“Why, you—” Basil began, his beard quivering; but Stephen put out his hand and rested it heavily on his shoulder.
“Go on, Basil,” he said quietly. “How about grass and water?”
“There's enough of both,” he answered moodily, with eyes still fixed on Rogers.
“But is the road possible for wagons?”
The fur trader grinned arrogantly. “It ain't a road, it's just something between a scent and a trail,” he turned to his map again. “We'll strike water here, and here, and all along here, and where there's water there's grass. You'll admit, Mr. Rogers, the emigrant road is a pretty round about way to Salt Lake, if there's anything nearer.”
“I'm not disputing the distances,” said Rogers reluctantly, for he felt that the leadership of the company was passing from him. “But I don't like the risks of getting caught up with by the Indians.”
“We'll think about it over night,” said Stephen. “We shan't leave here until day after to-morrow, and, in the meantime, I'd like to see your friend.”
“All right,” said Basil, “That's fair enough. I'll fetch him round in the morning and you can talk with him.”
The result of this was, that when the Landrays left Fort Laramie they turned to the south instead of to the west, and followed down the Chugwater.
“It's a mistake,” Rogers said sadly to Walsh. “It's too much of a risk to run to save a few days. It's a big mistake.”