“He's positively servile to us,” complained Bushrod. “That's what I can't stand. If he treated us as he treats Rogers, for instance, I don't know but what I'd like him a great deal better; at least I'd have a sufficient excuse to kick him out of camp.” “Don't you think we've allowed him to wear on us?” said Stephen. “After all, I don't know that we have any right to expect him to be different from what he is; and he certainly is the most useful member of the company; we must admit that.” “Yes, he's handy with the stock,” said Bushrod grudgingly. 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.