"I wonder what has become of Tudor.

It's two months since he disappeared into the bush, and not a word of him after he left Binu." Joan Lackland was sitting astride her horse by the bank of the Balesuna where the sweet corn had been planted, and Sheldon, who had come across from the house on foot, was leaning against her horse's shoulder.
"Yes, it is along time for no news to have trickled down," he answered, watching her keenly from under his hat-brim and wondering as to the measure of her anxiety for the adventurous gold-hunter; "but Tudor will come out all right.

He did a thing at the start that I wouldn't have given him or any other man credit for--persuaded Binu Charley to go along with him.

I'll wager no other Binu nigger has ever gone so far into the bush unless to be _kai-kai'd_.

As for Tudor--" "Look! look!" Joan cried in a low voice, pointing across the narrow stream to a slack eddy where a huge crocodile drifted like a log awash.
"My! I wish I had my rifle." The crocodile, leaving scarcely a ripple behind, sank down and disappeared.
"A Binu man was in early this morning--for medicine," Sheldon remarked.
"It may have been that very brute that was responsible.