“Yep. That beaver has two tails, is all. John war what the Company (and by this Oliver knew that he meant the great American Fur Company) named it, an’ that’s what most o’ us old trappers call it; but ‘Laramie’ is the general name ’mongst traders, an’ some trappers too. You see, it’s on Laramie Fork o’ the North Platte, an’ that peak over it is Laramie Peak, so ‘Laramie’ ’s a natteral word.” While still riding northward as if to pass by Fort Laramie on the other side of Laramie Creek, the squad encountered a plain trail, almost a road, running east and west; and into this turned at once Lieutenant Ike and fellow leader. Therefore turned into it all, as matter of course. “Hyar’s yore way to Oregon,” announced William New, for benefit of Oliver. “But thar’s been a heap o’ people passed along since a year ago. Wagh, thar has! Sign’s fresh, too――people, wagons an’ cattle!” “An’ thar’s whar we find Kit, I reckon,” spoke a horseman of the pair in front, nodding before. “Yes; an’ Injuns, too,” added his comrade. “’Drather find ’em thar than on ahead.” “See those lodges?” directed William New, to Oliver. “Sioux lodges. Few Cheyenne, but mostly Sioux――Ogalallah.” Before, beyond the sparse willows and cottonwood of the creek, stood forth boldly upon a little knoll the post of Fort Laramie or Fort John. The walls were of adobe clay, like the walls of Bent’s Fort, but whitewashed, after Mexican fashion, like many of the houses in Taos. The fort had towers, at diagonal corners, square and peaked; and over the principal gateway was another tower or sentry-box, floating the Stars and Stripes. Along the tops of the walls stood, like teeth, a row of palisades. Close beside the walls and below the post were a collection of conical white tents――evidently Indian lodges of tanned buffalo hides. Many figures were strolling about: figures in buckskins and wool, as well as figures in blankets and robes. “Thar’s Kit, or else this chile’s eyes don’t know fat cow from pore bull!” exclaimed a voice. “An’ thar’s more of ’em camped nigh the river, up above!” Through the ford, where had crossed the wheels and hoofs of preceding companies, plashed the squad, at trot; at gallop mounted the rise which waited; and with trapper whoop and Indian yelp, and “Whang!” of sundry rifle, charged for the gate of old Laramie. The Indians, blanketed to their chins, stoically stared; from the walls and from the gateway the post employés witnessed, unperturbed, for they were accustomed to such arrival; a few other trappers, lounging about, whooped back, with wave of hand; and a wiry, sandy, short-legged, broad-shouldered little man, vaulting upon a horse, dashed out, full speed for the short distance, hat-brim flaring, hair and fringes streaming, to meet the incomers. “Told ’ee it war Kit! Rides like an Injun!” chuckled the previous speaker. “Hello, Kit.” “Hello, boys.” He checked his horse as quickly as he had started it. “Glad to see ye. Thar’s our camp, up above.”