There was a primitive
aristocraticness about him that his fellows lacked. The lines of his
figure were more rounded than theirs, the skin smooth, well oiled, and
free from disease. On his chest, suspended from a single string of
porpoise-teeth around his throat, hung a big crescent carved out of
opalescent pearl-shell. A row of pure white cowrie shells banded his
brow. From his hair drooped a long, lone feather. Above the swelling
calf of one leg he wore, as a garter, a single string of white beads. The
effect was dandyish in the extreme. A narrow gee-string completed his
costume. Another man she saw, old and shrivelled, with puckered forehead
and a puckered face that trembled and worked with animal passion as in
the past she had noticed the faces of monkeys tremble and work.
"Gogoomy," she said sharply, "you no cut 'm grass, my word, I bang 'm
head belong you."
His expression became a trifle more disdainful, but he did not answer.
Instead, he stole a glance to right and left to mark how his fellows were
closing about her. At the same moment he casually slipped his foot
forward through the grass for a matter of several inches.
Joan was keenly aware of the desperateness of the situation. The only
way out was through. She lifted her riding-whip threateningly, and at
the same moment drove in both spurs with her heels, rushing the startled
horse straight at Gogoomy.
Pages:
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246