“So, so,” was the reply, meaning “yes.”
We would have led him towards the wood, but he shook his head, and spoke but one word in a very firm and decided tone—
“Gualichu!”
He led us down into a rocky ravine where grew many strange bushes we had never seen before, and in the more open places an abundance of wild flowers, many like our own pinks and primroses that grow among the dear Cornish hills. In this ravine was a streamlet which, however, had so worn away its rocky bed that we could hardly see it. We could hear it, however, and when we peeped over the cliffs that formed its banks, there it was foaming and tearing along, and leaping from shelf to shelf of its stony bed. Sometimes it formed great pools of dark brown water, in which fish were leaping after the swarming flies.
Not far from this wild stream, and within hearing of its ceaseless song, we all threw ourselves on the grass in a ring. Nadi, woman-like, had brought some sewing with her, some beautiful skunk skins from which—we afterwards discovered—she was making a little roba or poncho for her favourite Peter.
“You’re not afraid of the Gualichu?” I said.
Jeeka looked hastily round as if to make sure there was nothing very dreadful in sight, before he replied—
“I shoot he quick, suppose I can.”
“But you shot him before in the shape of a horse?” I said.
“So, so.”