And in that tense moment the faces of all of them were imprinted on her mind in an unforgettable picture—­one of them, an old man, with torn and distended ear-lobes that fell to his chest; another, with the broad flattened nose of Africa, and with withered eyes so buried under frowning brows that nothing but the sickly, yellowish-looking whites could be seen; a third, thick-lipped and bearded with kinky whiskers; and Gogoomy—­she had never realized before how handsome Gogoomy was in his mutinous and obstinate wild-animal way.  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.  It all happened in an instant.  Every cane-knife was lifted, and every boy save Gogoomy leaped for her.  He swerved aside to avoid the horse, at the same time swinging his cane-knife in a slicing blow that would have cut her in twain.  She leaned forward under the flying steel, which cut through her riding-skirt, through the edge of the saddle, through the saddle cloth, and even slightly into the horse itself.  Her right hand, still raised, came down, the thin whip whishing through the air.  She saw the white, cooked mark of the weal clear across the sullen, handsome face, and still what was practically in the same instant she saw the man with the puckered face, overridden, go down before her, and she heard his snarling and grimacing chatter-for all the world like an angry monkey.  Then she was free and away, heading the horse at top speed for the house.

Out of her sea-training she was able to appreciate Sheldon’s executiveness when she burst in on him with her news.  Springing from the steamer-chair in which he had been lounging while waiting for breakfast, he clapped his hands for the house-boys; and, while listening to her, he was buckling on his cartridge-belt and running the mechanism of his automatic pistol.