“Bangoora?” he said. “That’s the little beach at the head of the bay out of Latta. He’s down as a Latta-man—see, there it is, ‘Tagari, Latta.’”
“What place you go you finish along white marster?” Joan asked.
“Bangoora,” the man replied; and Joan wrote it down.
“Ogu!” Joan called.
The black stepped down, and another mounted to take his place. But Tagari, just before he reached the bottom step, caught sight of Sheldon. It was the first horse the fellow had ever seen, and he let out a frightened screech and dashed madly up the steps. At the same moment the great mass of blacks surged away panic-stricken from Sheldon’s vicinity. The grinning house-boys shouted encouragement and explanation, and the stampede was checked, the new-caught head-hunters huddling closely together and staring dubiously at the fearful monster.
“Hello!” Joan called out. “What do you mean by frightening all my boys? Come on up.”
“What do you think of them?” she asked, when they had shaken hands. “And what do you think of her?”—with a wave of the hand toward the Martha. “I thought you’d deserted the plantation, and that I might as well go ahead and get the men into barracks. Aren’t they beauties? Do you see that one with the split nose? He’s the only man who doesn’t hail from the Poonga-Poonga coast; and they said the Poonga-Poonga natives wouldn’t recruit. Just look at them and congratulate me. There are no kiddies and half-grown youths among them. They’re men, every last one of them. I have such a long story I don’t know where to begin, and I won’t begin anyway till we’re through with this and until you have told me that you are not angry with me.”
“Ogu—what place b’long you?” she went on with her catechism.
But Ogu was a bushman, lacking knowledge of the almost universal bêche-de-mer English, and half a dozen of his fellows wrangled to explain.
“There are only two or three more,” Joan said to Sheldon, “and then we’re done. But you haven’t told me that you are not angry.”