The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 90

"Say, Mas' Don, think we can trust him?"

"Trust him, Jem! Why, of course."

"That's all very well, Mas' Don. You're such a trusting chap. See how you used to trust Mike Bannock, and how he turned you over."

"Yes; but he was a scoundrel. Ngati is a simple-hearted savage."

"Hope he is, Mas' Don; but what I'm feared on is, that he may be a simple-stomached savage."

"Why, what do you mean, Jem?"

"Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to."

"Of course."

"And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?"

"Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?"

"Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?"

"Hss.h.!.+"

The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear.

"They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife."

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

IN THE WOODS.

"They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything."

"That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality."

"We're not dealing with sugar now."

"No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was."

"Hss.h.!.+" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brus.h.i.+ng their faces, and nocturnal birds rus.h.i.+ng away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food.

When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep.

But all this pa.s.sed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning suns.h.i.+ne, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound.

And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fas.h.i.+on to Don.

"My pakeha," he said softly, "morning."

There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud.

But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face.

"Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly.

"Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--"

He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don.

"Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened.

"Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead."

"Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words.

But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely.

"My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy."

"Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me."

"Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?"

"Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat."

"No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions.

"Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.

"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"

"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."

"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"

Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.

"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.

"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and b.u.t.ter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting c.o.c.ks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"

"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.

"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."