Early in June they reached Fort Laramie, where they camped with the intention of giving their teams a rest of several days. At the Fort, which had been one of the many posts of the American Fur Company, and which the government had only recently acquired by purchase, they found a detachment of Mounted Rifles, while the employees of the Company were still in camp on the river. Among these latter Basil found a number of former associates, and for a night and a day they saw nothing of him; but on the second evening he suddenly strode into camp, and flung himself down in the midst of the little group about the fire.
“I know what I reckon there's many a one would give a good deal to know,” he said jubilantly. “Steve, how'd you fancy shortening up the trail into Salt Lake? I been talking with one of the company's men who knows all the country hereabouts, and he's marked a trail for me.”
“I allowed you knew this here country yourself,” said Rogers sarcastically. “The whole of it, too.”
“I know the trail we been following, for it's the same I took when I helped fetch Brigham Young across the plains after he was run out of Illinois.”
“Which, I reckon, was a damn good job,” said Rogers.
“Which, I reckon, it was nothing of the sort,” retorted Basil quickly.
“What about the new route?” Stephen asked.
“Oh, aye. Well, coming with Brigham Young we followed the Platte clear around until we came to the head of the Sweet Water, then we struck across to the Big Sandy, and on down to Jim Bridger's trading post, pretty nearly south. But see, now—” he took up a bit of charred stick, and rising, turned to one of the wagons whose canvas side showed clearly in the light of the camp-fire. “Now, here's Fort Laramie—Fort John it was in the old days—and off here's Fort Bridger, and way round here runs the north fork of the Platte, and here the Sweet Water lets in.” He sketched rapidly, and soon the canvas was covered with a rude outline map. “Bear in mind that's the emigrant road, as they call it; now we can strike south from here and follow the Chugwater up toward its source; it runs hereaways for a matter of a hundred miles, with this range of hills to the westward of it; just here the hills break away, and the trail turns west; three day's march will bring us to the Laramie—which lets in here—eight days more will bring us off here to Bridger's Pass; and from there on, the trail is almost due west to the head waters of the Weber.”
“And we won't go near Fort Bridger at all?”
“Certain we shan't; that's north of us. When we reach the Weber we'll follow it into the valley; and if we need anything there, I reckon I'll have little enough trouble in getting what's wanted; they won't have forgotten me, or if they have, I'll jog their memories for them. What do you say?”