He was gazing open-mouthed at a horseman who was forcing his way past
the laden mules. From some distance the horseman yelled in English:

"What the devil's the matter now? Ye gods and little fishes! what are
you stopping for now?"

The guide shrugged his shoulders and tapped his head.

"Mad," he said; "an idiot. Imagine! He thinks those are words!"

The horseman drew up beside them, wrath in his face.

"Sir," said Lewis, "your guide stopped to greet me. It is the custom of
the country."

Lewis and Natalie spoke English with the precision of the adults from
whom they had learned it. They had never heard the argot of American
childhood, but from mammy and from the tongue of their adopted land they
had acquired a soft slurring of speech which gave a certain quaintness
to their diction.

It was the turn of the stranger to stare open-mouthed. Lewis wore the
uniform of the local cow-boy: a thick, wide-brimmed leather hat,
fastened under the chin with a thong; a loose deerskin jumper and
deerskin breeches that fitted tightly to the leg and ended in a long
flap over the instep. On his feet were sandals and grotesque,
handwrought spurs. His red bundle was tied to the cantle of his saddle.
At hearing precise English from such a source, the stranger felt an
astonishment almost equal to Balaam's surprise on hearing his ass speak.