The evening had grown deeper by the time Kit and I emerged from the hinterlands and trotted down Market Street. Kit wasn't highly familiar with the streets of Saint Louis, which had grown a considerable amount since he last came in from Boone's Lick, so he let me lead, and by habit I headed back toward my office. On the other side of the street and at the far end of the block there was a tatterdemalion honkeytonk called the Byway, for reasons I can't even think to ask, and I was tired and shaken by my misdventures, so we succumbed to convenience and tied up there.

The place was well populated with ladies of misfortune, decked out in gawdy outfits, and a rinkytink piano player was trying to play "Willie Was a Wanton Wag" for a couple of loud and oafish riverboatmen.

I found a small table well to the rear, and a shapely but world-worn woman of about thirty brought us a bottle of redeye and a couple of glasses. The bartender staggered into "Rose of Lucerne", and his gaffes made even the louts along the bar grin; it was clear he had had more of the house red-eye than was musical.

I had sipped my way through about a quarter of my glass, reflecting on the reverberations of memory of the night's horrors, and listening to Kit's reminiscing, when he refilled his own for the second time. I was growing more quiet with the effect of the whiskey, and he was growing more talkative, which suited me all right.

"' wz born in Kaintuck," he said, "Madison county, but folks moved out to Boone Lick about immejitly. Had to work since Ah was nine, on account Dad died then. 'm still working, but I 'bout hed enough. This saddler and harness feller I am apprenticed to ain't worth snuff in a high wind, I guess, and I am gonner quit him." He cleared another quarter of his glass away without even noticing it. "I kin make do; I can hunt fer game, or horse-thieves, with anyone. Been told I'm one the best rifle shots in Upper Looziana. I mean, Mizzooruh..whatever they call it."

"I guess I can vouch for that, Kit. And there's a dead man out by that tavern could also."

"Et wasn't even fair, ye know? Less than seventy yards like that from where I was in the brush to where you wuz. But I didn't see much time to be sporting about it anyway."

"I appreciate you saw it that way. Guess I owe you a big favor."

"Hell, you'lda done the same if you coulda."

"Well, I'd like to think so. Surprising what you do when the moment is on you, isn't it."

I was feeling the fevered pinch of the whiskey in my veins, and knew my tongue was loosening; but the music was fairly fine despiite the loud voices drowning out the drunk piano player singing "The Lass That Loves a Sailor", and an undercurrent of lavender perfume, apprently wafting from the keen eyed and high-cheeked raven-headed beauty in the corner made the fuzziness comfortable.

"Nope," Kit jumped topics again with the agility of a man distinctly under the influence. "I'm gonna quit him. I can make my life in the mountains, where they still bring beaver down by the hundred weight every year and good pay. Er I can go out to Santa Fe, too. Hear stories 'bout the senoritas out there make you want to mount and ride."

"Hey!! You see that pretty girl -- she winked at me!!" I turned and noticed the raven-hair. She had a certain aura about her, a strong mind in a well-shaped body. But I had other worries on my mind.

"Kit, what do you think is likely to happen when those cadavers get found?"

"Hell, you could be in a mess o' pottage, as my mom useter say. I dunno. Likely someone in his gang knew who he was gonna foller tonight, even if no-one knew where you was going." I was surprised at his lucidity.

By ten that evening, the bottle was empty and I was half way through my second glass. Kit had sworn we were life long bosom friends and allies, no matter what, and the sense of that proposition seemed vividly clear to me as well, and we had to drink to it. Several times. He figgered I should come with him when he left town, and go to Santa Fe or become a mountain man. He was sure it was the most sensible plan yet conceived by the mind of man.

"How do you know you can make it in the mountains?", I challenged him. "Sure you can shoot, but there's wild tribes, wild animals, rough country white men have never seen out there?"

Kit straightened up, and looked at me grimly. He shook his finger under my nose, looking as imposing as it is possible for a short man to look.

"You mind what I say, Ben Huntington. You dunno what you are hitching yore wagon to. I live clean, I shoot clean, and I can handle any damn thing that comes along. You hear me? The world ain't heard the end of Kit Carson, now mark me."

And with that stern prediction, he left the table to see about taking the raven-haired beauty upstairs. I paid for the whiskey and staggered down the street, thinking to head for my office to catch a few winks. But, it was not a night made for comfort or retirement, evidently. For as I was unlocking the door, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen came running up to me out of the shadows of the warm St Louis spring evening, and insisted she should be let in.

So I let her in.