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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 210 pages of information about Adventure.

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.”

CHAPTER XXII—­GOGOOMY FINISHES ALONG KWAQUE ALTOGETHER

“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.

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