"Whoraminta! Whoraminta!" repeated Heno. "Cannot think of your word for it. It is this!"
He threw himself into a firm attitude, held out one hand far, extended the other about half so far, shut his left eye, and looked with the right intently along the level of his two hands. Henry understood the pantomime perfectly.
"I know," he said. "Whoraminta is a rifle. You're right, Thunder, I'd like mighty well to be out in the forest with my Whoraminta, one of the trustiest and best comrades I ever had."
Heno's smile answered that of the captive.
"And with plenty of Teghsto?" he said.
"Teghsto?" said Henry. "That's new to me. Can't you think of the English word for it?"
Heno shook his head, but closed his right hand until it formed approximately the shape of a horn, then elevated it and held it as if he were pouring something into the open palm of his left hand.
"Use in Whoraminta," he said.
"That's not hard," said Henry. "Powder you mean."
"That right," said Heno, smiling again. "Teghsto go in Whoraminta, and Yeatara go in Whoraminta, too. You want plenty of Yeatara."