Stacy surveyed the straight-limbed but ugly faced young buck critically.
"I don't blame him," said the fat boy.
"Don't blame him for what?" snapped Nance.
"For being afraid of his face. So am I."
The boys snickered, but their faces suddenly sobered at a sharp glance from the piercing eyes of the Kohot.
"Mi-ki-u-la," said Afraid Of His Face, pointing to the much-soiled trousers of Stacy Brown.
"He likes your trousers, he says," grinned the guide.
"Well, he can't have them, though he certainly does need trousers," decided Stacy reflectively, studying the muscular, half-naked limbs of the young buck. "He couldn't very well appear in polite society in that rig, could he, Tad?"
"Not unless he were going in swimming," smiled Tad.
It was at this point that Tad Butler himself came near getting into difficulties. The chief's son, having been ordered in a series of explosive guttural sounds to do something, had started away when a yellow, wolfish looking cur got in way. Afraid Of His Face gave the dog a vicious kick, then as if acting upon second thought he grabbed up the snarling dog, and twisting its front legs over on its back, dropped the yelping animal, giving it another kick before it touched the ground.