Kit Carson – The Nestor of the Rocky Mountains
By Charles Haven Ladd Johnston in 1910
The vast expanse of the American West, once veiled in mystery, began to unfold before the eyes of adventurous white settlers following the groundbreaking expedition of Lewis and Clark. A surge of pioneers ventured into the northern territories west of the Mississippi River and into the arid plateaus of the south. A well-trodden wagon route emerged, connecting Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, with Santa Fe, New Mexico, and becoming known as the Santa Fe Trail. This vital artery through the Southwest was not without its perils. The indigenous tribes, whose ancestral lands were being traversed, fiercely defended their territories, leading to numerous skirmishes with the encroaching settlers, traders, and military personnel who navigated the trail by wagon and pack train.
Amidst this era of exploration and conflict, a towering figure emerged as the embodiment of the frontier spirit. This man was Kit Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky Mountains, a name synonymous with courage, resilience, and unparalleled knowledge of the western wilderness.
Kit Carson was not physically imposing, being decidedly below average in height. His strength lay in his quickness, wiry physique, nerves of steel, and an unyielding will. These attributes made him the quintessential hunter, scout, and man of the plains, revered by both white settlers and many Native American tribes.
His early life, like that of many children born on the frontier, was marked by hardship. Growing up in Howard County, Missouri, his family faced constant poverty. Young Kit Carson often supplemented their meager food supply through hunting. This early necessity honed his skills as a marksman, becoming adept with the percussion cap rifle loaded with a ramrod.
In 1826, at the age of 17, Kit Carson was apprenticed to a saddler. But, the allure of the West proved too strong to resist. When a caravan of traders bound for Santa Fe passed through his village, he abandoned his apprenticeship and joined the adventurers. He set off on foot across the prairie, following the long line of white-topped wagons and sturdy mules. This was a time when interest in the West was at its peak. The United States was experiencing a period of westward expansion, with settlers eagerly claiming territories east of the Mississippi River.
Bent’s Fort, situated on the Arkansas River in southwestern Colorado, served as a crucial trading post and refuge for white emigrants, traders, and settlers. It was here that young Kit Carson found employment as a hunter, a role he would maintain for eight years. The fort employed forty men, and Carson was responsible for providing them with meat from the surrounding mountains. This was an endeavor that varied in difficulty. Buffalo, deer, and antelope migrated with the changing seasons, often leaving the area depleted of game. Through these experiences, he became an incredibly skilled shot. He also gained recognition among the Plains Indians, including the Comanche, Arapaho, and Kiowa. The Ute tribes of the Rocky Mountains came to know him so well that he was welcomed into their camps, participated in their ceremonies, and offered advice. The Indians held him in such high regard that they often heeded his counsel.
One particular incident illustrates Kit Carson’s ability to influence the actions of the Native American tribes.
One summer, the Sioux, known for being the most numerous and warlike of the Plains Indians, ventured far south on a hunting expedition, reaching the edge of the Arkansas River. The Comanche, alarmed by this intrusion into their territory, sent a messenger to Bent’s Fort requesting Kit Carson’s assistance in driving the invaders back north. The Arapaho allied with the Comanche, preparing to repel the Sioux huntsmen. Upon arriving, Kit Carson found a vast assembly of warriors, painted for war and filled with fury towards the Sioux.
"We know that the Sioux have one thousand warriors and many rifles," a Comanche chieftain told the renowned scout. "With your assistance, we can overcome them and drive them back into their own hunting grounds. The buffalo are already scarce. We need them for ourselves, not for the Sioux. Our hearts are strong. We will teach them not to invade the land of our fathers."
"I will go to the Sioux and speak with them," Kit Carson responded. "Leave it to me, my red brothers, and I will use big medicine with the Sioux so that they will go away and not fight. Leave it to me, and all will be well."
Unaccompanied, he rode to meet the Sioux, holding up his hand as a sign of peace. They received him without hostility. Soon, he was in discussion with the leaders of the powerful hunting party. He used his powers of persuasion to avert a clash. After two days of negotiation, the Sioux agreed to return north once the buffalo season was over. They explained that buffalo had become scarce in their own territory and that they desperately needed skins for their tepees and meat for the coming winter, explaining their presence in Comanche lands.
The Comanche agreed to withdraw as well. Because each side honored their agreements, a bloody battle was avoided.
In the spring of 1830, Kit Carson encountered daring adventures with the Crow tribe. With four other men, he traveled to the headwaters of the Arkansas River, where he joined 20 men under Captain John Yount. During their winter encampment, a band of 60 Crow Indians stole several horses from the small group of skin hunters. Kit Carson was dispatched with 15 men to recover the stolen animals, eagerly taking up the trail of the marauders.
Tracking the Indians proved relatively easy, and after a day, they located them entrenched behind a crude log fortification, with the stolen horses tethered nearby. Kit Carson, without hesitation, shouted "Charge!" His men, responding with a fierce yell, galloped after him, and despite three of them being struck by Indian bullets, the frontiersmen quickly reached the horses. They cut them loose and made off with them. Most of the Indians managed to escape, although five fell before the rifles of Kit Carson’s trappers. It was a hard-fought battle.
As the small band of white frontiersmen turned towards Bent’s Fort, one of them cautioned, "Boys! We ain’t seen the last redskin, by any means. These varmints will be after us, sure, before many days are out, and we’d better hurry along before too many of ’em get on our trail."
The old plainsman’s prediction proved accurate. Within two days, a force of 200 Crow warriors surprised Kit Carson’s party. The white men took cover behind boulders, trees, and stumps, and, due to the limited number of rifles among the Indians, it became clear that Kit Carson and his men would likely escape. The plainsmen slowly retreated, maintaining a constant defense. This fighting continued for 50 miles. Kit Carson was wounded in the leg by an arrow, and several of his comrades were killed. However, the group managed to stay together and reach the open country. Soon, they were in Comanche hunting grounds, where the Crow were hesitant to pursue them due to the risk of encountering a hostile Comanche war party.
This was one of many escapes. Not long afterward, while Kit Carson was camped on a tributary of the Green River in Colorado, a young Indian stole six of the best horses belonging to the 25 men who were with the trapper. The theft was quickly discovered, and Kit Carson, known as a "thief catcher," was asked to track the fugitive and recover the stolen animals. Despite the Indian having a head start of several hours, he pursued with enthusiasm.
The scout knew little of this country. He employed a friendly Ute Indian to assist him in tracking the fugitive. It speaks volumes about his persistence that he pursued the runaway for 100 miles before they caught up with the thief. It also suggests that few Indians were in the area, as they encountered none along the way.
Just before the thief was spotted, the Ute Indian’s horse became exhausted, forcing him to turn back. Kit Carson, unwilling to give up, continued the pursuit alone.
Rounding a high hill, he saw the fleeing Indian in a valley below, leading the stolen horses. The fugitive looked back and spotted his pursuer, prompting him to dismount and run towards a grove of cottonwood trees, rifle in hand. Realizing the Indian would soon find cover, Kit Carson decided to take a shot while he was still running. The distance was three hundred yards. As the thief reached for a tree, the plainsman fired. His aim was so precise that the Indian fell dead. It was a remarkable shot, considering the Indian was running and Carson was on horseback.
The six horses were quickly rounded up, tied together with deer thongs, and brought back to camp. Kit Carson, the tireless thief chaser, returned after an absence of only six days. The leaders of the trappers were so pleased that they presented him with a large number of valuable pelts. He sold these at a profit, investing the proceeds in a new rifle, better blankets, and several spare horses.
Grizzly bears were abundant in the areas where Kit Carson set his traps. While hunting, he had a startling experience. While camped near the headwaters of a small stream where game was plentiful, he killed a large elk. As he leaned over the animal to cut its throat, a large and powerful grizzly bear appeared, moving towards him.
Driven by hunger, the animal seemed intent on making the frontiersman its prey. It lunged at him, and Kit Carson, with a sudden urge to climb a tree, scrambled up a nearby pine, leaving his unloaded rifle beside the elk. The bear ignored the dead animal and went after the trapper. Kit Carson managed to swing himself onto a branch just as the bear’s jaws closed beneath his left foot. He twisted off a branch from the tree and used it to strike the bear’s nose whenever it came too close. Enraged, the bear began to gnaw at the tree, but after tiring of this, it began to growl and snarl.
Kit Carson remained in the tree until nearly midnight. Then, the grizzly began circling the trunk. Eventually, it came upon the dead elk. It gorged itself and lumbered off into the forest. Once sure the bear was gone, Carson dropped to the ground, grabbed his rifle, and quickly returned to camp. His comrades, alarmed by his absence, were preparing to search for him.
It was not strange that a man who lived the life that he did would come through without a scratch or a wound of some sort. Soon after the adventure with the grizzly, Kit Carson went to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and sold his furs at a good price. He had been there for about a week when a party of 50 trappers set out for the Blackfeet country on the upper Missouri River. The journey was long and arduous. The group found themselves in territory controlled by a treacherous tribe.
Although they kept a close watch, one evening, a band of Blackfeet stampeded the horses, stealing 18 of the best animals. Kit Carson, the "thief catcher," was immediately asked to pursue the marauders. He took 20 of the most agile men and set out in a snowstorm. The tracks were initially clear, but they soon became obscured. Kit Carson dismounted and felt for the prints with his hands. After 75 miles, they sighted the Indians.
Instead of fleeing, the Blackfeet rode towards them, one chief raising his hand in friendship. "Ugh! Ugh!" said the warrior. "We will not fight. We wish to speak with our white brothers."
"We want our horses," Carson responded. "We wish to have no fight with our red brothers, but if our red brothers will not give up our horses, then there will be one big battle."
"How," grunted a chief. "We took the horses because we thought that the animals belonged to the Snake Indians, our enemies. We are your friends. We do not wish to fight."
Despite these protestations of friendship, the Indians refused to return the animals. Some of the trappers seized the horses and began leading them towards their own camp. The Indians prepared for a fight, armed mostly with bows and arrows, although some had rifles obtained from trading posts.
A rifle shot broke the silence. A bullet whizzed past the head of the Blackfeet leader, striking an Indian behind him. Other rifles fired, and arrows flew through the trees. Kit Carson crouched behind a log, near his friend, Markland. Opposite them were two warriors, each with a rifle. As Kit took aim, he saw another Indian aiming at Markland, who was loading his rifle. Kit Carson’s rifle spoke, and the Indian aiming at Markland fell backward with a bullet in his brain. As he fell, Carson cried out, for the second Indian had fired at him, striking him in the shoulder and shattering his shoulder blade. Despite the injury, the trapper loaded his rifle again, fired, and his aim was true. The fight raged until nightfall, when the Indians withdrew, keeping most of the captured horses. They had won, and the trappers mourned the loss of five companions.
Carson was found lying on the snow, using his coat to stop the flow of blood from his shoulder. He was put on a horse, the bullet was removed, and the wound was bandaged. Supported by two companions, he made the journey back to camp. With five killed and four wounded, the trappers did not attack again. Captain Bridger took 30 men to find the Blackfeet, but they were unsuccessful.
Shortly after this, Kit Carson, having recovered, nearly lost his life again, but this time at the hand of a white man. The party had been joined by Frenchmen and Canadians employed by the Hudson’s Bay Fur Company. The camp now numbered around 100 men.
Among these adventurers was a braggart named Shuman, who enjoyed bad whiskey and bullying his companions. He rode around camp, yelling, "These Americans are chicken-livered scoundrels! They come into our trapping ground and catch all the beaver which belong to us. There’s not a man among ’em who isn’t a cowardly cur! I can lick ten of ’em at once! I’m a regular tornado of fury!"
Kit Carson, usually quiet, stepped out. "I am an American, and I am no coward. You are a bully, and I’ll fight you in any manner you desire."
Shuman yelled, "If you are looking to get killed, I have no objection to shooting you as if you were a dog. We will ride together a hundred yards apart, and then I will kill you as a mosquito!"
Kit Carson mounted his horse. The entire camp watched. Carson wheeled, and the Frenchman raised his rifle.
The horses swept down, and Shuman fired. A lock of Carson’s hair fell. Carson raised his pistol and fired. A ball entered Shuman’s hand, lodging in his elbow.
"Eet is enough!" cried Shuman. "You could have killed me. I thank you for my life!"
Shuman never bragged again in front of Kit Carson.
Kit Carson spent the winter in the Yellowstone River region with only 12 men. It was a winter of starvation.
When spring came, the hunters began to set their traps. The Blackfeet, the worst enemies of the white men, discovered them. One day, they crept upon Carson and five men as they were baiting their traps. A running fight took place. The Indians were held at bay until the ammunition was nearly exhausted, then a retreat was commenced. A horse stumbled, throwing its rider. Five Blackfeet rushed to take his scalp, but Kit Carson leaped to his rescue. He shot the foremost Indian and fired rapidly at the others. Then, he dashed to the fallen trapper and pulled him behind a boulder.
The rest of the trappers heard the firing and arrived. The white men drove the Indians back into the woods.
Mountain lions were thick in the area. One day, while walking along a stream, Carson saw a mountain lion in the roots of a fallen tree. Fearing an attack, he fired, but he missed. The lion came towards him, and he drew his knife. The animal jumped upon him, ripping his shirt and trying to bite his neck. They fell to the ground and rolled down a hillside while Kit Carson stabbed at the beast. The lion bit him severely in the shoulder, then rolled over dead.
Carson fainted from blood loss. He was found by his companion and carried back to camp. After a month, he began to recover and, after two months, resumed hunting and trapping.
When Kit Carson returned to Bent’s Fort, he fell in love with a Comanche girl and married her. He became ill, 100 miles from the fort. His wife traveled to him. The exertion brought on a fever, and she died, mourned by Kit Carson. Their daughter lived and married a merchant in St. Louis, Missouri.
Then, the most interesting part of Kit Carson’s life began: his association with General John C. Fremont in exploring expeditions and annexing California.
While visiting St. Louis, Fremont was organizing an expedition to explore the country between the Missouri River and the Rocky Mountains. Fremont hired Kit Carson as chief guide. The expedition consisted of 21 men and Lucien Maxwell. They traveled past Fort Laramie, Wyoming, to the Rocky Mountains. The plains were covered with buffalo and antelope.
While riding along the Platte River, a large herd of buffalo came to cross the plain. Kit Carson, Lucien Maxwell, and General Fremont started out to kill some meat. The buffaloes grazed to within half a mile. They charged the bison. Fremont would later write of the event. He told of his horse, Provenan, who chased after a cow he was pursuing. In a few moments, he brought him alongside her, and rising in the stirrups, he fired at the distance of a yard. She fell headlong at the report of the gun.
At a little distance, Kit Carson was on the ground, tying his horse to the horns of a cow that he was preparing to cut up.
Meanwhile, while Fremont was making his second attack, Kit Carson left the buffalo he had killed to pursue a large bull. Chasing the game for a quarter of a mile, he came up to the side of the fleeing beast and fired, but his horse stepped into a prairie dog hole, fell upon his nose, and threw Kit fully 15 feet over his head. The bullet struck the buffalo near the shoulder but did not inflict a mortal wound. Enraged, the buffalo pursued the scout, who made off to the river.
The buffalo charged after the fleeing trapper. He felt the hot breath of the enraged brute upon his neck. He leaped into the clear water. He saw the beast standing upon the bank. He swam for some time, until Maxwell saw his predicament and shot the bull. Kit Carson crawled to the bank and skinned his ferocious enemy.
After this hunt, the party pushed on into the West and reached Laramie, Wyoming. They climbed Pike’s Peak. Soon after this, Kit Carson left the expedition and went to New Mexico. In 1843, he married a Mexican lady.
In June, hearing that Fremont was organizing another expedition, he joined him. They traveled to the Great Salt Lake in Utah, to the homes of the Digger Indians, and to the Columbia River. The party reached Sutter’s Fort in California. Kit Carson returned to Taos, New Mexico, to engage in sheep ranching. But, in the spring, Fremont projected a third expedition. Carson disposed of his sheep ranch and joined his commander at Bent’s Fort on the Arkansas River.
A lieutenant described how Kit Carson prepared for the night. "A braver man than Kit perhaps never lived; in fact, I doubt if he ever knew what fear was, but with all this, he exercised great caution. While arranging his bed, his saddle, which he always used as a pillow, was disposed of in such a manner as to form a barricade for his head; his pistols, half-cocked, were laid above it, and his trusty rifle reposed beneath his blanket by his side, where it was not only ready for instant use but was perfectly protected from the damp. Except now and then to light his pipe, you never caught Kit exposing himself to the full glare of the campfire."
Near Monterey, California, they were met by General Jose Castro, who opposed their progress. "I refuse to return," said Fremont. "This country belongs to us. If you want us to leave, you must put us out by force."
The Mexicans stirred up the Apache Indians.
While Fremont rested at Lawson’s post, word reached him of the approach of 1,000 Apache. "We must leave this post at once," said Fremont. "We must march against the enemy."
They proceeded 50 miles before discovering the Indians. "The Apache are going into camp. We can surprise them!"
"We will surround them when they are asleep," said Fremont. "Let every man fight as he never fought before."
That night, the Indian camp was surrounded. They galloped down upon the unsuspecting Indians, who were thrown into confusion. Hundreds were shot down.
This victory taught the Apache a lesson. Fremont and his crew departed for Oregon.
They were a tough-looking crew. "Fremont rode ahead, a spare, active-looking man with such an eye! After him came five Delaware Indians, who were his bodyguards. The rest, many of them blacker than the Indians, rode two and two, the rifle held in one hand across the saddle’s pommel."
There were skirmishes with the Indians. At Lawson’s post, the Mexicans were prepared to dispute their advance. At Sonoma, California, a fort was attacked and carried. All the Americans rallied to Fremont’s standard. They marched against 800 Mexicans from San Francisco. Instead, they retreated.
Detachments from a fleet of United States cruisers aided Fremont in an attack upon Monterey. A flag was adopted with the figure of a bear. The independence of California was declared.
California was now free from Mexican rule, thanks to Fremont, Kit Carson, and their men.
Kit Carson returned to New Mexico. On his way back, he passed the Little Salt Lake and found the remains of ten human beings. "These are the relics of some unfortunate party of whites that the Indians have cut off," said Carson.
The rest of Kit Carson’s life was spent ranching and fighting Indians.
Some Apache raided settlements. Carson tracked them to a position in the foothills. He gave a shout and dashed after them. But, his friends fell back.
The Indians galloped around him. He threw himself upon the offside of his horse and rode back. Six arrows stuck into his horse, and a bullet passed through his coat tail.
In 1862, he was entrusted with a command against tribes of New Mexico and Arizona. He brought the Mescaleros to terms and attacked the Navajo. Near the Canadian River in Texas, he attacked a Kiowa village. "This brilliant affair," said his commanding officer, "adds another leaf to the laurel wreath which you have so nobly won."
He was appointed an Indian Agent.
In January 1868, he was called to Washington.
The journey was a triumphal tour.
In March, he returned to New Mexico. On May 23, 1868, while visiting his son at Fort Lyons, Colorado, and while mounting a horse, an artery in his neck was ruptured, and he died.
Remember the mountaineer, trapper, guide, pioneer, and Indian counselor. As a frontiersman, he had no superior. His reputation was never tainted. The times bred men of courage, and he was one of these. He was a pathmaker in a wild country. He lived his life well. No man could have done better than he – the Nestor of the Rocky Mountains!
By Charles Haven Ladd Johnston, 1910. Compiled & edited by Kathy Alexander, updated April 2024.
About the Article: This article, written by Charles Haven Ladd Johnston, was excerpted from his book Famous Scouts, Including Trappers, Pioneers, and Soldiers of the Frontier, published in 1910 and now in the public domain. Charles Johnston was a prolific writer of history and published numerous books about the history of the Old West, as well as world history. The text that appears on these pages is not verbatim, as corrections have been made to erroneous information, and the article has been heavily edited for the modern reader.