I had been with Kit Carson long enough to know better than to say
anything to him, but Jake Harrington followed him out to where his
horse was, and started in to try to talk him out of the notion by
telling him that Shewman was drinking. He turned to Harrington and
said: "Jake, I thought you were an American, and would fight for
the name." Harrington, seeing that Uncle Kit was determined in the
matter, said no more.
Carson went out to where his saddle-horse was feeding, caught him
and took a half-hitch around his nose with the riatta, jumped on
him without any saddle, and by this time Shewman was on his horse
also, with his rifle in hand.
Up to this time I had not said a word to Uncle Kit, but as I came
up I asked him if he was not going to get his gun.
"No," said he, "this is all the gun I want;" and he took out his
pistol and rode away a few rods, so that Jake Harrington and I
would not be in range of the bullets from Shewman's gun, and
stopped to wait for Shewman to give the word. A number of
Shewman's friends tried to persuade him not to start, but their
talk only seemed to add to his rage. After they had exhausted all
their persuasive powers, and seeing that he was so determined in
the matter, they let him go.
He cried out in French that he was ready, and at that moment they
both started their horses at full speed toward each other.
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