“Gehari!” he repeated, fixing his piercing eyes on Seymour’s face.
“What’s he jawing about?” asked Silas.
“Ayuti again,” replied the baronet. “However came these brutes to speak that language?”
“I reckon it don’t matter a heap,” retorted the Yankee, “so’s we can turn it to our advantage.”
“Gehari!” For the third time the word broke upon the ears of the two friends.
“What the plague does he mean by his eternal ‘gehari’?” asked Haverly.
“It must be his name,” was the reply, “but it isn’t exactly a classy title. The word means ‘the wily one.’”
“Jupiter!” cried Haverly with a grin, “that kind of gives the show away. I guess he can’t grumble the handle don’t fit him, for he’s got ‘wily’ writ large all over him. Say, couldn’t you get no news of our pards off the fellow?”
Turning, Seymour put a few brief questions to the wolf-man.
“What’s he say?” asked Silas as he finished.