"We must trust our hosts, Jem," replied Don. "They have behaved very well to us so far."

There was another hail from the party ashore, and still Jem hesitated.

"I don't know but what we might walk straight away, Mas' Don," he said, glancing down at the garb he wore. "If any of our fellows saw us at a distance they'd say we was savages, and take no notice."

"Not of our white faces, Jem? Come, don't be obstinate; I'm going on."

"Oh, well, sir, if you go on, o' course I must follow, and look arter you; but I don't like it. The place looks treacherous. Ugh! Wurra! Wurra! Wurra!"

That repeated word represents most nearly the shudder given by Jem Wimble as he followed Don into the cave, the chief pointing for them to go farther in, and then dropping rapidly down from point to point till he was at the bottom, Jem peering over the edge of the shelf, and watching him till he had disappeared.

"Arn't gone to tell them where we are, have he, Mas' Don?"

"No, Jem. How suspicious you are!"

"Ah, so'll you be when you get as old as I am," said Jem, creeping back to where Don was standing, looking inward. "Well, what sort of a place is it, Mas' Don?"

"I can't see in far, but the cavern seems to go right in, like a long crooked passage."

"Crooked enough, and long enough," grumbled Jem. "Hark!"

Don listened, and heard a faint hail.

"They're coming along searching for us, I suppose."

"I didn't mean that sound; I meant this. There, listen again."

Don took a step into the cave, but went no farther, for Jem gripped his arm.

"Take care, my lad. 'Tarn't safe. Hear that noise?"

"Yes; it is like some animal breathing hard."

"And we've got no pistols nor cutlashes. It's a lion, I know."

"There are no lions here, Jem."

"Arn't there? Then it's a tiger. I know un. I've seen 'em. Hark!"

"But there are no tigers, nor any other fierce beasts here, Jem."

"Now, how can you be so obstinate, Mas' Don, when you can hear 'em whistling, and sighing and breathing hard right in yonder. No, no, not a step farther do you go."

"Don't be so foolish, Jem."

"'Tarn't foolish, Mas' Don; and look here: I'm going to take advantage of them being asleep to put on my proper costoom, and if you'll take my advice, you'll do just the same."

Don hesitated, but Jem took advantage of a handy seat-like piece of rock, and altered his dress rapidly, an example that, after a moment or two of hesitation, Don followed.

"Dry as a bone," said Jem. "Come, that's better. I feels like a human being now. Just before I felt like a chap outside one of the shows at our fair."

He doubled up the blanket he had been wearing, and threw it over his arm; while Don folded his, and laid it down, so that he could peer over the edge of the shelf, and command the entrance to the ravine.

But all was perfectly silent and deserted, and, after waiting some time, he rose, and went a little way inside the cavern.

"Don't! Don't be so precious rash, Mas' Don," cried Jem pettishly, as, urged on by his curiosity, Don went slowly, step by step, toward what seemed to be a dark blue veil of mist, which shut off farther view into the cave.

"I don't think there's anything to mind, or they wouldn't have told us to hide here."

"But you don't know, my lad. There may be dangerous wild critters in there as you never heard tell on. Graffems, and dragons, and beasts with stings in their tails—cockatoos."

"Nonsense! Cockatrices," said Don laughing.

"Well, it's all the same. Now, do be advised, Mas' Don, and stop here."

"But I want to know what it's like farther in."

Don went slowly forward into the dim mist, and Jem followed, murmuring bitterly at his being so rash.

"Mind!" he cried suddenly, as a louder whistle than ordinary came from the depths of the cave, and the sound was so weird and strange that Don stopped short.

The noise was not repeated, but the peculiar hissing went on, and, as if from a great distance, there came gurglings and rushing sounds, as if from water.

"I know we shall get in somewhere, and not get out again, Mas' Don. There now, hark at that!"

"It's only hot water, the same as we heard gurgling in our bath," said Don, still progressing.

"Well, suppose it is. The more reason for your not going. P'r'aps this is where it comes from first, and nice place it must be where all that water's made hot. Let's go back, and wait close at the front."

"No; let's go a little farther, Jem."

"Why, I'm so hot now, my lad, I feel as if I was being steamed like a tater. Here, let's get back, and—"

"Hist!"

Don caught his arm, for there was another whistle, and not from the depths of the dark steamy cave, but from outside, evidently below the mouth of the cave, as if some one was climbing up.

The whistle was answered, and the two fugitives crept back a little more into the darkness.

"Ahoy! Come up here, sir!" shouted a familiar voice, and a hail came back.

"Here's a hole in the rocks up here," came plainly now.

"Ramsden," whispered Don in Jem's ear.

They stole back a little more into the gloom, Jem offering no opposition now, for it seemed to them, so plainly could they see the bright greenish-hued daylight, and the configuration of the cavern's mouth, that so sure as any one climbed up to the shelf and looked in they would be seen.

Impressed by this, Don whispered to Jem to come farther in, and they were about to back farther, when there was a rustling sound, and the figure of a man appeared standing up perfectly black against the light; but though his features were not visible, they knew him by his configuration, and that their guess at the voice was right.

"He sees us," thought Don, and he stood as if turned to stone, one hand touching the warm rocky side of the cave, and the other resting upon Jem's shoulder.

The man was motionless as they, and his appearance exercised an effect upon them like fascination, as he stood peering forward, and seeming to fix them with his eyes, which had the stronger fancied effect upon them for not being seen.

"Wonder whether it would kill a man to hit him straight in the chest, and drive him off that rock down into the gully below," said Jem to himself. "I should like to do it."

Then he shrank back as if he had been struck, for the sinister scoundrel shouted loudly,—

"Ahoy there! Now, then out you come. I can see you hiding."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A DETERMINED ENEMY.

Don drew a long breath and took a step forward to march out and give himself up, but Jem's hands clasped him round, a pair of lips were placed to his ear, and the yard-man's voice whispered,—

"Stand fast. All sham. He can't see."

Don paused, wondering, and watched the dark figure in the entrance to the cave, without dismay now, till, to his surprise, the man began to whistle softly.

"Likely place too," he muttered. "Are you coming up here, sir?"

"What is it?"

"Likely looking cave, sir; runs right in; looks as if they might be hiding in here."

There was a rattling and rustling of stones and growth, and then the man at the entrance stooped down and held out his hands to assist some one to ascend, the result being that the broad heavy figure of Bosun Jones came into view.

"Not likely to be here, my lad, even if they were in hiding; but this is a wild goose chase. They're dead as dead."

"P'r'aps so, sir; but I think they're in hiding somewhere. Praps here."

"Humph! No. Poor fellows, they were drowned."

"No, sir, I don't think it," said Ramsden. "Those niggers looked as if they knew something, and that tattooed fellow who has run away from Norfolk Island has encouraged them to desert. As like as not they may be in here listening to all I say."

"Well then, go in and fetch them out," said the boatswain. "You can go in while I have a rest."

Don's heart beat fast at those words, for he heard a loud hissing sound beside him, caused by Jem drawing in his breath; and the next moment, as he held his arm, he felt a thrill, for it seemed as if Jem's muscles had tightened up suddenly.

Then there was a hot breath upon his cheek, and a tickling sensation in his ear beyond; Jem's lips seemed to settle themselves against it, and the tickling sensation was renewed, as Jem whispered,—

"I've cleared my decks for action, Mas' Don. It was that beggar as told on us. You stand aside when he comes on."

Don twisted his head round, caught Jem by the shoulder, and favoured him with the same buzzing sensation as he whispered,—

"What are you going to do?"

Jem re-applied his lips to Don's ear.

"I'm going to make him very sorry he ever come to sea. Once I gets hold of him I'll make him feel like a walnut in a door."

"Don't look a very cheerful place, Mr Jones," came from the mouth of the cavern.

"Afraid to go in?"

"Afraid, sir? You never knew me afraid."

"Well, in you go and fetch them out," said the boatswain with a laugh. "If you don't come back I shall know that the Maoris have got you, and are saving you for the pot."

From where Don and Jem stood in the darkness they could see their spying sinister friend give quite a start; but he laughed off the impression the boatswain's words had made, and began to come cautiously on, feeling his way as a man does who has just left the bright sunshine to enter a dark place.

Jem uttered a loud hiss as he drew his breath, and Ramsden heard it and stopped.

"Mr Jones," he said sharply.

"Well?"

"Think there's any big snakes here? I heard a hiss."

"Only steam from a hot spring. No snakes in this country."

"Oh!" ejaculated Ramsden: and he came cautiously on.

Don felt Jem's arm begin to twitch, and discovery seemed imminent. For a few moments he was irresolute, but, knowing that if they were to escape they must remain unseen, he let his hand slide down to Jem's wrist, caught it firmly, and began to back farther into the cave.

For a few moments he had to drag hard at his companion but, as if yielding to silently communicated superior orders Jem followed him slowly, step by step, with the greatest of caution, and in utter silence.

The floor of the cave was wonderfully smooth, the rock feeling as if it had been worn by the constant passage over it of water, and using their bare feet as guides, and feeling with them every step, they backed in as fast as Ramsden approached, being as it were between two dangers, that of recapture, and the hidden perils, whatever they might be, of the cave.

It was nerve-stirring work, for all beyond was intense darkness, out of which, as they backed farther and farther in, came strange whisperings, guttural gurglings, which sounded to Don as if the inhabitants of the place were retiring angrily before their disturbers, till, driven to bay in some corner, they turned and attacked.

But still Don held tightly by Jem's wrist, and mastering his dread of the unknown, crept softly in, turning from time to time to watch Ramsden, who came on as if some instinct told him that those he sought for were there.

"Found 'em?" shouted the boatswain; and his voice taught the hiding pair that the cave went far in beyond them, for the sound went muttering by, and seemed to die away as if far down a long passage.

"Not yet, but I think I can hear 'em," replied Ramsden.

"You can hear a self-satisfied fool talking," said the boatswain, ill-humouredly.

"So can Mr Jones," muttered the man. "Hear you. That's what I can hear."

"What are you muttering about?"

"I think I can hear 'em, sir. Now then, you two, give up. It'll be the worse for you if you don't."

Don's hand tightened on his companion's wrist, and they stood fast, for Ramsden was stopping in a bent attitude, listening.

There was nothing to be heard but the whisperings and gurglings, and then they saw him draw his cutlass and come on.

Jem's muscles gave another jerk, but he suffered himself to be drawn farther and farther into the cave, till they must have been quite two hundred yards from the mouth; and now, for the first time, the almost straight line which it had formed, changed, and they lost sight of the entrance, but could see the shadow of their enemy cast upon the glistening wall of the place, down which the water seemed to drip, giving it the look of glass.

All at once Don, as he crept back, felt his left foot, instead of encountering the smooth rock floor, go down, and as he quickly withdrew it and felt nearer to him, it was to touch the edge of what seemed a great crack crossing the floor diagonally.

As he paused, he felt that it might be a "fault" of a few inches in width or depth, or a vast chasm going right down into the bowels of the mountain!

"There's a hole here," he whispered to Jem. "Hold my hand."

Jem gripped him firmly, and he reached out with one leg, and felt over the side outward and downward; and, just as he was coming to the conclusion that the place was terribly deep, and a shudder at the danger was running through him, he found that he could touch bottom.

He was in the act of recovering himself, so as to try how wide the crack or fault might be, when a peculiar strangling sensation attacked him, and he felt that he was falling.

The next thing he felt was Jem's lips to his ear, and feeling his whisper,—

"Hold on, lad. What's the matter?"

He panted and drew his breath in a catching way for a few minutes before whispering back,—

"Nothing. Only a sudden giddiness."

Jem made no comment, but gripped his hand tightly, and they stood listening, for the shadow cast faintly on the walls was motionless, and it was evident that their enemy was listening.

"I'm going on, Ramsden," said the boatswain. "Come along!"

"All right, sir. Join you as soon as I've got my prisoners."

"Hold 'em tight," shouted the boatswain, and then there was a loud rustling sound, followed by the words faintly heard, "Look sharp. It's of no use fooling there."

Don could hear Ramsden mutter something, but he did not seem to be coming on; and mastering the dull, sluggish feeling, accompanied by a throbbing headache, the lad stole cautiously back to where he could look round and see their approaching enemy between them and the light.

To his intense surprise he found the man had his back to them, and was retiring; but as he watched, Ramsden made an angry gesticulation, turned sharply and came on again, but seemed to catch his foot against a projecting piece of rock, stumble and fall forward, his cutlass flying two or three yards on before him with a loud jingling noise.

What followed riveted Don to the spot.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GOOD FOR EVIL.

Ramsden struggled to his feet as if with an effort, and stood holding his hand to his head, evidently hurt. The next moment he stepped forward, staggering slightly, stooped to pick up his cutlass, and fell forward, uttered a groan, rose up again, and fell down once more, this time to lie without motion.

"Jem," whispered Don, "look at that!"

"Was looking," whispered back Jem. "Hit his head; sarve him right."

Ramsden did not move, and the two fugitives stood anxiously watching.

"What shall we do?"

"Wait! He'll soon come round and go. May as well sit down."

Jem lowered himself to a sitting position, and was in the act of trying to rest on his elbow when he gasped quickly two or three times, and caught at Don, who helped him to a kneeling position, from which he struggled up.

"Hah!" he ejaculated; "just as if some one caught me by the throat. Oh, how poorly I do feel. Just you put your head down there, Mas' Don."

Don stood thinking and trying to grasp what it meant. Then, with some hazy recollection of dangers encountered in old wells, he bent down cautiously and started up again, for it gradually dawned upon both that for about two feet above the floor there was a heavy stratum of poisonous gas, so potent that it overcame them directly; and it was into this they had plunged as soon as they had stooped down.

"Why, Jem," panted Don; "it stops your breath!"

"Stops your breath? It's just as if a man got hold of you by the throat. Why, if I'd stopped in that a minute I should never have got up again."

"But—but, that man?" whispered Don.

"What, old Ramsden? Phew! I'd forgot all about him. He's quiet enough."

"Jem, he must be dying."

"I won't say, 'good job, too,' 'cause it wouldn't be nice," said Jem, with a chuckle. "What shall us do?"

"Do?" cried Don. "We must help him."

"What, get him out? If we do, he'll be down on us."

"We can't help that, Jem. We must not leave a fellow-creature to die," replied Don; and hurrying forward, he gave a glance toward the mouth of the cave, to satisfy himself that the good-natured boatswain was not there, and then, holding his breath, he stooped down and raised Ramsden into a sitting posture, Jem coming forward at once to help him.

"Goes ag'in the grain, Mas' Don," he muttered; "but I s'pose we must."

"Must? Yes! Now, what shall we do?"

"Dunno," said Jem; "s'pose fresh air'd be best for him."

"Let's get him to the mouth, then," said Don.

"But the boatswain 'll see us, and we shall be took."

"I can't help that, Jem; the man will die here."

"Well, we don't want him. He's a hennymee."

"Jem!"

"Oh, all right, Mas' Don. I'll do as you say, but as I says, and I says it again, it goes ag'in the grain."

They each took one hand and placed their arms beneath those of the prostrate man; and, little as they stooped, they inhaled sufficient of the powerful gas to make them wince and cough; but, rising upright, taking a full breath and starting off, they dragged Ramsden backwards as rapidly as they could to where the fresh air blew into the mouth of the cave, and there they laid the man down.

But before doing so, Don went upon his knees, and placing his face close to the rocky floor, inhaled the air several times.

"It seems all right here," he said. "Try it, Jem."

"Oh! I'll try it," said Jem, grumpily; "only I don't see why we should take so much trouble about such a thing as this."

"Yes; it's all right," he said, after puffing and blowing down by the ground. "Rum, arn't it, that the air should be bad yonder and not close in here!"

"The cave goes downward," said Don; "and the foul air lies in the bottom, just as it does in a well. Do you think he's dead?"

"Him dead!" said Jem, contemptuously; "I don't believe you could kill a thing like that. Here, let's roll up one of these here blanket things and make him a pillow, and cover him up with the other, poor fellow, so as he may get better and go and tell 'em we're here."

"Don't talk like that, Jem!" cried Don.

"Why not? Soon as he gets better he'll try and do us all the harm he can."

"Poor fellow! I'm afraid he's dead," whispered Don.

"Then he won't want no more cutlashes and pistols," said Jem, coolly appropriating the arms; "these here will be useful to us."

"But they are the king's property, Jem."

"Ah! Well, I dessay if the king knew how bad we wanted 'em, he'd lend 'em to us. He shall have 'em again when we've done with them."

As he spoke Jem helped himself to the ammunition, and then stood looking on as Don dragged Ramsden's head round, so that the wind blew in his face.

"How I should like to jump on him!" growled Jem. "I hate him like poison, and I would if I'd got on a pair o' boots. Shouldn't hurt him a bit like this."

"Don't talk nonsense, Jem. Mr Jones might hear us. Let's hail; he can't be very far off."

"I say, Mas' Don, did our ugly swim last night send you half mad?"

"Mad? No!"

"Then, p'r'aps it's because you had no sleep. Here's a chap comes hunting of us down with a cutlash, ready to do anything; and now he's floored and we're all right, you want to make a pet on him. Why, it's my belief that if you met a tiger with the toothache you'd want to take out his tusk."

"Very likely, Jem," said Don, laughing.

"Ah, and as soon as you'd done it, 'thankye, my lad,' says the tiger, 'that tooth's been so bad that I haven't made a comf'table meal for days, so here goes.'"

"And then he'd eat me, Jem."

"That's so, my lad."

"Ah, well, this isn't a tiger, Jem."

"Why, he's wuss than a tiger, Mas' Don; because he do know better, and tigers don't."

"Ramsden, ahoy!" came from below them in the ravine.

"Oh, crumpets!" exclaimed Jem. "Now we're done for. All that long swim for nothing."

"Back into the cave," whispered Don. "Perhaps they have not seen us."

He gave Jem a thrust, they backed in a few yards, and then stood watching and listening.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

CLOSE SHAVING.

"Think he's insensible, or only shamming?" said Jem.

"Insensible—quite! I'm afraid he's dead."

"I arn't," muttered Jem. "You might cut him up like a heel; legs and arms and body, and every bit of him would try and do you a mischief."

"I'm afraid, though, that he knew we were in here, and that as soon as he comes to, he'll tell the others."

"Not he. It was only his gammon to frighten us into speaking if we were there."

"Ramsden, ahoy!" came again from below; and then from a distance came another hail, which the same voice answered—evidently from some distance below the mouth of the cave.

"Ramsden! Here, my man; come along, they're not in there."

"Hear that, Jem? Mr Jones."

"Oh yes, I hear," growled Jem. "He don't know yet; but wait a bit till old Ram tells him."

"We couldn't slip out yet, Jem?"

"No; o' course not. They'd see us now. Look!"

Jem was about to draw back, but feeling that a movement might betray them, Don held him fast, and they stood there in the shadow of the cave, looking on, for the boatswain's head appeared as he drew himself up the precipitous place, and then stepped on the shelf.

"Here, come out, sir! Are you asleep? Hah!"

He caught sight of the prostrate sailor, and bent down over him.

"Why, Ramsden, man!" he cried, as he tore open his sailor's shirt and placed his hand upon his throat.

Then, starting up, he sent forth a tremendous hail.

"Ahoy!"

"Ahoy!" came back from several places, like the echoes of his call.

"Come on here! Quick!" he shouted, with his hands to his mouth.

"Ahoy!" came from a distance; and from nearer at hand, "Ay, ay, sir; ay, ay!"

From where Don and Jem stood they could see the boatswain's every movement, as, after once more feeling the sailor's throat and wrist, he bent over him and poured water from his bottle between his lips, bathed his forehead and eyes, and then fanned him with his hat, but without effect.

Then he looked out anxiously and hailed again, the replies coming from close by; and soon after first one and then another sailor, whose faces were quite familiar, climbed up to the shelf, when the boatswain explained hastily how he had left his companion.

"Some one knocked him down?" said one of his men.

"No; he's not hurt. I should say it's a fit. More water. Don't be afraid!"

Each of the men who had climbed up carried a supply, and a quantity was dashed over Ramsden's face with the effect that he began to display signs of returning consciousness, and at last sat up and stared.

"What's matter, mate?" said one of the men, as Don prepared to hurry back into the darkness, but longed to hear what Ramsden would say.

It was a painful moment, for upon his words seemed to depend their safety.

"Matter? I don't know—I—"

He put his hand to his head.

"Here, take a drink o' this, mate," said one of the men, and Ramsden swallowed some water with avidity.

"Arn't seen a ghost, have you?"

"I recollect now, Mr Jones. You left me in that hole."

"And called to you to come out."

"Yes, but—"

Don's heart beat furiously. They were discovered, and now the betrayal was to come.

"Well, what happened?" said the boatswain.

"I felt sure that those two were in this place, and I went on farther into the darkness till I kicked against something and fell down."

"Out here and stunned yourself."

"No, no; in there! I'd got up and picked up my cutlash, and then something seemed to choke me, and I went down again."

Jem squeezed Don's arm, for they both felt more hopeful.

"And then one of they chaps came and give you a crack on the head?" said a sailor.

Don's heart sank again.

"Nonsense!" said his old friend, the boatswain. "Foul air. He must have staggered out and fallen down insensible."

Jem gripped Don's arm with painful force here.

"How do you feel? Can you walk?"

Ramsden rose slowly, and staggered, but one of the men caught his arm.

"I—I think I can."

"Well, we must get you down to the boat as soon as we can walk, if you are able. If you can't, we must carry you."

"But them chaps," said one of the party, just as Don and Jem were beginning to breathe freely. "Think they're in yonder, mate?"

"I—I think so," said Ramsden faintly. "You had better search."

"What! A place full of foul air?" said the boatswain, greatly to Don's relief. "Absurd! If Ramsden could not live in there, how could the escaped men? Here, let's get him down."

"Ay, ay, sir. But I say, mate, where's your fighting tools? What yer done with them?"

Don made an angry gesticulation, and turned to Jem, who had the pistols and cutlass in his hand and waistbelt, and felt as if he should like to hurl them away.

"He must have dropped them inside. Here, one of you come with me and get them."

Don shrank back into the stony passage as a man volunteered, but the boatswain hesitated.

"No," he said, to Don's great relief; "I can't afford to run risks for the sake of a pair of pistols."

"Let me go in," said the man.

"I'm not going to send men where I'm afraid to go myself," said the boatswain bluntly. "Come on down."

The boatswain led the way, and Ramsden was helped down, the man who had volunteered to go in the cavern to fetch the pistols manoeuvring so as to be last, and as soon as the party had disappeared over the shelf he gave a glance after them, and turned sharply.

"Foul air won't hurt me," he said; and he dived right in rapidly to regain the pistols and cutlass, so as to have the laugh of his messmates when they returned on board.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

ANOTHER ALARM.

"It's all over," thought Don, as the man came on, with discovery inevitable if he continued at his present rate. They were about fifty feet from the entrance, and they felt that if they moved they would be heard; and, as if urged by the same impulse, they stood fast, save that Jem doubled his fist and drew back his arm ready to strike.

All at once the man stopped short.

"He sees us," said Don, mentally.

But he was wrong, for the sailor thrust his fingers into his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, which ran echoing through the place in a curiously hollow way.

"That's a rum un," he said, with a laugh. "Blow some o' the foul air out. Wonder how far he went in?"

He walked on slowly, and then stopped short as if he saw the hiding pair; but there was no gesture made, and of course his face was invisible to the fugitives, to whom he seemed to be nothing but a black figure.

"Plaguey dark!" ejaculated the man aloud.

Hiss-s-s-s!

A tremendously loud sibillation came out of the darkness—such a noise as a mythical dragon might have made when a stranger had invaded his home. The effect was instantaneous. The young sailor spun round and darted back to the mouth of the cave, where he half lowered himself down over the shelf facing toward the entry, and supporting himself with one hand, shook his fist.

"You wait till I come back with a lanthorn!" he cried. "I'll just show you. Don't you think I'm scared."

Whos-s-s-s-s came that hissing again, in a loud deep tone this time, and the sailor's head disappeared, for he dropped down and hastily descended after his messmates, flushed and excited, but trying hard to look perfectly unconcerned, and thoroughly determined to keep his own counsel as to what he had heard, from a perfect faith in the effect of the disclosure—to wit, that his companions would laugh at him.

Inside the cave Jem was leaning up against the wall, making strange noises and lifting up first one foot and then the other. He seemed to be suffering agonies, for he puffed and gasped.

"Jem, be quiet!" whispered Don, shaking him sharply.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Jem, lifting up his bare feet alternately, and setting them down again with a loud pat on the rock.

"Be quiet! They may hear you."

"Hit me then! Give it me. Ho, ho, ho!"

"Jem, we are safe now, and you'll undo it all if you're not quiet."

"Knock me then, Mas' Don. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Hi: me; a good un, dear lad. Ho, ho, ho, ho!"

"Oh, do be quiet! How can you be such an ass?"

"I dunno! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Did you see him run, Mas' Don? I—oh dear, I can't help it. Do knock me down and sit on me, dear lad—I never—oh dear me!"

Jem laughed till Don grew angry, and then the sturdy little fellow stopped short and stood wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

"I couldn't help it, Mas' Don," he said. "I don't think I ever laughed so much before. There, I'm better now. Shan't have any more laugh in me for a twelvemonth. Hiss! Whoss-s-s!"

He made the two sounds again, and burst into another uncontrollable fit of laughter at the success of his ruse; but this time Don caught him by the throat, and he stopped at once.

"Hah!" he ejaculated, and wiped his eyes again. "Thankye, Mas' Don; that's just what you ought to ha' done before. There, it's all over now. What are you going to do?"

"Watch them," said Don, laconically; and he crept to the mouth of the cave, and peered cautiously over the edge of the shelf, but all was quiet; and beyond a distant hail or two, heard after listening for some minutes, there was nothing to indicate that the search party had been there.

"We must be well on the look-out, Jem. Your stupid trick may bring them back."

"Stoopid? Well, I do like that, Mas' Don, after saving us both as I did."

"I'd say let's go on at once, only we might meet some of them."

"And old 'My pakeha' wouldn't know where to find us. I say, Mas' Don, what are we going to do? Stop here with these people, and old Tomati, or go on at once and shift for ourselves?"

"We cannot shift for ourselves in a country like this without some way of getting food."

"Hush!" exclaimed Jem sharply.

"What's the matter?" cried Don, making for the inner part of their hiding-place.

"No, no; don't do that. It's all right, Mas' Don, only don't say anything more about food. I feel just now as if I could eat you. It's horrid how hungry I am."

"You see then," said Don, "how helpless we are."

"Yes; if it was only a biscuit I wouldn't mind just now, for there don't seem to be nothing to eat here, nor nothing to drink."

They stood leaning against the rocky wall, not caring to risk sitting down on account of the foul air, and not daring to go to the mouth of the cave for fear of being seen, till Don suggested that they should steal there cautiously, and lie down with their faces beyond the cavern floor.

This they did, glad of the restful change; but hours passed and no sounds met their ears, save the hissing and gurgling from the interior of the cave, and the harsh screech of some parrot or cockatoo.

Every time a louder hiss than usual came from the interior, Jem became convulsed, and threatened another explosion of laughter, in spite of Don's severely reproachful looks; but in every case Jem's mirthful looks and his comic ways of trying to suppress his hilarity proved to be too much for Don, who was fain to join in, and they both laughed heartily and well.

It is a curious fact, one perhaps which doctors can explain, and it seems paradoxical. For it might be supposed that when any one was hungry he would feel low-spirited, but all the same there is a stage in hunger when everything around the sufferer seems to wear a comic aspect, and the least thing sets him off laughing.

This was the stage now with Jem and Don, for, the danger being past, they lay there at the mouth of the hole, now laughing at the recollection of the sailor's fright, now at the cries of some parrot or the antics of a cockatoo which kept sailing round a large tree, whose hold on the steep rocky side of the ravine was precarious in the extreme.

The presence of white people seemed to cause the bird the greatest of wonder, and to pique his curiosity, and after a flit here and a flit there, he invariably came near and sat upon a bare branch, from which he could study the aspect of the two intruders.

He was a lovely-looking bird as far as the tints of the plumage went; but his short hooked beak, with a tuft of feathers each side, and forward curved crest, gave him a droll aspect which delighted Jem, as the bird came and sat upon a twig, shrieking and chattering at them in a state of the greatest excitement.

"Look at his starshers, Mas' Don," said Jem, as the bird's side tufts half covered the beak and then left it bare. "Look at his hair, too. Hasn't he brushed it up in a point? There, he heared what I said, and has laid it down again. Look at him! Look at him! Did you ever see such a rum one in your life?"

For at that minute, after turning its head on one side for a good look, and then on the other, so as to inspect, them again, the bird seemed to have an idea that it might gain a little more knowledge from a fresh point of view, and to effect this turned itself completely upside down, hanging by its soft yoke toes, and playing what Jem called a game of peep-to!

This lasted for some minutes, and then the bird squatted upon the bough in a normal position, set up its feathers all over, and began to chatter.

"Hark at him, Mas' Don. He's calling names. There, hit me if he didn't. Did you hear him?"

"I heard him chatter."

"Yes; but I mean calling us that 'My pakeha—my pakeha!' that he did."

"Nonsense!"

"Ah, you may say nonsense, but parrots and cockatoos is werry strange birds. Wonderful what they knows and what they says."

"I don't believe they know what they say, Jem."

"Ah! That's because you're so young, Mas' Don. You'll know better some day. Parrots is as cunning as cunning. Well, now, did you ever see the likes of that? He's laughing and jeering at us."

For at that moment the bird began to bob its head up and down rapidly, gradually growing more excited, and chattering all the while, as it ended by dancing first on one leg and then on the other, in the most eccentric fashion.

"I should like to have that bird, Jem," said Don at last.

"Should you? Then you wouldn't have me along with you."

"I don't like him. I like a bird as can behave itself and whistle and sing and perch; but I don't like one as goes through all them monkey tricks. Wish I'd got a stone, I'd try and knock him off his perch."

Chur-r-r-r! Shrieked the bird, and it let itself fall over backwards, dropping down head over heels like a tumbler pigeon, or an unfortunate which had been shot, and disappearing among the leaves far below.

"There!" cried Jem, triumphantly; "now, what do you say to that? Heard what I said, he did, and thought I was going to throw."

"Nonsense, Jem!"

"Ah! You may call it nonsense, Mas' Don, because you don't know better, but you didn't see him fall."

"Yes, I saw him fall, and—hist! Creep back; there's some one coming!"

The secret of the bird's sudden disappearance was explained for there was a rustling among the ferns far behind, as if some large body was forcing its way along the ravine; and as Jem backed slowly into the cavern, Don cautiously peered from behind a mass of stone into the hollow, to see that some one or something was approaching rapidly, as if with the intention of scaling the rock, and climbing to where they lay.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN.

"It's all over with us, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as soon as they were some little distance in the retreat. "That blackguard Ramsden's sure, after all, that we're in here, and that Tom Hoppers has come to his senses, and felt it was me as hissed at him, and they're coming to hunt us out."

"Let's hope not, Jem."

"Yah! What's the good o' hoping."

Churr-urrt shrieked the cockatoo from far below.

"There now," said Jem. "Hark at that! He's telling 'em we're in here, and coming on before to show 'em the way."

"What nonsense, Jem!"

Churr-ur! Shrieked the cockatoo, ever so much nearer.

"Well, do you call that nonsense?" whispered Jem.

"The bird's being cheered on; some one coming."

Churr—churr—churr-ur-ur! Shrieked the cockatoo nearer, nearer, and then right in front of the cave, as it flew by.

"All right, Mas' Don; I arn't going to hargue. You think your way, and I'll think mine; but if that wasn't saying in New Zealandee as those two misfortunate chaps is hiding in this here hole, I never lived in Bristol city, and I don't know sugar from tobacker."

"Hist!" whispered Don.

Hiss-s-s-s came from far in the depths of the cave.

Gurgle-urgle-gugg-pap! Went something of a liquid kind.

"Here, I can't stand this here, Mas' Don," whispered Jem; "let's make a rush of it; and get right away in the woods."

"Hush! There's some one coming," whispered Don, drawing his companion farther back into the darkness.

"All right, Mas' Don! Take me in again where the bad air is; poison us both. Good-bye, Sally, my gal. It's all over now; but I forgives you. Shake hands, Mas' Don. I don't bear you no ill-will, nor nobody else. Here they come."

There was a rustling and panting noise, and they were on the tip-toe of expectation, when there was a heavy concussion, a deep-toned roar, and then an echoing rumble as the sound reverberated among the mountains. Then utter silence.

Jem gripped Don's arm with force, and stared at him wildly.

"Well!" whispered Don. "It was only a gun from the ship to recall the boats."

Jem stooped down and gave his leg a slap.

"You are a clever one, Mas' Don, and no mistake. Why, o' course it is. I never thought it was that."

"What did you think it was, then?"

"Some o' them hot water-works gone off, bang! And blown up the mountain.—There!"

He pointed to a hideous-looking head appearing above the edge of the shelf, and seen by the evening light as it fell athwart it, the countenance with its blue lines and scrolls ending in curls on either side of the nose was startling enough to make any one fear danger.

The owner of the face climbed up to the shelf, followed by another bronzed figure, when Don recognised the second as the tattooed Englishman, while there was no mistake about the first, for he made Jem give an angry grunt as a human voice shouted,—

"My pakeha."

"Somebody calling you, Mas' Don?"

"My pakeha!" shouted the New Zealander again. "Jemmeree Wimbee."

"Eh! Here, I say, call a fellow by his right name!" cried Jem, stepping forward.

The chief met him with advancing step, and caught him by the shoulders, and before Jem could realise what he was going to do, placed his blue nose against that which was coppery white, and gave it a peculiar rub.

"Here, I say, don't!" cried Jem, struggling to free himself, when the chief seized Don in turn, and bent down and served him the same.

"Don't you stand it, Mas' Don. Hit out."

"Don't you, youngster," said the Englishman. "It's only his friendly way."

"Yes, that's what they say at home when a big dog goes at you, and nearly rolls you over," grumbled Jem. "I say, have you got anything to eat?"

"Not here, but plenty at Ngati's place. I'm glad to see you both safe, my lads. It gave me quite a turn when he told me he'd hidden you in here."

"Why?" said Don sharply.

"Well, I'll tell you, my lad. There's a kind o' bad steam lies along the bottom farther in, and if a man was to lie down on the floor and go to sleep, I don't s'pose he'd ever wake again. Come along!"

"Where are the men from the ship?"

"Gone off with their mates. Didn't you hear the gun?"

Don nodded.

"They've been searching all over for you. Can't make out whether you two got to shore, or were chopped up by the sharks out yonder. They won't come again till to-morrow, and you'll be safe till then. You must be hungry."

"Hungry?" said Jem, with a mocking laugh. "Hungry? Lookye here: you'd better take me where there's something, or it won't be safe. I heard tell as people ate one another out here, and I didn't believe it, but I do now. I'm ready for anything or anybody; so come along."

Ngati took possession of Don, and led the way, evidently very proud of his young companion; whilst Jem followed with the Englishman down the gully slope, and then in and out among the trees, ferns, and bushes, till the dangerous hot and mud springs were passed, and the whare was reached. Then the weary fugitives were seated before what seemed to them a banquet of well-cooked fish, fruits, and roots, with a kind of hasty pudding preparation, which was far from bad.

"Feel better, now?" said the Englishman, after he had sat and smoked till they had done.

"Better? Yes, I'm better," said Jem; "but I should like to know one thing."

"Well, what is it?"

"Will they go on feeding us like this?"

"Yes; and if they don't, I will."

"But—it don't—it don't mean any games, does it?" said Jem, in a doubting tone.

"You mean making game of you?" said the Englishman with a broad grin.

"Yes, hare or fezzun," said Jem.

The Englishman laughed, and turned to Don.

"I'll see if you can't have a better hiding-place to-night. That was very dangerous, and I may as well tell you to mind where you go about here, for more than one poor fellow has been smothered in the hot mud holes, and scalded to death."

"Is the water so hot as that?" said Don.

"Hot? Why, those vegetables and things you ate were cooked in one of the boiling springs."

"Phew!" whistled Jem.

They sat talking in the moonlight afterwards, listening to the tattooed Englishman, who spoke about what he had heard from the ship's crew. Among other things the news that they might sail at any time.

Don started, and the tattooed Englishman noticed it.

"Yes," he said; "that means going away and leaving you two behind. You don't seemed pleased."

Don looked up at him earnestly.

"No," he said; "I didn't at first. Don't think me ungrateful after what you've done."

"I don't, my lad," said the man, kindly; "I know what you feel. It's like being shut away from every one you know; and you feel as if you were going to be a savage, and never see England again. I felt something like that once; but I didn't come out like you did. Ah, well, that's neither here nor there. You're only a boy yet, with plenty o' time before you. Make yourself as happy as you can; these chaps are not so very bad when they don't want to get fighting, and I daresay you and me will be good enough friends. Eh? Hullo! What's the matter?"

He leaped to his feet, and Don, Jem, and the New Zealand savages about them did the same, for half-a-dozen of Ngati's followers came running up with news, which they communicated with plenty of gesticulations.

"What are they a-saying on, Mas' Don? I wish I could speak New Zealandee."

"Two boats' crews are coming ashore from the ship. I wish you two was brown and tattooed."

Jem glanced wildly at Don.

"Come on," said the Englishman. "I must see if I can't hide you before they come. What?"

This last was to a fresh man, who ran up and said something.

"Quick, my lads," said the Englishman. "Your people are close at hand."



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

LEFT BEHIND.

Tomati hurried out, followed by Don, but the latter was thrust back into the hut directly, Tomati stretching out his arms so as to spread his blanket wide to act as a screen, under cover of which Don and Jem were half pushed, half backed into the large gathering hut of the tribe, Ngati giving some orders quickly, the result of which was that Don and Jem were hustled down into a sitting position and then thrown upon their faces.

"Here, I'm not going to—"

"Hush, Jem. You'll be heard," whispered Don.

"Yes, but—lookye here."

There was no time to say more. The first lieutenant of the ship, with a middy, Bosun Jones, and about twenty men came marching up, to find a group of Ngati's men seated in a close circle, their blankets spread about them and their heads bent forward, grunting together, and not so much as looking round.

The men were halted, and the lieutenant addressed the tattooed Englishman.

"Well!" he said; "where are our two men?"

"Ask the sharks," said the renegade, shortly.

"Humph! Yes. I suppose we shall have to. Poor wretches! The captain thought we'd have a last look round. But mind this, if they turn up here, you and your men will detain them till we come back. I shall hold you responsible."

The Englishman grunted after the fashion of one of the savages.

"I suppose you don't want to come home, eh?"

"No; I'm comfortable enough here as an emigrant."

"An emigrant, eh? Look here, Master Tomati, if I did my duty, I suppose I should take you aboard, and hand you over to the authorities."

"What for?" said the Englishman, surlily.

"Escaping from Norfolk Island. That's right, isn't it?"

"Look here!" said the Englishman; "do you know, sir, that this is one of the worst parts of the coast, and that the people here think nothing of attacking boats' crews and plundering them, and making them prisoners, and often enough killing and eating 'em?"

"Threatening, eh?" said the lieutenant.

"Not I. But I'm a chief, and the people here would do everything I told them, and fight for me to a man."

"Then you are threatening."

"No, sir; I only wanted to remind you that your boats' crews have come and gone in peace; that you have been allowed to go about ashore, and been supplied with fruit and vegetables, and never a thing missed."

"That's true enough," said the lieutenant. "Well, what of that? A king's ship well-armed would keep a larger tribe than yours quiet!"

"Oh! Oh!" came from the group of natives.

"Yes, I repeat it," said the lieutenant sharply. "They can understand English, then?"

"Of course they do," said the tattooed man calmly, though he looked uneasily at the group; "and as to your ship, sir, what's the good of that if we were to fight you ashore?"

"Do you want to fight, then?" said the lieutenant sharply.

"It doesn't seem like it, when I've kept my tribe peaceful toward all your crew, and made them trade honestly."

"Out of respect to our guns."

"Can you bring your guns along the valleys and up into the mountains?"

"No; but we can bring plenty of well-drilled fighting men."

"Oh! Oh!" came in quite a long-drawn groan.

"Yes," said the lieutenant looking toward the group, "well-drilled, well-armed righting men, who would drive your people like leaves before the wind. But I don't want to quarrel. I am right, though; you are an escaped convict from Norfolk Island?"

"Yes, I am," said the man boldly; "but I've given up civilisation, and I'm a Maori now, and the English Government had better leave me alone."

"Well, I've no orders to take you."

"Oh! Oh!" came again from the group: and Tomati turned sharply round, and said a few words indignantly in the Maori tongue, whose result was a huddling closer together of the men in the group and utter silence.

"They'll be quiet now," said Tomati. "They understand an English word now and then."

"Well, I've no more to say, only this—If those two men do come ashore, or you find that they have come ashore, you've got to seize them and make them prisoners. Make slaves of them if you like till we come again, and then you can give them up and receive a good reward."

"I shall never get any reward," said Tomati, grimly.

"Poor lads! No," said the boatswain; "I'm afraid not."

Just then there was a sharp movement among the Maoris, who set up a loud grunting noise, which drew the attention of the lieutenant, and made the men laugh.

"It's only their way," said the Englishman gruffly.

"Ah, a queer lot. Better come back to civilisation, my man," said the lieutenant.

"At Norfolk Island, sir?"

"Humph!" muttered the lieutenant; and facing his men round, he marched them back to the boats, after which they spent about four hours making soundings, and then returned to the ship.

Almost before the sailors were out of hearing, there was a scuffle and agitation in the group, and Jem struggled from among the Maoris, his face hot and nearly purple, Don's not being very much better.

"I won't stand it. Nearly smothered. I won't have it," cried Jem furiously.

"Don't be so foolish, Jem. It was to save us," said Don, trying to pacify him.

"Save us! Well they might ha' saved us gently. Look at me. I'm nearly flat."

"Nonsense! I found it unpleasant; but they hid us, and we're all right."

"But I arn't all right, Mas' Don; I feel like a pancake," cried Jem, rubbing and patting himself as if he were so much paste or clay which he wanted to get back into shape.

"Don't be so stupid, Jem!"

"Stoopid? 'Nough to make any man feel stoopid. I was 'most stuffocated."

"So was I."

"Yes, but you hadn't got that big, 'my pakeha' chap sitting on you all the time."

"No, Jem, I hadn't," said Don, laughing.

"Well, I had, and he weighs 'bout as much as a sugar-hogshead at home, and that arn't light."

"But it was to hide us, Jem."

"Hide us, indeed! Bother me if it didn't seem as if they was all hens wanting to sit on one egg, and that egg was me. I know I shall never get right again."

"Oh yes, you will," laughed Don.

"Ah, it's all werry well for you to laugh, Mas' Don; but if my ribs hadn't been made o' the best o' bone, they'd ha' cracked like carrots, and where should I ha' been then?"

"Hurt, mate?" said Tomati, coming up and laughing at Jem, who was rubbing himself angrily.

"Just you go and be sat upon all that time, and see if you won't feel hurt," grumbled Jem. "Why, it hurts your feelings as much as it does your body."

"Ah, well, never mind. You're quite safe now."

Tomati walked away to speak to one of his men.

"Quite safe now, he says, Mas' Don. Well, I don't feel it. Hear what he said to the fust lufftenant; this was the worst part of the coast, and the people were ready to rob and murder and eat you?"

"I didn't hear all that, Jem," said Don quietly. "I heard him say that they were a warlike, fighting people; but that doesn't matter if they are kind to us."

"But that's what I'm feared on," said Jem, giving himself a jerk.

"Afraid of them being kind?"

"Ay, feared of them liking us too well. Pot."

"Pot?"

"Yes, Pot. Don't you understand?"

"No."

"Pot. P—O—T, Pot."

"Well, of course, I know that; but what does it mean?"

"Why, they've sat upon you, Mas' Don, till your head won't work; that's what's the matter with you, my lad. I mean treat us as if we was chyce fat sheep."

"Nonsense, Jem!"

"Oh, is it? Well, you'll see."

"I hope not," said Don, laughing.

"Ah, you may laugh, my lad, but you won't grin that day when it comes to the worst."

News was brought in soon after of the boats being busy taking soundings, and that night Don and Jem sat screened by the ferns high up on the mountain side, and saw the sloop of war with her sails set, and looking golden in the setting sun, gliding slowly away toward the north-east, careening slightly over before a brisk breeze, which grew stronger as they reached out farther beyond the shelter of the land; and in spite of hints from Tomati, and calls from Ngati, neither could be coaxed down till, just as it was growing dusk, Don rose and turned to his companion.

"Have we done right, Jem?"

"What, in getting away from being slaves aboard ship? Why, o' course."

Don shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, sadly. "We are here right away on the other side of the world amongst savages, and I see no chance of getting away back home."

"Oh, but we arn't tried yet, my lad."

"No, we haven't tried, Jem."

"My pakeha! My pakeha!" came from below.

"There he goes again!" growled Jem. "Do tell Tomati to ask him to call you something else. I know I shall get in a row if you don't."

"You must not get into any quarrel, Jem," said Don, thoughtfully; "for we ought to keep the best of friends with these people. Ahoy!"

An answering cry came back, and they began to descend with the darkness coming on and a strange depression of spirit troubling Don, as he felt more and more as if for the first time in their lives he and Jem Wimble were thoroughly alone in the world.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

SOMETHING TO DO.

"'Tarn't so bad, Mas' Don," said Jem, about a month later. "Never felt so clean before in my life. Them hot baths is lovely, and if we could get some tea and coffee, and a bit o' new bread and fresh butter now and then, and I could get my Sally out here, I don't know as I should much mind stopping."

"And what about the pot, Jem?"

"Tchah! That was all gammon. I don't b'lieve they ever did anything o' the sort. When's Tomati coming back? Tomati, Jemmaree, Donni-Donni. Pretty sort of a language. Why, any one could talk New Zealandee."

"I wish I could, Jem."

"Well, so you could if you tried. All you've got to do is to riddle-me-ree the words a bit. I'm getting on first rate; and what I like in these people is that they never laughs at you when you makes a mistake."

They had been furnished with a snug hut, close to one of the roughly-made hot water baths, and were fairly well supplied with food, which they augmented by going out in Ngati's canoe, and catching abundance of fish, to the Maori's great delight; for he gazed with admiration at the skilful methods adopted by Jem, who was no mean angler.

"And the best of the fun is, Mas' Don, that the fishes out here are so stupid. They take any bait a'most, and taken altogether they're not such bad eating. Wonder what shark would be like?"

Don shuddered, and they both decided that they would not care to try.

Ngati of the fiercely savage face and huge size proved to be one of the most amiable of men, and was after them every morning, to go out in the forest collecting fruit, or to dam up some stream to catch the fresh-water fish, or to snare birds.

"He do cap me," Jem would say. "Just look at him, Mas' Don. That there chap's six foot four at least, half as broad again across the chest as I am, and he's got arms like a helephant, while to look at him with his blue face you'd say he was 'bout the fiercest-looking fighting man you ever see; and yet, when you come to know him inside, he's just like a big boy, and so good-tempered I could do anything with him."

"And only the other day you looked upon him as quite an enemy."

"Ay, I did, Mas' Don, but I don't now. Them there artful birds is my mortal enemies. They parrots and cockatoos is cunning and wicked enough, but them little birds is imps, that's what they are."

Jem shook his head and frowned, and no more was said then, for they were packing up a basket, and going up into the mountains to get fruit, taking provisions enough to last them for the day.

Their hut was right in the middle of the little village, and the Maoris treated them in the most friendly manner, smiling at them in an indolent fashion as they lolled about the place, doing very little except a little gardening; for their wants were few, and nature was kind in the abundance she gave for a little toil. This life soon had its effects upon Jem, who began to display a disposition to idle too.

"Seems so nat'ral, Mas' Don," he would say. "I don't see why a man should be always letting sugar-hogsheads down out of waggons, and rolling 'em about and getting them into warehouses. Why can't we take it coolly, same as they do?"

"Because we don't want to stand still, Jem," said Don quietly. "You and I are not savages."

"Well, no, Mas' Don, that's true; but it's very pleasant to take it as coolly as they do. Why, these chaps, the whole lot of 'em, live just as if it was always holidays, and a hot water bath thrown in."

"Uncle Josiah used to say that people soon got tired of having holidays."

"Your Uncle Josiah soon got tired o' giving holidays, Mas' Don. I never, as you know, wanted many, but he always looked rat-traps at me if I asked for a day. Here you can have as many as you like."

"Well, let's take one to-day, Jem," said Don. "Fill another basket with something to eat, take a couple of bags, and we'll go right away into the forest, and bring back as much fruit as we can."

"I'll be all ready in no time," said Jem, cheerily; and at the end of three minutes he was equipped, and they started off together, to find Ngati half lying on the sands in company with about a dozen more of his tribe, all of whom gave the pair a friendly smile and a wondering look at the trouble they seemed to take to obtain fruit, when some of the women or girls could have done the task just as well.

"They are about the idlest set of chaps I ever did see, Mas' Don," said Jem, as they trudged cautiously along through the ferny woodlands, where traces of volcanic action were wonderfully plentiful.

"But they work when there's any need for it, I daresay," said Don. "See how vigorously they can row, and how energetic they are when they go through the war-dance."

"Oh! Any stoopid could jump about and make faces," replied Jem. "I wonder whether they really could fight if there was a row?"

"They look as if they could, Jem."

"Looks arn't much good in fighting, Mas' Don. Well, anyhow, they're big and strong enough. Look! What a pity we haven't got a gun. Might have shot a pig and had some pork."

He pointed to about half-a-dozen good-sized pigs, which had scurried across the path they followed, and then disappeared among the ferns.

"Rum thing, it always seems to me that there's nothing here except pigs. There must be, farther in the woods. Mind that hole, my lad."

Don carefully avoided stepping into a bubbling patch of hot mud right in their path, and, wondering what would be the consequences of a step in, he went on, in and out, among dangerous water holes and mud springs. Cockatoos whistled overhead, and parrots shrieked, while every now and then they came upon a curious-looking bird, whose covering resembled hair more than feathers, as it cocked its curved bill towards them, and then hurriedly disappeared by diving in amongst the dense low growth.

"Look at that!" said Jem. "Ostrich?"

"Ostrich!" cried Don contemptuously. "Why, an ostrich is eight feet high."

"Not when he's young," said Jem. "That's a little one. Shouldn't wonder if there's some more."

"You may be right, Jem, but I don't think there are ostriches here."

"Well, I like that," said Jem, "when we've just seen one. I knew it directly. There used to be a picture of one in my old reading-book when I was at school."

They trudged on for some distance in silence.

"What yer thinking 'bout, Mas' Don?"

"Home," said Don, quietly.

"Oh! I say, don't think about home, Mas' Don, because if you do, I shall too; it do make me so unked."

"I can't help it, Jem. It doesn't seem natural to settle down here, and go on week after week. I get asking myself, what we are doing it for."

"To catch fish, and find fruit and keep ourselves alive. Say, Mas' Don, it's under them trees they digs up the big lumps of gum that they burn. Ah, there's a bit." Jem stooped and picked out from among the rotten pine needles a piece of pale yellowish-looking gum of the size of his fist.

"That'll do for a light for us," Don said. "Take it back."

"Going to," said Jem laconically. "We may want it 'fore long."

"Here's another bit," said Don, finding a similar sized piece, and thrusting it into the basket. "Couldn't we make some matches, Jem?"

"Couldn't we make some matches? Why, of course we could. There's plenty of brimstone, I'm going to try and manage a tinder-box after a time."

They again walked on in silence, climbing higher and higher, till, coming to an opening, they both paused in silent admiration of the view spread out before them, of river, lake, and mountain, whose top glistened like silver, where glacier and snow lay unmelted in spite of the summer heat.

"Wouldn't you like to go up there, Mas' Don?" said Jem, after a few moments' silence.

"Go? I'd give anything to climb up there, Jem. What a view it must be."

"Ah, it must, Mas' Don; but we won't try it to-day; and now, as we've been on the tramp a good two hours, I vote we sit down and have a bit of a peck."

Don agreed, and they sat down at the edge of the wood to partake of the rather scanty fare which they spread on the ground between them.

"Yes, it would be fine," said Jem, with his mouth and hands full. "We ought to go up that mountain some day. I've never been up a mountain. Hi! Wos!"

This was shouted at another of the peculiar-looking little birds which ran swiftly out of the undergrowth, gave each in turn a comical look, and then seized a good-sized piece of their provender and ran off.

"Well, I call that sarce," said Jem; "that's what I calls that. Ah, if I'd had a stone I'd soon have made him drop that."

"Now," said Don laughing, "do you call that an ostrich?"

"To be sure I do!" cried Jem. "That proves it. I've read in a book as ostriches do steal and swallow anything—nails, pocket-knives, and bits o' stone. Well! I never did!"

Jem snatched off his cap and sent it spinning after another rail which had run up and seized a fruit from their basket, and skimmed off with its legs forming a misty appearance like the spokes of a rapidly turning wheel.

"Sarce is nothing to it, Mas' Don. Why, that little beggar's ten times worse than the old magpie we used to have in the yard. They're so quick, too. Now, just look at that."

Either the same or another of the little birds came out of the undergrowth, peering about in the most eccentric manner, and without displaying the least alarm.

"Just look at him, Jem."

"Look at him, Mas' Don? I am a-looking at him with all my eyes. He's a beauty, he is. Why, if I was a bird like that with such a shabby, dingy looking, sooty suit o' clothes, I know what I'd do."

"What would you do?"

"Why, I'd moult at once. Look at the rum little beggar. Arn't he comic? Why, he arn't got no wings and no tail. Hi! Cocky, how did you get your beak bent that way? Look as if you'd had it caught in a gate. Have another?"

Jem took up a large raspberry-like fruit that he had picked some time before, and held it out to the bird, which stopped short, and held its head down comically, looking first at Jem, and then at the berry. With a rapid twist it turned its head on the other side, and performed the same operation with the left eye.

"Well, he is a rum un!" cried Jem, laughing. "Look! Mas' Don, look!"

Don was watching the eccentric-looking little creature, which ran forward rapidly, and then paused.

"Why, 'tarn't a wild bird at all!" cried Jem. "It's one of the 'my pakeha' chap's cocks an' hens. Well, I ham blessed!"

For rapid almost as thought, and before Jem could recover from his surprise, the bird had darted forward, seized the fruit, and was off a dozen yards before he had darted out his hand after it.

"Too late, Jem."

"Yes, Mas' Don, too late that time; but I mean to ketch that chap, just to show him he arn't so clever as he thinks. You sit still, and go on eating, and don't take no notice, and look out—look out."

"Oh!" ejaculated Don. For at that moment one of the birds had come up behind him, and almost before he had heard Jem's warning cry, he was made aware of the bird's presence by a sharp dig of its beak in the hand holding a portion of his dinner, which was carried rapidly away.

"Magpies is nothing to 'em," cried Jem. "But wait a bit, my fine fellows, and you shall see what you shall see. Pass that there basket, Mas' Don. Ah! That's a good bait for my gentleman. Look at 'em. I can see three peeping out of the bushes. They're a-watching to see what I'm going to do."

"Three! I can see four, Jem."

"More for me to ketch, Mas' Don. Wonder whether they're good to eat? I say, do you think they can understand English?"

Don laughed, and went on with his dinner, as Jem began to play fox, by putting a tempting-looking berry in his hand, stretching it out to the full extent of his arm, and then lying back among the ferns.

"Now then, don't take no notice, Mas' Don. Let you an' me keep on feeding, and that'll 'tract 'em out."

Don was already quietly "feeding," and he rested his back against a piece of stone, watching intently all the while.

Two of the birds began to approach directly, while the others looked on as if deeply interested.

The approach of the advance force was particularly curious, for they came on picking here and picking there, as if they had not the slightest intention of going near the fruit in Jem's hand; but in spite of several feints of going right away, always getting nearer, while Jem munched away, using his left hand, and keeping his eyes half shut.

They had not long to wait, for one of the birds manoeuvred until it was a few feet away, then made a rush, caught the berry from Jem's hand, which closed with a snap, the second bird made a dart and caught the berry from the first bird's beak, and Jem sat up holding a few feathers, staring after the birds, one of which cried out in a shrill piping tone.

"Yes, I'll give you pepper next time, my fine fellow!" cried Jem. "Nearly had you. My word, Mas' Don, they are quick. Give's another berry."

Jem baited his natural trap again, and went on with his meal; but he had scared away the birds for the time being, and they came no more.

"The worst of eating, Jem, is that it makes you lazy."

"And not want to move, Mas' Don. Yes, it do. But it's my 'pinion as this was meant for a lazy country, else the water wouldn't be always on the bile, ready for use."

"Think that's fire?" said Don, after a dreamy pause, during which he had lain back gazing at the brilliant silver-tipped mountain, above which floated a cloud.

"No," said Jem. "I should say as there's a big hot water place up yonder, and that there's steam. Yes, one do feel lazy here; but it don't matter, Mas' Don; there's no bosun, and no master and lufftenant and captain to order you about. I rather likes it, only I seem to want my Sally here. Wonder what she'd say to it?"

"We must get away from it, Jem."

"But we arn't got no boat, and it takes pretty nigh a hunderd men to row one of them canoes."

"We must make a long journey through the country, Jem, right beyond those mountains, and sooner or later we shall come to a place where there are Englishmen, who will help us to get a passage in a ship."

Jem shook his head.

"I don't believe there's any Englishmen here, Mas' Don."

"I do. I think I've read that there are; and if we do not find any, we shall have seen the place, and can come back here."

"He talks just like as if he was going for a ride to Exeter by the Bristol waggon! Ah, well, just as you like, Mas' Don, only don't let's go this afternoon, it's all too nice and comfortable. I don't want to move. Say, wonder whether there's any fish in that lake?"

"Sure to be, Jem, and hundreds of wonders to see if we journey on."

"Dessay, my lad, dessay; but it's werry wonderful here. Look along that hollow place where the big fir trees is growing."

"Lovely, Jem. What a beautiful home it would make."

"Say, Mas' Don, let's make our fortunes."

"How?"

"Let's set up in trade, and deal in wood. Lookye yonder, there's fir trees there, that if we cut 'em down and trimmed 'em, they'd be worth no end o' money in Bristol, for ships' masts."

"Yes, Jem," said Don drily; "and how are you going to get them there?"

"Ah!" said Jem, scratching his head. "Never thought of that."

There was half an hour's drowsy silence. The sun shone down with glorious power, and the lizards rustled among the large stones. From the forest behind there came the buzz of insects, and the occasional cry of some parrot. Save for these sounds all was wonderfully still.

And they sat there gazing before them at the hundreds of acres of uncultivated land, rich in its wild beauty, unwilling to move, till Don said suddenly,—

"Yes, Jem; this is a lazy land. Let's be up and doing."

"Yes, Mas' Don. What?"

"I don't know, Jem; something useful."

"But there arn't nothing useful to do. I couldn't make a boat, but I think I could make a hogshead after a fashion; but if I did, there arn't no sugar to put in it, and—"

"Look, Jem!"

"What at, Mas' Don? Eh?" he continued as he followed his companion's pointing hand. "Why, I thought you said there was no beasts here."

"And there are none."

"Well, if that arn't a drove o' cattle coming down that mountain side, I'm a Dutchman."

"It does look like it, Jem," said Don. "It seems strange."

"Look like it, Mas' Don? Why, it is. Brown cattle, and you can see if you look at the sun shining on their horns."

"Horns! Jem!" cried Don, excitedly; "they're spears!"

"What?"

"And those are savages."

"So they are!" cried Jem. "Why, Mas' Don, that there don't mean a fight, do it?"

"I don't know, Jem. But they can't see us, can they?"

"No. These here bushes shades us. Let's creep back through the wood, and go and tell 'em down below. They don't know, p'r'aps, and we may get there first."

"We must," said Don quickly. "Jem, I'm sure of it. You can see the spears quite plainly, and perhaps it's a war-party out from some other tribe. Quick, lad, quick! We can get there first."

"And if it's a false alarm, they'll laugh at us, Mas' Don."

"Let them. They won't laugh if there's danger in the way."

Don caught up the basket and backed into the shelter of the trees, keeping in a stooping position, while Jem followed, and now, with all the sensation of indolence gone, they hurried along the rugged and dangerous path, to spread the alarm in the village far below, where they had left the inmates dreaming away their existence in happy ignorance of the danger so close at hand.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

A PERILOUS DESCENT.

The heat was terrible, and it seemed to Don as if the difficulties met with in their outward journey had been intensified on their return. Thorns caught in their garments, and, failing these, in their flesh. Twice over Jem stepped a little too much off the faint track, and had narrow escapes of plunging into pools of hot mud, whose presence was marked by films of strange green vegetation.

Then they mistook their way, and after struggling along some distance they came out suddenly on a portion of the mountain side, where to continue their course meant that they must clamber up, descend a sheer precipice of at least a hundred feet by hanging on to the vine-like growths and ferns, or return.

They stopped and stared at each other in dismay.

"Know where we went wrong, Mas' Don?" said Jem.

"No; do you?"

"Not I, my lad. Think it must ha' been where I had that last slip into the black hasty pudding."

"What shall we do, Jem? If we go back we shall lose an hour."

"Yes! Quite that; and 'tarn't no good to climb up here. I could do it; but it's waste o' time."

"Could we get down here?"

"Oh, yes," said Jem drily; "we could get down easy enough; only the thing is, how should we be when we did get down?"

"You mean we should fall to the bottom?"

"Well, you see, Mas' Don," said Jem, rubbing one ear as he peered down; "it wouldn't be a clean fall, 'cause we should scrittle and scruttle from bush to bush, and ketch here and snatch there. We should go right down to the bottom, sure enough, but we might be broke by the time we got there."

"Jem, Jem, don't talk like that!" cried Don angrily. "Do you think it possible to go down?"

"Well, Mas' Don, I think the best way down would be with our old crane and the windlass tackle."

"Do you dare climb down?"

"Ye-es, I think so, Mas' Don; only arn't there no other way?"

"Not if we want to save them down at the village."

"Well, but do we want to save 'em, Mas' Don? They're all werry well, but—"

"And have been very kind to us, Jem. We must warn them of danger."

"But, lookye here, Mas' Don, s'pose it arn't danger. Pretty pair o' Bristol noodles we shall look, lying down at the bottom here, with all our legs and arms broke for nothing at all."

Don stood gazing at his companion, full of perplexity.

"Think it is real danger, Mas' Don?"

"I'm afraid so. You heard Tomati say that there were desperate fights sometimes."

"Don't call him Tomati; I 'ates it," growled Jem. "Well, I s'pose it is danger, then."

"And we must look the matter in the face, Jem. If we go back those people will be at the village before us. Perhaps we shall meet them, and be made prisoners; but if we go on here, we shall save an hour, perhaps two. Yes, I shall climb down."

"No, no; let me go first, Mas' Don."

"Why?"

"Because I shall do to tumble on if you do let go, or any bush breaks."

"Here seems to be about the best place, Jem," said Don, without heeding his companion's last remark; and, setting his teeth, he lowered himself down, holding on by the bushes and aerial roots of the various tough, stunted pieces of vegetation, which clung to the decomposing volcanic rock.

Jem's face puckered up as he set his teeth, and watched Don descend a few feet. Then, stooping over, he said cheerily,—

"That's the way, Mas' Don; take it cool, stick tight, and never think about the bottom. Are you getting on all right?"

"Yes."

"That's your sort. I'm coming now."

Jem began to whistle as he lowered himself over the edge of the precipice, a few feet to Don's right; and directly after he began to sing merrily,—

"'There was a man in Bristol city, Fol de rol de riddle-lol-de-ri. And that's the first o' this here ditty, Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri.'

"Say, Mas' Don, 'tarn't so bad, after all."

"It's terrible, Jem!" panted Don, "Can we do it?"

"Can we do it? Ha, ha, ha!" cried Jem. "Can we do it? Hark at him! We're just the boys as can do it. Why, it arn't half so bad as being up on the main-top gallant yard.

"'Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri.'"

"Don't make that noise, Jem, pray."

"Why not, my lad? That's your sort; try all the roots before you trust 'em. I'm getting on splen—"

Rush!

"Jem!"

"All right, Mas' Don! Only slipped ten foot of an easy bit to save tumbles."

"It isn't true. I was looking at you, and I saw that root you were holding come out of the rock."

"Did you, Mas' Don? Oh, I thought I did that o' purpose," came from below.

"Where are you?"

"Sitting straddling on a big bit o' bush."

"Where? I can't see you."

"Here, all right. 'Tarn't ten foot, it's about five and twenty—

"'De-riddle-lol-de-ri.'"

"Jem, we must climb back. It is too risky."

"No, we mustn't, Mas' Don; and it arn't a bit too risky. Come along, and I'll wait for you."

Don hesitated for a minute, and then continued his descent, which seemed to grow more perilous each moment.

"Say, Mas' Don," cried Jem cheerily, "what a chance for them birds. Couldn't they dig their bills into us now!"

"Don't talk so, Jem. I can't answer you."

"Must talk, my lad. Them fern things is as rotten as mud. Don't you hold on by them. Steady! Steady!"

"Yes. Slipped a little."

"Well, then, don't slip a little. What's your hands for?

"'There was a man in Bristol city, Fol de rol de—'"

"Say, Mas' Don, think there's any monkeys here?"

"No, no."

"'Cause how one o' they would scramble down this precipit. Rather pricky, arn't it?"

"Yes; don't talk so."

"All right!

"'De-riddle-liddle-lol.'

"I'm getting on first rate now, Mas' Don—I say."

"Yes!"

"No press-gang waiting for us down at the bottom here, Mas' Don?"

"Can you manage it, Jem?"

"Can I manage it? Why, in course I can. How are you getting on?"

Don did not reply, but drew a long breath, as he slowly descended the perilous natural ladder, which seemed interminable.

They were now going down pretty close together, and nearly on a level, presence and example giving to each nerve and endurance to perform the task.

"Steady, dear lad, steady!" cried Jem suddenly, as there was a sharp crack and a slip.

"Piece I was resting on gave way," said Don hoarsely, as he hung at the full length of his arms, vainly trying to get a resting-place for his feet.

Jem grasped the position in an instant, but remained perfectly cool.

"Don't kick, Mas' Don."

"But I can't hang here long, Jem."

"Nobody wants you to, my lad. Wait a minute, and I'll be under you, and set you right.

"'There was a man in Bristol city,'"

he sang cheerily, as he struggled sidewise. "'Fol de—' I say, Mas' Don, he was a clever one, but I believe this here would ha' bothered him. It's hold on by your eyelids one minute, and wish you was a fly next."

"Jem."

"Hullo, lad?"

"If I let go and dropped, how far should I fall?"

"'Bout two foot ten," said Jem, after a glance below them at the sheer precipice.

"Then I had better drop."

"If you do you will knock me to the bottom, so just you hold on till I tells you."

Jem kept up his jocular way of speaking; but if any one could have looked on, he would have seen that his face was curiously mottled with sallow, while his hands were trembling when at liberty, and that there was a curiously wild, set look in his eyes.

"There, Mas' Don," he said cheerily, as he finished climbing sidewise till he was exactly beneath. "Now, one moment. That's it."

As he spoke he drew himself up a little, taking fast hold of the stem of a bush, and of a projecting stone, while he found foot-hold in a wide crevice.

"Now then, rest your foot on my shoulders. There you are. That's the way. Two heads is better than one."

"Can you bear my weight, Jem?"

"Can I bear your weight? Why? You may stand there for a week. Now just you rest your wristies a bit, and then go on climbing down, just as if I warn't here."

The minute before Don had felt that he could bear the strain no longer. Now the despairing sensation which came over him had gone, his heart felt lighter as he stood on Jem's shoulders, and sought another hold for his hands lower down. The wild, fluttering pulsation ceased, and he grew composed.

"I'm rested now, Jem," said Don.

"Of course you are, my lad. Well, then, now you can climb down aside me. 'Tarn't so much farther to the bottom."

"Can you reach out far enough for me to come between you and the rock?"

"Just you try, Mas' Don."

By this time Don had found a fresh hold for his feet; and nerving himself, he descended slowly, Jem forcing himself out, so that there was enough room for any one to pass; but as Don cleared him, and got right below, the bush to which Jem clung with one hand came slowly out of the interstices of the stones, and but for the exercise of a large amount of muscular power and rigidity of will, he would have swung round and fallen headlong.

"I'm all right now, Jem!" cried Don from below.

"Glad of it, my lad," muttered Jem, "because I arn't."

"Come along down now."

"How, Mas' Don?" said Jem grimly.

"The same way as I did."

"Oh! All right; but the bush I held on by is gone."

"Well take hold of another."

"Just you get from under me, Mas' Don."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"I'm too heavy to ketch like a cricket ball. That's all, my lad."

"Oh, Jem, don't say you are in danger."

"Not I, my lad, if you don't want me to; but it is awk'ard. Stand clear," he shouted. "I'm coming down. No, I arn't," he said directly after, as he made a tremendous effort to reach a tough stem below, failed, and then dropped and caught it, and swung first by one hand and then by two.

"I say, Mas' Don, I thought I was gone."

"You made my heart seem to jump into my mouth."

"Did I, lad? Well, it was awk'ard. I was scared lest I should knock you off. Felt just as I did when the chain broke, and you could see the link opening, and a big sugar-hogshead threatening to come down. All right now, my lad. Let's get on down. Think we're birds' nesting, Mas' Don, and it'll be all right."

Don had to nerve himself once more, and they steadily lowered themselves from tuft to tuft, and from stone to stone, with more confidence, till they were about thirty feet from the foot, when farther progress became impossible, for, in place of being perpendicular, the cliff face sloped inward for some distance before becoming perpendicular once more.

"Well, I do call that stoopid," said Jem, as he stared helplessly at Don. "What are we going to do now?"

"I don't know, Jem. If we had a bit of rope we could easily descend."

"And if we'd got wings, Mas' Don, we might fly."

"We must climb back, Jem, as—Look here, would these trees bear us?"

"Not likely," said Jem, staring hard at a couple of young kauri pines, which grew up at the foot of the precipice, and whose fine pointed tops were within a few feet of where they clung.

"But if we could reach them and get fast hold, they would bend and let us down."

"They'd let us down," said Jem drily; "but I don't know 'bout bending."

Don clung to the face of the rock, hesitating, and wondering whether by any possibility they could get down another way, and finding that it was absolutely hopeless, he made up his mind to act.

"It is next to impossible to climb up, Jem," he said.

"Yes, Mas' Don."

"And we can't get down."

"No, Mas' Don. We shall have to live here for a bit, only I don't know how we're going to eat and sleep."

"Jem."

"Yes, Mas' Don."

"I'm going to jump into that tree."

"No, Mas' Don, you mustn't risk it."

"And if it breaks—"

"Never mind about the tree breaking. What I don't like is, s'pose you break."

"I shall go first, and you can try afterwards."

"No, no, Mas' Don; let me try first."

Don paid no heed to his words, but turned himself completely round, so that he held on, with his back to the stony wall, and his heels upon a couple of rough projections, in so perilous a position that Jem looked on aghast, afraid now to speak. In front of Don, about nine feet away, and the top level with his feet, was the tree of which he had spoken.

As far as support was concerned, it was about as reasonable to trust to a tall fishing-rod; but it appeared to be the only chance, and Don hesitated no longer than was necessary to calculate his chances.

"Don't do it, Mas' Don. It's impossible, and like chucking yourself away. Let's climb up again; it's the only chance; and if we can't get to the village in time, why, it arn't our fault. No, my lad, don't!"

As the last words left his lips, Don stood perfectly upright, balancing himself for a few moments, and then, almost as if he were going to dive into the water, he extended his hands and sprang outward into space.

Jem Wimble uttered a low groan.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

DON'S REPORT.

In the case of a leap like that made by Don, there was no suspense for the looker on, for the whole affair seemed to be momentary. Jem saw him pass through the air and disappear in the mass of greenery with a loud rushing sound, which continued for a few moments, and then all was still.

"He's killed; he's killed!" groaned Jem to himself; "and my Sally will say it was all my fault."

He listened eagerly.

"Mas' Don!" he shouted.

"Hullo, Jem! I say, would you drop if you were me?"

"Drop? Then you arn't killed?"

"No, not yet. Would you drop?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'm hanging on to the end of that young tree, and it keeps going up and down like a spring, and it won't go any nearer than about twelve feet from the ground. Would you drop?"

Whish! Rush! Crash! Thud!

The young tree sprang up again, cleaving a way for itself through the thick growth, and standing nearly erect once more, ragged and sadly deprived of its elegant proportions, just as a dull sound announced Don's arrival on terra firma.

"All right, Jem!" he cried. "Not hurt. Look here; spread your arms out well and catch tight round the tree as you jump at it. You'll slip down some distance and scratch yourself, but you can't hurt much."

"I hear, Mas' Don," said Jem, drawing a long breath full of relief. "I'm a-coming. It's like taking physic," he added to himself; "but the sooner you takes it, the sooner it's down. Here goes! Say, Mas' Don, do you ketch hold o' the tree with your hands, or your arms and legs?"

"All of them. Aim straight at the stem, and leap out boldly."

"Oh, yes," grumbled Jem; "it's all very well, but I was never 'prenticed to this sort o' fun.—Below!"

"A good bold jump, Jem. I'm out of the way."

"Below then," said Jem again.

"Yes, jump away. Quick!"

But Jem did not jump. He distrusted the ability of the tree to bear his weight.

"Why don't you jump?"

"'Cause it seems like breaking my neck, which is white, to save those of them people in the village, which is black, Mas' Don."

"But you will not break your neck if you are careful."

"Oh, yes! I'll be careful, Mas' Don; don't you be 'fraid of that."

"Well, come along. You're not nervous, are you, Jem?"

"Yes, Mas' Don, reg'lar scared; but, below, once more. Here goes! Don't tell my Sally I was afraid if I do get broke."

Possibly Jem would have hesitated longer, but the stump of the bush upon which he stood gave such plain intimation of coming out by the roots, that he thought it better to leap than fall, and gathering himself up, he plunged right into the second kauri pine, and went headlong down with a tremendous crash.

For he had been right in his doubts. The pine was not so able to bear his weight as its fellow had been to carry Don. He caught it tightly, and the tree bent right down, carrying him nearly to the earth, where he would have done well to have let go; but he clung to it fast, and the tree sprang up again, bent once more, and broke short off, Jem falling at least twenty feet into the bushes below.

"Hurt, Jem?" cried Don, forcing his way to his side.

"Hurt? Now is it likely, Mas' Don? Hurt? No. I feel just like a babby that's been lifted gently down and laid on a feather cushion. That's 'bout how I feel. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Here, give's a hand. Gently, dear lad; I'm like a skin full o' broken bones. Help me out o' this tangle, and let's see how much of me's good, and how much 'll have to be throwed away. Eggs and bacon! What a state I'm in!"

Don helped him as tenderly as he could out into an open space, and softly assisted him to lie down, which Jem did, groaning, and was perfectly still for a few moments flat there on his back.

"Are you in much pain, Jem?" said Don, anxiously.

"Horrid, lad, horrid. I think you'd better go on and warn 'em, and come and fetch me arterwards; only don't forget where I am, and not find me. Look! There's two o' them birds coming to see what's the matter."

"I can't leave you, Jem. You're of more consequence to me than all the New Zealanders in the place."

"Am I, Mas' Don? Come, that's kindly spoke of you. But bother that tree! Might ha' behaved as well to me as t'other did to you."

"Where do you feel in pain, Jem?"

"Where? It's one big solid slapping pain all over me, but it's worst where there's a big thorn stuck in my arm."

"Let me see."

"No; wait a bit. I don't mean to be left alone out here if I can help it. Now, Mas' Don, you lift that there left leg, and see if it's broke."

Don raised it tenderly, and replaced it gently.

"I don't think it's broken, Jem."

"Arn't it? Well, it feels like it. P'r'aps it's t'other one. Try."

Don raised and replaced Jem's right leg.

"That isn't broken either, Jem."

"P'r'aps they're only crushed. Try my arms, my lad."

These were tried in turn, and laid down.

"No, Jem."

"Seems stoopid," said Jem. "I thought I was broke all over. It must be my back, and when a man's back's broke, he feels it all over. Here, lend us a hand, my lad; and I'll try and walk. Soon see whether a man's back's broke."

Don offered his arm, and Jem, after a good deal of grunting and groaning, rose to his feet, gave himself a wrench, and then stamped with first one leg and then with the other.

"Why, I seems all right, Mas' Don," he said, eagerly.

"Yes, Jem."

"Think it's my ribs? I've heared say that a man don't always know when his ribs is broke."

"Do you feel as if they were, Jem?"

"Oh, yes; just exactly. All down one side, and up the other."

"Could you manage to walk as far as the village? I don't like to leave you."

"Oh, yes; I think I can walk. Anyhow I'm going to try. I say, if you hear me squeak or crack anywhere, you'll stop me, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Come on then, and let's get there. Oh, crumpets! What a pain."

"Lean on me."

"No; I'm going to lean on myself," said Jem, stoutly. "I'm pretty sure I arn't broke, Mas' Don; but feel just as if I was cracked all over like an old pot, and that's werry bad, you know, arn't it? Now then, which way is it?"

"This way, Jem, to the right of the mountain."

"Ah, I suppose you're right, Mas' Don. I say, I can walk."

"Does it hurt you very much?"

"Oh, yes; it hurts me horrid. But I say, Mas' Don, there arn't many chaps in Bristol as could have failed down like that without breaking theirselves, is there?"

"I think it's wonderful, Jem."

"That's what I think, Mas' Don, and I'm as proud of it as can be. Here, step out, sir; works is beginning to go better every minute. Tidy stiff; but, I say, Mas' Don, I don't believe I'm even cracked."

"I am glad, Jem," cried Don. "I felt a little while ago as if I would rather it had been me."

"Did you, though, Mas' Don? Well, that's kind of you, that it is. I do like that. Come along. Don't you be afraid. I can walk as fast as you can. Never fear! Think we shall be in time?"

"I don't know, Jem. I was in such trouble about you that I had almost forgotten the people at the village."

"So had I. Pain always makes me forget everything, 'speshly toothache. Why, that's the right way," he cried, as they turned the corner of a steep bluff.

"Yes, and in a quarter of an hour we can be there; that is, if you can walk fast?"

"I can walk fast, my lad: look. But what's quarter of a hour? I got muddled enough over the bells board ship—three bells, and four bells, and the rest of it; but out here there don't seem to be no time at all. Wonder how near those fellows are as we see. I am glad I arn't broke."

In about the time Don had said, they came to the path leading to the ravine, where the cave pierced the mountain side. A few minutes later they were by the hot bath spring, and directly after, to Don's great delight, they came upon Tomati.

"I was coming to look for you two," he said. "You had better not go far from the whare. Two of the tribes have turned savage, and are talking about war."

Don interrupted him, and told him what they had seen.

"So soon!" he said hurriedly.

"Is it bad news, then?" asked Don, anxiously.

"Bad, my lads! Bad as it can be."

"Then that was a war-party we saw?"

"Yes; come on."

He then put his hands to his mouth and uttered a wildly savage yell, whose effect was instantaneous. It was answered in all directions, and followed by a shrieking and wailing chorus from the women and children, who came trooping out of their huts, laden with household treasures, and hurrying up one particular path at the back of the village, one which neither Don nor Jem had intruded upon, from the belief that it led to some temple or place connected with the Maoris' religion.

A few minutes before the men were idling about, lying on the black sand, sleeping, or eating and drinking in the most careless, indolent way. Now all were in a state of the wildest excitement, and as Don saw the great stalwart fellows come running here and there, armed with spear and stone axe, he felt that he had misjudged them, and thought that they looked like so many grand bronze figures, suddenly come to life. Their faces and nearly naked bodies were made hideous with tattooing marks; but their skins shone and the muscles stood out, and as they all grouped together under the orders of Tomati and Ngati, both Don and Jem thought that if the party they had seen were coming on to the attack, the fighting might be desperate after all.

In less time than it takes to tell, men had been sent out as scouts; and pending their return, Tomati led the way up the path, after the women and children, to where, to Don's astonishment, there was a strong blockaded enclosure, or pah, made by binding great stakes together at the tops, after they had been driven into the ground.

There was but one entrance to the enclosure, which was on the summit of a rock with exceedingly steep sides, save where the path zigzagged to the top; and here every one was soon busy trying to strengthen the place, the spears of the men being laid against the stockade.

"May as well help," said Jem, sturdily. "I'm not going to fight, but I don't mind helping them to take care of themselves."

They set to and aided in every way they could, Ngati smiling approval, patting Don on the back, and then hurrying away to return with two spears, which he handed to the two young men.

"My pakeha!" he said; and Jem gave an angry stamp, and was about to refuse to take the weapon, when there was a yell of excitement from all in the pah, for one of the scouts came running in, and as he came nearer, it could be seen that he was bleeding from a wound in the shoulder, and that he had lost his spear.

As if nerved by this sight, Don and Jem seized the spears offered for their defence.

"Yes, Mas' Don," said Jem; "we shall have to try and fight; seems to me as if the war's begun!"

A wild shriek followed his words, and Don saw that they were but too true.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

WAR.

Tomati soon showed the reason for his elevation to the position of chief among the Maoris, for, in addition to being a man of commanding presence and great strength, his adventurous life had given him quickness and decision in his actions, which told with a savage race none too ready to discriminate.

He rushed out of the pah, and caught the man by the shoulder, questioned him, turned him over to a couple of his friends to be doctored, and then in a loud voice informed the excited crowd that the danger was not imminent, following up this announcement with orders to go on strengthening the stockade.

He was instantly obeyed, his cool manner giving his followers confidence; and they went on working hard at securing certain spots and strengthening the entrance, but always with their spears close at hand.

There was another shout from a sentry, and again the whole tribe was electrified, women and children huddling under shelter, and the warriors seizing their weapons.

This time a scout came running in uninjured and with his spear to announce the nearer approach of the enemy.

Tomati received his news coolly enough, and then, after a word or two with Ngati, signed to the man to join the defenders, while two fresh scouts were sent out to spy the neighbourhood, and keep the chiefs well informed of the coming danger.

Ngati's eyes seemed to flash, and there was a savage rigidity in his countenance that suggested hard times for the man who attacked him; but he seemed to place the most implicit confidence in Tomati, obeying his slightest suggestion, and evidently settling himself into the place of lieutenant to the white captain.

After the first wailing and tears, the women and children settled down in their shelter quite as a matter of course, and as if such an event as this were no novelty in their social history. Once within the pah, and surrounded by stout fighting men on whom they could depend, they seemed quite satisfied, and full of confidence in the result of an attack, and this took Jem's notice.

"Can't be much danger," he said, half contemptuously, "or these here wouldn't take it so coolly."

"But it looks as if there was going to be a desperate fight."

"Tchah! Not that, Mas' Don."

"But look at that scout who ran in. He was hurt."

"So is a boy who has had his head punched, and whose nose bleeds. There won't be no real fighting, my lad. I mean men being killed, and that sort o' thing."

"Think not, Jem?"

"Sure of it, my lad. T'other side 'll come up and dance a war-dance, and shake their spears at our lot. Then our lot 'll dance up and down like jack-jumpers, and make faces, and put out their tongues at 'em, and call 'em names. I know their ways; and then they'll all yell out, and shout; and then the others 'll dance another war-dance, and shout in Noo Zealandee that they'll kill and eat us all, and our lot'll say they'd like to see 'em do it, and that'll be all."

Don shook his head. The preparations looked too genuine.

"Ah, you'll see," continued Jem. "Then one lot 'll laugh, and say you're obliged to go, and t'other lot 'll come back again, and they'll call one another more names, and finish off with killing pigs, and eating till they can't eat no more."

"You seem to know all about it, Jem."

"Well, anybody could know as much as that," said Jem, going to the side and taking up a bundle formed with one of the native blankets, which he began to undo.

"What have you got there?"

"You just wait a minute," said Jem, with a dry look. "There! Didn't know that was the arm chest, did you?"

He unrolled and took out a cutlass and two pistols, with the ammunition, and looked up smilingly at Don.

"There!" he said, "what do you think o' them?"

"I'd forgotten all about them, Jem."

"I hadn't, my lad. There you are. Buckle on that cutlash."

"No; you had better have that, Jem. I should never use it."

"Oh, yes, you would, my lad, if it was wanted. On with it."

Don reluctantly buckled on the weapon, and Jem solemnly charged the pistols, giving Don one, and taking the other to stick in his own waistbelt.

"There," he said, retaking the spear given to him. "Don't you feel like fighting now?"

"No, Jem; not a bit."

"You don't?"

"No. Do you?"

"Well, if you put it in that way," said Jem, rubbing his ear, "I can't say as I do. You can't feel to want to do much in that way till some one hurts you. Then it's different."

"It's horrible, Jem!"

"Well, I suppose it is; but don't you get looking like that. There'll be no fighting here. I say, Mas' Don, it would be a bit of a game, though, to stick the pynte of this here spear a little way into one of the savages. Wonder what he'd say."

"Ah! My pakeha!" cried a voice just behind them; and they turned sharply, to find themselves face to face with Ngati, who patted Don on the shoulder, and then pointed to his cutlass and pistol.

"Hah!" he ejaculated, with a deep breath; and then, without warning, snatched Don's spear from his hand, threw himself into a series of wild attitudes, and went through the action of one engaged in an encounter with an enemy, stabbing, parrying, dodging, and darting here and there in a way that suggested instant immolation for the unfortunate he encountered.

"Look at him, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "Look at him pretending. That's the way they fight. By-an'-by, you'll see lots o' that, but you mark my words, none on 'em won't go nigh enough to hurt one another."

Ngati ceased as suddenly as he had begun, returned the spear to Don, and seemed to intimate that he should go through the same performance.

"You wait a bit, old chap!" cried Jem. "We don't fight that way."

"Hah!" ejaculated Ngati, and he ran across to a portion of the pah where several of his warriors were busily binding some of the posts more securely.