Kit did, evidently; gesturing as rapidly as had the Indian himself, and pointing to the scarlet and blue cloth, and the beads, temptingly outspread.
“Tah-ve! Tah-ve!” chorused all the Indians, shaking their heads. “Snow! Snow!”
The old man plucked from the ground a bunch of dried grass; he gesticulated, and grunted, and shut his eyes; and suddenly he left the circle, in a great hurry.
“He says,” translated Kit, “that if we can break the snow, in three days we’ll come to whar thar’s grass about six inches high. He’s been that fur hunting elk; but beyond that his eyes air shut—he’s seen nothing. Now he’s gone to get somebody who’s been further.”
Almost immediately the old man returned with a young man, and posting him in the circle made a talk about him. Kit translated.
“Hyar’s a young man who’s been an’ seen the whites. The old man sw’ars by the sky, an’ by the ground, that it air the truth. Mebbe we can get this buck to be guide. I’ll try.”
“Melo, melo,” insisted the old man.
“Melo, melo,” nodded the young man.
And——
“Melo, melo,” grunted all the squatting semi-circle.