"Why not?" I asked. "It's a cold night. There'll be frost if not snow."
"Shore you'll get 'em," said Jim.
"There never was an Indian that didn't have 'em," added Jones.
"What?" I questioned.
They made mysterious signs that rather augmented my ignorance as to what I might get from the Indian, but in no wise changed my mind. When I went to bed I had to crawl over Navvy. Moze lay at my feet as usual and he growled so deep that I could not but think he, too, resented the addition to my small tent.
"Mista Gay!" came in the Indian's low voice.
"Well Navvy?" I asked.
"Sleepie—sleepie?"
"Yes, Navvy, sleepy and tired. Are you?"
"Me savvy—mucha sleepie—mucha—no bueno."