“The prairie men.”
“The prairie men!”
“Yes; the Santa Fé traders.”
“Traders!” I echoed, in some surprise, not being able to connect such “elegants” with any ideas of trade or the prairies.
“Yes,” continued my informant. “That large, fine-looking man in the middle is Bent—Bill Bent, as he is called. The gentleman on his right is young Sublette; the other, standing on his left, is one of the Choteaus; and that is the sober Jerry Folger.”
“These, then, are the celebrated prairie merchants?”
“Precisely so.”
I sat eyeing them with increased curiosity. I observed that they were looking at me, and that I was the subject of their conversation.
Presently, one of them, a dashing-like young fellow, parted from the group, and walked up to me.
“Were you inquiring for Monsieur Saint Vrain?” he asked.