"Me catch 'm Kwaque he die along him damn quick." This much Joan heard of the plan to murder, and then her rising wrath proved too much for her discretion.

She spurred her horse into the grass, crying,-- "What name you fella boy, eh?
What name ?" They arose, scrambling and scattering, and to her surprise she saw there were a dozen of them.

As she looked in their glowering faces and noted the heavy, two-foot, hacking cane-knives in their hands, she became suddenly aware of the rashness of her act.

If only she had had her revolver or a rifle, all would have been well.

But she had carelessly ventured out unarmed, and she followed the glance of Gogoomy to her waist and saw the pleased flash in his eyes as he perceived the absence of the dreadful man-killing revolver.
The first article in the Solomon Islands code for white men was never to show fear before a native, and Joan tried to carry off the situation in cavalier fashion.
"Too much talk along you fella boy," she said severely.