Now, my dear friend," said Saint Vrain, "you feel a hundred per cent,
better! But, tell me, were you in earnest when you spoke of going with
us across the plains? We start in a week; I shall be sorry to part with
you so soon."

"But I was in earnest. I am going with you, if you will only show me
how I am to set about it."

"Nothing easier: buy yourself a horse."

"I have got one."

"Then a few coarse articles of dress, a rifle, a pair of pistols, a--"

"Stop, stop! I have all these things. That is not what I would be at,
but this: You, gentlemen, carry goods to Santa Fe. You double or treble
your money on them. Now, I have ten thousand dollars in a bank here.
What should hinder me to combine profit with pleasure, and invest it as
you do?"

"Nothing; nothing! A good idea," answered several.

"Well, then, if any of you will have the goodness to go with me, and
show me what sort of merchandise I am to lay in for the Santa Fe market,
I will pay his wine bill at dinner, and that's no small commission, I
think."

The prairie men laughed loudly, declaring they would all go a-shopping
with me; and, after breakfast, we started in a body, arm-in-arm.

Before dinner I had invested nearly all my disposable funds in printed
calicoes, long knives, and looking-glasses, leaving just money enough to
purchase mule-waggons and hire teamsters at Independence, our point of
departure for the plains.

A few days after, with my new companions, I was steaming up the
Missouri, on our way to the trackless prairies of the "Far West."

CHAPTER THREE.

THE PRAIRIE FEVER.

After a week spent in Independence buying mules and waggons, we took the
route over the plains. There were a hundred waggons in the caravan, and
nearly twice that number of teamsters and attendants. Two of the
capacious vehicles contained all my "plunder;" and, to manage them, I
had hired a couple of lathy, long-haired Missourians. I had also
engaged a Canadian voyageur named Gode, as a sort of attendant or
compagnon.

Where are the glossy gentlemen of the Planters' Hotel? One would
suppose they had been left behind, as here are none but men in
hunting-shirts and slouch hats. Yes; but under these hats we recognise
their faces, and in these rude shirts we have the same jovial fellows as
ever. The silky black and the diamonds have disappeared, for now the
traders flourish under the prairie costume. I will endeavour to give an
idea of the appearan