"Hey?" questioned the guide. "Whut did yer say?"
"Where white man come from?" demanded Half Hand, harshly.
"Over yon," was the answer, and Rocks made a sweep of his hand that took in half the horizon.
"What white man want here?"
"Terbacker."
The Indians looked at each other, and then looked at the cool visitor, their amazement not a whit abated.
"Ugh!" they grunted in chorus.
"Wa-al, I'll allow thet you fellers know whut thet means all right," drawled Old Rocks, whimsically; "but dog my cats ef I do! Do I git ther terbacker? ur do I hev ter pull my liver out tryin' ter make chawin' terbacker burn?"
"Ain't got no 'backer," declared Half Hand, sullenly.
"Thet may be so," admitted the guide, "an' may be 't'sn't. Howsomever, I don't s'pose I've got any license ter search ye."