“Not quite,” said Bushrod a little stiffly, and he glanced quickly at his brother; but Stephen avoided meeting his eye, for somehow he felt responsible for Basil, and Basil, he feared, was not quite all he had expected. “Well, it's a lot of money,” said the fur trader, “a lot of money. I've known one Landray who ain't seen so much in many a long day, how do you plan to lay it out?” “If possible, in mining properties,” said Stephen. “And lose every doggone cent of it, like enough. No sir, I'd put it in something surer.” They looked at him in mute surprise. What could be surer? He explained. “Every one's crazy to dig, and while they dig they're going to be hungry—they're going to be mortal thirsty too. Start a store, or, better still, start a tavern; but keep your hands clean.” “We intend to,” said Stephen drily. The fur trader swore a mighty oath. “The crowd here's one thing, but what will be left of it after it crosses the plains will be something else. The soft-headed and the soft-hearted will turn back, but a many a one 'll go through, and if money comes easy it will go easy. They'll be a long ways from home, most of 'em will forget they ever had homes; I've seen how that works in the fur country. Drink and cards will do for 'em: I've seen 'em gamble their last dollar away—their horses—their Indian women—the shirts off their backs—and once the scalps off their own heads, it's the traders and gamblers makes the money.” he broke off abruptly with a light laugh. “You'll figure it out to suit yourselves, I reckon, but there'll be other ways of getting gold than digging for it.” His unlucky candour acted like a wet blanket on the brothers. The manner of each became stiff, their tone formal; their enthusiasm changed to a forced and tepid warmth; but apparently Basil did not notice this; relaxed and at ease in his greasy buckskins, and with a short black pipe between his teeth, he lounged on the soft flower-specked turf, his mind filled with pleasant fancies. “We'll pick up our teams to-morrow;” he said. “Mules cost a heap more than cattle, but mules are what you want.” “We heard at St. Louis that the cholera was here, and at St. Joseph,” said Bushrod. “I reckon what you heard was near about so. That's one reason why we want to pull out of here as soon as we can. When the first man died, there was a right lively stampede.” he sucked at his pipe in silence for a moment. “I ain't partial to cholera myself,” he added. Then he explained with some show of embarrassment that his reckoning at the tavern where he had lodged since his arrival in Independence, was still unpaid, and that he was looking to the brothers to settle it for him.