A fearful monster, the grizzly bear, drags his body along the high ridges; the carcajou squats upon the projecting rock, waiting the elk that must pass to the water below; and the bighorn bounds from crag to crag in search of his shy mate. Along the pine branch the bald buzzard whets his filthy beak; and the war-eagle, soaring over all, cuts sharply against the blue field of the heavens. These are the Rocky Mountains, the American Andes, the colossal vertebras of the continent! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Such are the aspects of the wild west; such is the scenery of our drama. Let us raise the curtain, and bring on the characters. CHAPTER TWO. THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS. "New Orleans, _April 3rd_, 18-- "Dear Saint Vrain--Our young friend, Monsieur Henry Haller, goes to Saint Louis in `search of the picturesque.' See that he be put through a `regular course of sprouts.' "Yours,-- "Luis Walton. "Charles Saint Vrain, Esquire, Planters' Hotel, Saint Louis." With this laconic epistle in my waistcoat pocket, I debarked at Saint Louis on the 10th of April, and drove to the "Planters'." After getting my baggage stowed and my horse (a favourite I had brought with me) stabled, I put on a clean shirt, and, descending to the office, inquired for Monsieur Saint Vrain. He was not there. He had gone up the Missouri river several days before. This was a disappointment, as I had brought no other introduction to Saint Louis. But I endeavoured to wait with patience the return of Monsieur Saint Vrain. He was expected back in less than a week. Day after day I mounted my horse, I rode up to the "Mounds" and out upon the prairies. I lounged about the hotel, and smoked my cigar in its fine piazza. I drank sherry cobblers in the saloon, and read the journals in the reading-room. With these and such like occupations, I killed time for three whole days. There was a party of gentlemen stopping at the hotel, who seemed to know each other well. I might call them a clique; but that is not a good word, and does not express what I mean. They appeared rather a band of friendly, jovial fellows. They strolled together through the streets, and sat side by side at the table-d'hote, where they usually remained long after the regular diners had retired. I noticed that they drank the most expensive wines, and smoked the finest cigars the house afforded. My attention was attracted to these men. I was struck with their peculiar bearing; their erect, Indian-like carriage in the streets, combined with a boyish gaiety, so characteristic of the western American.