*CHAPTER XVI.*
*LOSS AND SUSPICION.*
The great hole which Lawford had made in the mud was not yet filled up.He had walled the sides with broken branches, damming up the mud behindhim as he dug his way to the roots of the white pines.
Of course the mud was slowly oozing through these defences, and mightsoon swallow them up. But Whero felt he was just in time. He dippedout a pail or two from the bottom, and felt about for the original holein which he had hidden the bag. His foot went into the hole unawares.He was not long in satisfying himself that the treasure was gone. Itwas too heavy to float away. However great the depth of mud might beabove, it should still be in the hole where he had hidden it. He hadcovered it over with bark. The bark was there, but the bag was gone.
He went back to the ford. Dunter was at work dipping out the slime fromthe farm-house kitchen. The boy did not wait to speak to him, but pushedoff his canoe and paddled away down the river to find his mother.Dunter had promised to take care of his kaka during his absence. Well,if that were prolonged, he would take care of it all the same, so Wheroreasoned, as he was carried along by the rapid current.
He was watching for the first sign of the Maori encampment, which heknew he should find beyond the vast tract which had been desolated bythe rain of mud. The canoe shot onward, until the first leaf becamevisible on the evergreens, and the fish were once more leaping in thewater. The terraced banks of the river were broken here and there withdeep gulches and sunken canyons. It was in one of these retreats thathe was expecting to find the Maori tents.
The river was rushing deep and swift as before, but its margin was nowstudded with reeds and ti trees. The crimson heads of the greatwater-hens were poking out of their midst to stare at him, and flocks ofducks rose noisily from their reedy beds.
Whero began to sing one of the wild and plaintive native melodies. Buthis voice was almost drowned by the roar of the whirling stones, and hispassage was continually impeded by the masses of drift-wood--great armsof trees, and uprooted trunks--striking against the boulders andthreatening him with an upset.
Yet he still sang on, until a low, sweet echo answered him from thebank, and he saw his mother gathering fern by the water's edge.
The canoe was quickly run aground, and he leaped ashore to join her.Then he saw that his grandfather Kakiki Mahane was sitting on a stonenot far off. Whero walked up a little ashamed of his behaviour; but forhim Marileha had no reproaches, for he was the bitter-sweet whichchanged her joy to pain and her pain to joy continually.
She hailed his return, for her heart was aching for her baby, whichcould not survive their terrible entombment. She pointed to the bend inthe ravine, where one or two small whares had been hastily built. Twouprights in the ground, with a pole across, had been walled with mats,roughly and quickly woven from flax-leaf and bulrush. Every Maori hadbeen hard at work, and work could get them all they wanted here, exceptthe hot stone and the geyser-bath.
With her own hands Marileha had cooked them what she called a goodsquare dinner.
But the ideal life of the Maori is one of perfect laziness, and as aMaori lady Marileha had enjoyed this from her birth. Her old father wastrying to comfort her. She should go back with him to her own people.She should not stay where the fish had to be caught, and the wild ducksnared, and the wild pig hunted, and then brought to her to kindle afire to cook them, when he was a rich man, who could live like hiskinsmen at Hawke's Bay, hire a grand house of the pakeha, and pay whiteservants to do everything for them.
The prospect was an alluring one, but Marileha did not believe anythingwould induce Nga-Hepe to abandon his native hills even for a season.
"Have I not sat in the councils of the pakeha?" argued Kakiki. "Do Inot see our people giving place to theirs? The very rat they havebrought over seas drives away our kiore [the native rat], and we see himno more. Have I not ever said, Let your young lord and first-born goamongst them, that he may learn their secret and hold his own in manhoodagainst them?"
"I have learned it," put in Whero: "it is 'work.' Was it for this,mother, you sent a pakeha to dig up the bag we buried by the whitepines?"
Marileha hushed her son as she glanced nervously around, for none of herMaori companions must know of the existence of that bag.
"Foolish boy," she said softly, "what pakeha had we to send? The bag issafe where we hid it; no one but you or I could find it."
"Then it is stolen," exclaimed Whero, "for the bag is gone."
They questioned him closely. How had he discovered that the bag wasgone? As they walked away to find Nga-Hepe, the old patriarch laid hishand on his daughter's arm, remarking in a low aside. which was notintended for Whero's ear, as he did not wish to excite hisindignation,--
"It is the farmer's son who has had it; no one else knew of it. Our ownpeople cannot help in this matter; we must go to the pakeha chiefs."
In the meantime, whilst Whero was disclosing the loss of the buriedtreasure, Edwin was marching over the waste by Mr. Hirpington's side.The heavy load they had to carry when they left the boat made them veryslow; but on they toiled to the foot of the hill, when Mr. Hirpington'sready "coo" brought Hal to their assistance.
He looked very white and trembling--a mere ghost of his former self.Mr. Hirpington could hardly recognize him. He was down in heart aswell, for his pipe, his sole remaining solace, had burned out justhalf-an-hour before he heard the welcome "coo" at the foot of the hill.
For a moment the two men stood regarding each other as men regard thesurvivals of a dread catastrophe.
"Lord bless you, sir," said Hal. "I never thought to see you again,looking so hale and hearty."
"Don't talk about looks, Hal. Why, you are but a walking skeleton!"exclaimed Mr. Hirpington. "But cheer up," he added,--"the worst is over;we shall pull ourselves together now. Lend a hand with this basket upthe steep."
The climb before them was something formidable to the genial speaker.
Edwin was already lost to view beneath the overhanging wall of rockwhich shadowed the cleft. They had trodden down a pathway through thefern; but the ascent was blocked by Beauty, who seemed resolute to upsetthe load on Edwin's head, as he had upset the board in the bush. Invain did Edwin apostrophize him, and thunder out a succession of "whoas"and "backs," and "Stand you still, you stupid, or you will roll meover." It was all of no use. He was obliged to shunt his burden on tothe heap of stones; and Beauty, with a neigh of delight, came a littlecloser, so that he too might rub his nose against Edwin's cheek.
"Don't you mean to let me pass, you silly old fellow? Well, then, Iwon't turn baker's boy any more; and what I want to carry I'll carry onmy back, as you do. There!"
But Edwin at last seized Beauty by the forelock, and forcing him to oneside, squeezed by.
"Edwin!" called his father, and a feeble hand was lifted to beckon himnearer, "what are you bringing?"
"Pillows, father, pillows," he cried, as he stumbled over the twistedroots, half blinded by the sombre gloom beneath those giant trees wherehis father was lying. Edwin slipped out of his sandwich with exceedingcelerity. A pillow was under the poor aching head in another minute,and a second propping the bruised shoulders, and Edwin stood by hisfather, smiling with the over-brimming joy of a grand success.
Then he denuded himself of the blanket, which he had been wearing like aHighlander's plaid, and wrapped it over the poor unfortunate, crampingin the bleak mountain air with cold and hunger.
"Father," he went on cheerily, "the worst is over. Mr. Hirpington ishere. He has come to see after you."
"Too late, too late," moaned Mr. Lee. "I fear I am done for. Theactivity of my days is over, Edwin; and what remains to us?"
"We don't know yet, father," answered the boy, gravely. "I'm young andever so strong, and if I've only got you to tell me what to do, I can doa lot."
"But, Edwin, have you seen anything of my belt?" asked Mr. Lee,collecting his
wandering thoughts.
Edwin shook his head.
"What has become of it?" repeated the sick man nervously, as Mr.Hirpington appeared above the stones. Edwin went to meet him, and togather together the remainder of his load, which he had left for Beautyto inspect at will.
"A horse up here!" exclaimed Mr. Hirpington. "He must have the feet andknees of a goat."
"I think he has," answered Edwin, backing his favourite to a respectfuldistance as Mr. Hirpington stepped on to the top of the hill, pantingand puffing from the toilsomeness of the long ascent.
He looked around him bewildered, and followed Edwin into the dimrecesses beyond the gloomy colonnade of trees, whose hoary age wasbeyond their reckoning.
"I am the most miserable of men!" he exclaimed, as he stooped over hisprostrate friend, and clasped the hand which had saved him at such acost. "How do I find you?"
"Alive," answered Mr. Lee, "and likely to live, a burden--"
"No, no, father," interposed Edwin.
"Don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Hirpington, winking hard to get rid of acertain moisture about the eyelids very unusual to him. "To think how Ihave been living in clover all these days whilst you were lying here, itunmans me. But where on earth are you bivouacking? in a charnel-house?"He ceased abruptly with a shudder, as he discovered it was a human skullhe was crushing beneath the heel of his boot.
Hal was busy with the basket, and Edwin ran off to his assistance.
"Sit down, Hal, and begin to eat," urged Edwin. "Now I have come backlet me see after father."
But the sight of the longed-for food was too much for the old man. Hebegan to cry like a child.
If the first glance into the full basket had been more than poor Halcould bear, the first taste was a sight from which Mr. Hirpington had toturn away. The one great object before him and Edwin was to get the twoto eat, for the starving men seemed at first to refuse the food theywere craving for; in fact they could hardly bear it. Mr. Lee put backthe cold meat and bread, unable to swallow more; so Edwin at once turnedstoker, and lit up a jolly fire of sticks and drying roots.
"We must get them something hot," said Mr. Hirpington, opening one ofthe many tins of soup which he had brought with him. Soon the savourycontents of the steaming kettle brought back a shadow of Englishcomfort.
Mr. Hirpington had passed many a night of camping out before he settleddown at the ford, and he set to work like an old hand. The canvas ofthe tent was stretched from tree to tree and well pegged down, so as toform a screen on the windward side. The dry moss and still drier fernthat could be collected about the brow of the hill where Beauty wasranging, were brought in and strewed over the gnarled and twisted roots,until they gained a warm and comparatively level floor, with anexcrescence here and there which served them for a seat. The basket washung up to preserve its remaining contents from the inspection ofcentipedes and crawling things, for which Edwin as yet had nonomenclature.
Then the men pulled up their collars to their ears, set their backsagainst the wind, lit a well-filled pipe, and laid their plans. Thetransfer of Mr. Hirpington's tobacco-pouch to Hal's pocket had broughtback a gleam of sunshine--wintry sunshine, it must be confessed; but whocould look for more? Mr. Lee, too, was undeniably better. The shakehis brains had received was going over. He was once more able to listenand understand.
"I have telegraphed to Auckland," explained Mr. Hirpington. "I shallhave my store of corrugated iron by the next coaster, and Middleton'sbarge will bring it up to the ford. Thank God for our waterways, thereis no stoppage there! I have always kept to the river. But, oldfriend, before we mend up my own house we must get a roof over yourhead. There is not a man under me who will not be eager to help us atthat; and we cannot do much to the road until the mud hardensthoroughly, so for once there will be help to be had. We are booked forthe night up here; but to-morrow I propose to take your boy with me, andgo over to your place and see the state it is in. A wooden house standsa deal of earthquaking. Edwin thinks it was the chimney came down. Wemust put you up an iron one. You have plenty of timber ready felled tomend the roof, and rushes are growing to hand. It is only the work thathas to be done, and we all know how to work in New Zealand."
"Oh ay," chimed in old Hal; "most on us sartinly do, and this littlechap ain't no foreigner there."
He was already nodding. The comforting influences of the soup and thepipe were inviting the return of "tired nature's sweet restorer."By-and-by he slipped from his seat upon the soft moss, and was lost toevery trouble in balmy sleep. Edwin covered him up, feeling rich in thepossession of a blanket for every one of the party.
The wintry twilight was gathering round them, cold and chill. Theskeleton of the bird monster rattled and shook, and gleamed in spectralwhiteness between the blackness of the shadows flung by the interlacingboughs. A kiore working amongst the dry bones seemed to impart asemblance of life to them which effectually banished sleep from Mr.Hirpington, who persuaded Edwin to come closer to him, declaring the boylooked frightened; and well he might, for who but a clod could lay hishead on such a floor?
Assured at last that Hal was lost to all outward perception, Mr. Leewhispered the story of his loss. The belt was gone--taken from himwhilst he was unconscious. No doubt about that. Mr. Hirpingtondescribed the state in which he found his house--the three sackfulsready to be carried off. Edwin thought he had better tell his fathernow of the digging up of Whero's treasure.
"There is a thief amongst us," said Mr. Hirpington, "and suspicionpoints to the gang of rabbiters."
"No, not to Hal," interposed Mr. Lee; "not to all. We may yet find thebelt."
He was growing excited and restless. He had talked too much.
"I must have this matter over with Dunter," was Mr. Hirpington'sconclusion, when he saw how unable poor Mr. Lee was to bear anylengthened conversation. Before they settled to sleep he charged Edwinto be very careful, and not let any alteration in his manner put the oldman on his guard.
The three arose in the gray of the morning with renewed energy. To takeBeauty to water, to light a fire and prepare a breakfast in the solitaryfastness, left scant time for any further discussion. But secondthoughts told Mr. Lee that in such strange circumstances loss was almostinevitable. If his belt had been taken off when his leg was set, itmight have been dropped in the all-surrounding mud and never missed.
"True, true," answered Mr. Hirpington, and leaving Mr. Lee to his son'scare, he strolled across to the fire, where Hal was brewing the morningcoffee, and began to question him about the accident--how and where thetree fell. But no new light was thrown upon the loss. It was hopelessto dig about in the mud, supposing Mr. Lee's last surmise to be correct.He determined to ride Beauty to the ford and look round the scene of thedisaster with Edwin.
The day was well up when he stepped across the sunken fence which usedto guard his own domain, and found Dunter fixing a pail at the end ofthe boat-hook to facilitate the bailing out of the mud.
The Maori boy had deserted him, he said, and a fellow single-handedcould do little good at work like his. No one else had been near theplace. He had kept his watch-fire blazing all night as the best scareto depredators. In Dunter's opinion prevention was the only cure. Withso many men wandering homeless about the hills, and with so manyrelief-parties marching up in every direction, there was sure to beplenty of pilfering, but who could track it home?
The hope of discovering the belt appeared to grow less and less.
"What shall we do without the money?" lamented Edwin, as he continuedhis journey with his father's friend. "Trouble seems to followtrouble."
"It does," said Mr. Hirpington; "for one grows out of another. But youhave not got it all, my boy; for my land, which would have sold for apound an acre last Saturday week, is not worth a penny with all thisdepth of volcanic mud upon it. Nothing can grow. But when we get toyour father's, where the deposit is only a few inches deep, we shallfind the land immensely improved. It will have doubled its value."
As they drew nearer to the little valley the road grew better. The mudhad dried, and the fern beneath it was already forcing its way throughthe crust. The once sparkling rivulet was reduced to a muddy ditch,choked with fallen trees and stones, which the constant earthquaking hadshaken down from the sides of the valley.
Beauty took his way to the familiar gate, and neighed. Edwin jumpeddown and opened it. All was hopeful here, as Mr. Hirpington hadpredicted. The ground might have been raised a foot, but the house hadnot been changed into a cellar. The daylight shone through the windows,broken as they were. The place was deluged, not entombed.
"You might return to-morrow," said Mr. Hirpington. "This end of thehouse is uninjured."
The chimney was down, it was true, the sleeping-rooms were demolished,but the workshop and storeroom were habitable. Whilst Mr. Hirpingtonconsidered the roof, Edwin ran round and peeped in at the brokenwindows. Dirt and confusion reigned everywhere, but no trace as yet ofunwelcome visitors. A feeble mew attracted his attention, and Effie'skitten popped up its little head from the fallen cupboard in which ithad evidently been exploring. It was fat and well. An unroofed pantryhad been its hunting-ground; not the little room at the other end of theveranda, but a small latticed place which Mr. Lee had made to keep theuncooked meat in. The leg of a wild pig and a brace of kukas or wildpigeons, about twice the size of their English namesake, were stillhanging on the hooks where Audrey had left them.
The leg of pork had been nibbled all round, and the heads were torn fromthe pigeons.
"Lucky Miss Kitty," said Edwin. "We thought you had got the freedom ofthe bush, and here you've been living in luxury whilst the rest of theworld was starving. Come; you must go shares, you darling!"
It clawed up the wall, and almost leaped into his arms, to be coveredwith kisses and deafened with promises which were shouted out in the joyof his heart, until Mr. Hirpington began to wonder what had happened.
"My boy, have you gone quite crazy?" he exclaimed. "Why don't you lookafter your horse? you will lose him!"
Edwin looked round, and saw Beauty careering up the side of the valley.He shut the kitten carefully into the workshop. Mr. Hirpington had justgot the other door open, and came out to assist in recalling Beauty tohis duty.
Edwin started off after his horse; but he had not gone far when he wasaware of another call, to which his Beauty paid more heed than he seemeddisposed to show to Edwin's reiterated commands to come back.
The call was in Maori, and in a few minutes Nga-Hepe himself emergedfrom the bush and seized the horse by the forelock.
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 16
