Joan rode on among the avenues of young cocoanut-palms, saw a hornbill,
followed it in its erratic flights to the high forest on the edge of the
plantation, heard the cooing of wild pigeons and located them in the
deeper woods, followed the fresh trail of a wild pig for a distance,
circled back, and took the narrow path for the bungalow that ran through
twenty acres of uncleared cane. The grass was waist-high and higher, and
as she rode along she remembered that Gogoomy 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.
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