“What were you going to say?” urged Hippy.
“You savvy buck in lelet?”
Lieutenant Wingate shook his head.
“Me savvy buck.”
“You do? Where?”
The guide pointed his long, bony finger towards the rocks on the other side of a narrow pass in the mountains. The mountain there was covered with brownish grass and some spindling saplings. Lieutenant Wingate looked until his eyes ached, then turned to Smith.
“Woo, you must be mistaken,” he said.
The guide took the stick that he used to beat up the trail ahead on his march each day, laid it across a rock, and, after sighting it, beckoned to Lieutenant Wingate to look over it.
“You savvy?” he questioned eagerly.
“No, I don’t, Woo.”