While the hunter was talking to Glen, he was also preparing some slices of venison for broiling, and lighting a small fire.  Anxious to be of use, as well as to have breakfast as soon as possible, the boy set about collecting wood for the fire.  This, by the hunter’s advice, he broke and split into small pieces, that it might the sooner be reduced to coals; and, while he was doing this, he told his new friend of his experience in cooking trout.

“I reckon that was better than eating them raw,” said the latter, with an amused smile, “but if we had some now, I think I could show you a better way than that to cook them, though we haven’t got any fry-pan.”

“Perhaps I can catch some,” suggested Glen, pulling his rude fishing-tackle from his pocket, as he looked about for some sort of a pole.  “And I think I could do it quicker if you would lend me your hat for a few minutes.  You see mine got lost while I was coasting down that mountain-side, or in the lake, I don’t know which,” he added, apologetically.

Here the hunter actually laughed aloud.  “You don’t expect to catch trout with a hat, do you?” he asked.

“Oh, no, indeed.  I only want it to catch grasshoppers with.  It’s such slow work catching them, one at a time, with your hands; but, with a hat as big as yours, I could get a great many very quickly,” and the boy gazed admiringly at the broad-brimmed sombrero worn by the other.

The stranger willingly loaned his hat to Glen, who seemed to amuse him greatly, and the latter soon had, not only all the grasshoppers he wanted, but a fine string of fish as well.  By this time the fire had produced a bed of coals, and the slices of venison, spitted on slender sticks thrust into the ground, so as to be held just above them, were sending forth most appetizing odors.

Obeying instructions, Glen cleaned his fish, and gathered a quantity of grass, which he wet in the stream.  The hunter had scooped out a shallow trench in the earth beside the fire, and had filled it with live coals.  Above these he now spread a layer of damp grass, on which he laid the fish, covering them in turn with another layer of grass.  Over this he raked a quantity of red-hot embers, and then covered the whole with a few handfuls of earth.

Ten minutes later the trout were found to be thoroughly cooked, and Glen was both thinking and saying that no fish had ever tasted so good.  After eating this most satisfactory breakfast, and having hung the carcase of the deer to a branch where it would be beyond the reach of wolves until it could be sent for, Glen and his new companion started down the valley.  As they walked, the latter explained to the boy that, many years before, while trapping on that very stream, he had discovered gold in its sands.  Recently he had employed a number of Mexicans to work for him, and had started some placer diggings about a mile below where they then were.

This interested Glen greatly; for all of his dreams had been of discovering gold somewhere in this wonderful Western country, and he was most desirous of learning something of the process of procuring it.  As they talked, they came in sight of several tents and brush huts, standing near the inner end of a long sand-bar, that extended diagonally nearly across the stream.  A rude dam built along its upper side had diverted the water from it, so that a large area of sand and gravel was left dry.  On this a dozen men were at work, digging with shovel and pick, or rocking cradles.  Glen had heard of miners’ cradles, or “rockers,” but he had never seen one.  Now he laughed at the resemblance between them and the low wooden cradles babies were rocked in.

They were rough boxes mounted on rockers, of which the one at the forward end was a little lower than the other, so as to give the cradle a slight slope in that direction.  Each had an iron grating placed across its upper end, and a few wooden cleats nailed crosswise of its bottom.  A hole was cut in its foot-board, and a handle, by means of which it was rocked, was fastened to its head-board.  There were two men to each cradle:  one to shovel dirt on to its grating, and the other to rock it and pour water over this dirt to wash it through.  The grating was so fine that only the smallest pebbles could pass through it.  As the dirt and water fell to the bottom of the cradle, and ran through it to the opening in the foot-board, the fine particles of gold sank, of their own weight, and lodged against the cleats.  From these it was carefully gathered several times each day by the white overseer who had charge of the diggings, and sent to Fort Garland for safe-keeping.

Glen’s guide also showed him how to wash out a panful of gold-bearing earth, as prospectors do.  He picked up a shallow iron pan, filled it with earth, and, holding it half immersed in the stream with its outer edge inclined from him, shook it rapidly to and fro, with a semi-rotary motion.  In a minute all the earth had been washed out, and only a deposit of black sand, containing a number of yellow particles, was left on the bottom.  The hunter said this black sand was iron, and could be blown away from about the gold after it was dry, or drawn away with a magnet.

The boy was greatly pleased to be allowed to attempt this operation for himself, and felt quite like a successful miner when told that the gold yielded by his first panful was worth about thirty cents.

While he was thus engaged a swarthy-complexioned soldier, evidently a Mexican, though he wore a United States uniform, came riding up the valley, raised his hand in salute to the hunter, and exchanged a few words with him.  The latter hesitated for a moment, and then, after speaking again to the soldier, who immediately dismounted, he said to Glen, “I find that I must return to the fort at once.  So if you will take this man’s horse, and ride with me, I shall be glad of your company.”  His own horse was standing near by, and in another minute they were riding rapidly down the little valley, with the mining camp already out of sight.

After a mile or so the stream that Glen had followed for so long led them into the broad expanse of the San Luis Valley, up which they turned, and speedily came in sight of the low white walls of Fort Garland, surrounding a tall staff from which an American flag floated lazily in the warm, sun-lit air.

Although Glen did not know much about soldiers, or the meaning of military forms, he was somewhat surprised to see the guard at the main entrance of the fort turn hurriedly out and present arms as they clattered in past them.  He quickly forgot this incident though, in his admiration of the interior, now opened before him.  It was a large square, enclosed on all sides by low comfortable-looking buildings of adobe, neatly whitewashed, and in some cases provided with green blinds and wide piazzas.  A hard, smooth driveway ran in front of them, and the middle of the enclosure was occupied by a well-turfed parade-ground, at one end of which stood a battery of light field-pieces.  The chief beauty of the place lay in a little canal of crystal water, that ran entirely around the parade-ground.  It was as cool and sparkling as that of its parent mountain stream, flowing just beyond the fort, and the refreshing sound of its rippling pervaded the whole place.

Riding to the opposite side of the enclosure, the hunter and his companion dismounted in front of one of the houses with blinds and a piazza.  This the former invited Glen to enter, and at the same moment an orderly stepped up and took their horses.  In a cool, dimly lighted room, Glen’s new friend asked him to be seated and wait a few moments.  In about fifteen minutes the orderly who had taken the horses entered the room, and saying to Glen that General Carson would like to see him, ushered him into an adjoining apartment.  For a moment the boy did not recognize the figure, clad in a colonel’s uniform, that was seated beside a writing-table.  But, as the latter said, “Well, sir, I was told that you wished to see the commandant,” he at once knew the voice for that of his friend the hunter, and, with a tone of glad surprise, he exclaimed,

“Why, sir, are you ­”

“Yes,” replied the other, laughing, “I am old Kit Carson, at your service, and I bid you a hearty welcome to Fort Garland.”

Then he told Glen that one of his daughters was to be married that evening to an officer of the post.  They had been engaged for some time, but there had been nobody to marry them until that day, when a priest from Taos had stopped at the fort on his way to the upper Rio Grande settlements.  As he must continue his journey the next morning, the colonel had been sent for, and it was decided that the wedding should come off at once.

Thus it happened that Glen was assisting to decorate the commandant’s quarters with flags and evergreens when Mr. Hobart and “Billy” Brackett, who had come on a little in advance of the rest of the party, rode up to pay their respects to Colonel Carson.  He went out to meet them, and, being fond of giving pleasant surprises, did not say a word concerning Glen; but, after an exchange of greetings, led them directly into the room where he was at work.  The boy was standing on a box fastening a flag to the wall above his head, as the men entered.  The light from a window fell full upon him, and they recognized him at once.