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.
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