“Buck in lelet,” repeated the Chinaman, indicating the horns on a deer’s head, with his hands.
“I understand,” nodded Tom Gray. “What he is trying to say is, ‘buck in velvet.’”
“Ha, ha! The further they go the worse they are. First it was Emma Dean whose wheels went wrong; now it is my Uncle Hip and Captain Gray,” jeered Stacy. “Is it the altitude that has gone to your head?”
“No, it has not,” retorted Lieutenant Wingate. “Woo has more sense than all of us together. At this season of the year the bucks ‘carry their antlers in velvet.’”
“Oh, pooh! That is a fine fairy tale to feed hungry people with. Folks back east might swallow it, but not up here among the high and lofty peaks of the Sierras. Tell me something that I can swallow,” laughed Stacy.
“Stacy, if you will hold your horses I will try to explain,” rebuked Tom. “At this season of the year the antlers of the bucks are very tender, and that condition is called ‘carrying the antlers in velvet.’ In those circumstances the bucks frequent the high rocky peaks that their tender horns may not be torn off in contact with tough bushes and trees. Later on you will find the bucks on the lower ranges. Then, as the antlers become hard, almost as hard as iron, the bucks take to the dense thickets.”
Stacy Brown mopped his forehead.
“Emma, why don’t you transmigrate a little? Send a little thought wave out and see if you can’t get in touch with a nice fat buck all dressed up in velvet,” he suggested.
Emma Dean elevated her nose, but made no reply. She was at that moment more interested in the guide, who was running his yellow fingers about his wrists inside the wide sleeves, and chuckling to himself at a rapid-fire rate.
“Me savvy! Hi-lee, hi-lo; hi—”