questions in a playful manner, which made their future
interpretation of his occasional doubts, less sweeping in its