It was Kwaque's gang, but Sheldon looked in vain for him.
"What name that fella Kwaque he no stop along you?" he demanded.
A babel of excited voices attempted an answer.
"Shut 'm mouth belong you altogether," Sheldon commanded.
He spoke roughly, living up to the role of the white man who must always
be strong and dominant.
"Here, you fella Babatani, you talk 'm mouth belong you."
Babatani stepped forward in all the pride of one singled out from among
his fellows.
"Gogoomy he finish along Kwaque altogether," was Babatani's explanation.
"He take 'm head b'long him run like hell."
In brief words, and with paucity of imagination, he described the murder,
and Sheldon and Joan rode on. In the grass, where Joan had been
attacked, they found the little shrivelled man, still chattering and
grimacing, whom Joan had ridden down. The mare had plunged on his ankle,
completely crushing it, and a hundred yards' crawl had convinced him of
the futility of escape. To the last clearing-gang, from the farthest
edge of the plantation, was given the task of carrying him in to the
house.
A mile farther on, where the runaways' trail led straight toward the
bush, they encountered the body of Kwaque. The head had been hacked off
and was missing, and Sheldon took it on faith that the body was Kwaque's.
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