Plenty strong big fella too much
ten fella three times. Savvee!"
"No," Astoa grunted.
Sheldon picked up the rifle that had leaned against the rail, and cocked
it.
"I know you, Astoa," he said calmly. "You work along Queensland six
years."
"Me fella missionary," the black interrupted with deliberate insolence.
"Queensland you stop jail one fella year. White fella master damn fool
no hang you. You too much bad fella. Queensland you stop jail six
months two fella time. Two fella time you steal. All right, you
missionary. You savvee one fella prayer?"
"Yes, me savvee prayer," was the reply.
"All right, then you pray now, short time little bit. You say one fella
prayer damn quick, then me kill you."
Sheldon held the rifle on him and waited. The black glanced around at
his fellows, but none moved to aid him. They were intent upon the coming
spectacle, staring fascinated at the white man with death in his hands
who stood alone on the great veranda. Sheldon has won, and he knew it.
Astoa changed his weight irresolutely from one foot to the other. He
looked at the white man, and saw his eyes gleaming level along the
sights.
"Astoa," Sheldon said, seizing the psychological moment, "I count three
fella time. Then I shoot you fella dead, good-bye, all finish you.
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