was one of a gang of boys
that had been detailed to the grass-cutting. She came to where they had
been at work, but saw no signs of them. Her unshod horse made no sound
on the soft, sandy footing, and a little further on she heard voices
proceeding from out of the grass. She reined in and listened. It was
Gogoomy talking, and as she listened she gripped her bridle-rein tightly
and a wave of anger passed over her.

"Dog he stop 'm along house, night-time he walk about," Gogoomy was
saying, perforce in _beche-de-mer_ English, because he was talking to
others beside his own tribesmen. "You fella boy catch 'm one fella pig,
put 'm _kai-kai_ belong him along big fella fish-hook. S'pose dog he
walk about catch 'm _kai-kai_, you fella boy catch 'm dog allee same one
shark. Dog he finish close up. Big fella marster sleep along big fella
house. White Mary sleep along pickaninny house. One fella Adamu he stop
along outside pickaninny house. You fella boy finish 'm dog, finish 'm
Adamu, finish 'm big fella marster, finish 'm White Mary, finish 'em
altogether. Plenty musket he stop, plenty powder, plenty tomahawk,
plenty knife-fee, plenty porpoise teeth, plenty tobacco, plenty calico--my
word, too much plenty everything we take 'm along whale-boat, washee {5}
like hell, sun he come up we long way too much."

"Me catch 'm pig sun he go down," spoke up one whose thin falsetto voice
Joan recognized as belonging to Cosse, one of Gogoomy's tribesmen.

"Me catch 'm dog," said another.

"And me catch 'm white fella Mary," Gogoomy cried triumphantly. "Me
catch 'm Kwaque he die along him damn quick."

This much Joan heard of the plan to murder, and then her rising wrath
proved too much for her discretion. She spurred her horse into the
grass, crying,--

"What name you fella boy, eh? What name?"

They arose, scrambling and scattering, and to her surprise she saw there
were a dozen of them. As she looked in their glowering faces and noted
the heavy, two-foot, hacking cane-knives in their hands, she became
suddenly aware of the rashness of her act. If only she had had her
revolver or a rifle, all would have been well. But she had carelessly
ventured out unarmed, and she followed the glance of Gogoomy to her waist
and saw the pleased flash in his eyes as he perceived the absence of the
dreadful man-killing revolver.

The first article in the Solomon Islands code for white men was never to
show fear before a native, a