The herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1893-1900, 1894-06-24
A SON OF KIT CARSON
HOME AND FAMILY OF A DESCENDANT
OF THE FAMOUS SCOUT.

An Adobe Cabin In tac Shade of Spread.
ing Oak Up a Santa Monica Canyon Shell
tiers Sam Carson, His Indian wifo and
Their Dark Browed Offspring.
When old Kit Carson died, full Of
years and Indian fights, he left son,
who resting content with the name
which his father had won, betook him
self far from the strife OF this world and
built him home under the suns OF
southern California. Far up in one Of
tho canyons of Santa Monica he cut
down few sturdy codars and built his
shelter. Then he covered it with the
mud which he dug from tho bed of the
mountain torrent flowing noisily at tbs
bottom of the canyon. His house was on
the hillside overlooking the stream and
was shaded by hugo live oak, which
spoad its branches this way and that for
his half Indian children to sit and
swing upon.
This was the homo Of Sam Carson,
and just before lie built his adobe he
had taken to wife a comedy Indian wom-
an whose tribe for centuries had lived
in the foothills Of the Sierras Santa
Monica, whence they could look out
upon the blue Pacific, with SAINTS Gaia
lima rising, blue hump in the ocean,
80 miles away.
A wanderer up the canyon green I'M
der the warm February sun found Nine
Carson sitting plaoidly on a stump iii
an onion field, mending her lord IS jeans
She was Indian, and Indianlike was
wrinl1led and worn and bent, though
her eyes were still bright and sparkling
She looked at least GO years old as she
sat there, glnncing oannily at me and
then pointing out the ravages which
storm and fire had made in past years.
She put her sewing down on her knee
and in broken English, mixed with Mex
lean Spanish and frequent expressive
little grunts, she told me all their trou-
bles Of the past.
The old Indian woman suddenly
turned to watch three little dark browed
children that were chasing one another
along the hills crest, their chubby
bodies silhouetted against the blue sky
beyond.
''Mine-all mine" she said proudly,
"Sam's and mine have had seven
children, four grown, three little. Sect"
and she pointed her wrinkled finger at
the youngsters, now rolling gleefully
down the hillside.
"T'rantulas, chil'renl" she screamed.
'T'rantulas like the warm earth ON the
sunny hills and come out and sting
sometimes little chill ren dead" she ex-
planned, and then she started sewing
again, leaving the youngsters and the
tarantulas to their own devices.
''How-how old are your" the visitor
ventured
The old woman dug thoughtfully into
the dirt with one of her brown toes
Then she drew it back hastily beneath
her skirt and looked over at the noun
tains. "Maybe 49," she said, with a
sudden smile
ooh, no, not SO much as that"
She thought again for long time,
watching the Pacific cleaning in the
sunlight. "Well, maybe 80 them" and
she smiled contentedly.
The ocean breeze blow up the canyon,
bringing with it the faint roar Of the
breakers Occasionally one could hear
the crack Of rife, at which the old
Indian woman never failed to glance up
quickly. Her sewing was almost done
when Sam Carson, her husband, walked
out of the thickets up the canyon and
stalked lazily across the field, gun in
hand and small yellow dog at his
heels. The wife arose quickly, and Sam
sat down ON the smooth stump. He was
as brown as his Indian wife, his hair
was gray, and his beard was grizzled
He spoke in low toned, deliberate fash
ion, as most people do who live long
under a seritropio sun.
''Do you see rhse little cur?" he said
'"That darned little dog has just killed a
wildcat, and tho son of the old scout
wiped his brow and prepared to tell the
rest Of his story. He had reputation
for thrilling and impossible tales.
''Me and Baldy-I named him after
the old mountain over there-me and
Badly, we was a-slyin through the I'M
derbrush. I thought I'd shoot some
gophers just for luck Well, sir. was
standin IN front Of a big live oak, way
up the canyon there where it gets narrer.
All Of suddin heard whirrin noise
in the air. I looked up, and bless me
if there wasn't q big wildcat flying right
down on me. gave one jump, but
expected the cat would have me the next
lick. oh, she was big I'm, I'm tellin
you.
'But Badly was there. He just sailed
into that cat. Ny, how Badly did shake
her," and Sam caressingly SHE'D a
lump Of dirt at the diminutive ours
nose. It would have been an unpardon-
able insult to suggest that any wildcat
would have made two rnouthfuls of little
Badly.
Ibid Badly kill her?''
Gas dead as snail, " said Sam.
"Well, where is the skin Of the cat
anyway" I asked.
Badly ohewed him all up" said
Sam thoughtfully. "Chewed him all
up 'Twasn't worth bringin home"
and handing his rife to his wife to car
ny Sam walked slowly back among the
onion sprouts and disappeared with her
in the cabin under the big oak.-Cor.
New York Tribune.
Getting It Down Fine.
The perfection to which the human eye
may be educated to recognize change or
an alteration in a written character and