Gogoomy and his five tribesmen were fined three pounds
each, and at Gogoomy’s guttural command they
refused to pay.
“S’pose you go along Tulagi,” Sheldon
warned him, “you catch ’m strong fella
whipping and you stop along jail three fella year.
Mr. Burnett, he look ’m along Winchester, look
’m along cartridge, look ’m along revolver,
look ’m along black powder, look ’m along
dynamite—my word, he cross too much, he
give you three fella year along jail. S’pose
you no like ’m pay three fella pound you stop
along jail. Savvee?”
Gogoomy wavered.
“It’s true—that’s what
Burnett would give them,” Sheldon said in an
aside to Joan.
“You take ’m three fella pound along me,”
Gogoomy muttered, at the same time scowling his hatred
at Sheldon, and transferring half the scowl to Joan
and Kwaque. “Me finish along you, you catch
’m big fella trouble, my word. Father
belong me big fella chief along Port Adams.”
“That will do,” Sheldon warned him.
“You shut mouth belong you.”
“Me no fright,” the son of a chief retorted,
by his insolence increasing his stature in the eyes
of his fellows.
“Lock him up for to-night,” Sheldon said
to Kwaque. “Sun he come up put ’m
that fella and five fella belong him along grass-cutting.
Savvee?”
Kwaque grinned.
“Me savvee,” he said. “Cut
’m grass, ngari-ngari {4} stop ’m
along grass. My word!”
“There will be trouble with Gogoomy yet,”
Sheldon said to Joan, as the boss-boys marshalled
their gangs and led them away to their work.
“Keep an eye on him. Be careful when you
are riding alone on the plantation. The loss
of those Winchesters and all that ammunition has hit
him harder than your cuffing did. He is dead-ripe
for mischief.”
“I wonder what has become of Tudor. It’s
two months since he disappeared into the bush, and
not a word of him after he left Binu.”
Joan Lackland was sitting astride her horse by the
bank of the Balesuna where the sweet corn had been
planted, and Sheldon, who had come across from the
house on foot, was leaning against her horse’s
shoulder.
“Yes, it is along time for no news to have trickled
down,” he answered, watching her keenly from
under his hat-brim and wondering as to the measure
of her anxiety for the adventurous gold-hunter; “but
Tudor will come out all right. He did a thing
at the start that I wouldn’t have given him
or any other man credit for—persuaded Binu
Charley to go along with him. I’ll wager
no other Binu nigger has ever gone so far into the
bush unless to be kai-kai’d. As
for Tudor—”
“Look! look!” Joan cried in a low voice,
pointing across the narrow stream to a slack eddy
where a huge crocodile drifted like a log awash.
“My! I wish I had my rifle.”
The crocodile, leaving scarcely a ripple behind, sank
down and disappeared.
