*CHAPTER XX.*
*JUST IN TIME.*
"What an ass Lawford must have been not to put on father's belt! If hehad, we could not have got it away from him," said Edwin, as the twoseated themselves on the sunny bank and unpacked the swag. Whero tookout the precious bag, slung it round his own neck, and concealed itunder his shirt. Edwin claimed his father's belt, and as he shook offthe mud and dirt which had accumulated upon it during its sojourn inLawford's pocket, he saw why the man had been unable to wear it. In hishaste to get it off Mr. Lee whilst he lay unconscious, he had not waitedto unbuckle it, for fear Hal should see him. He had taken out hispocket-knife and ripped it open. This helped to get it into hispossession, and helped him to lose it too. The apparent gain wasnothing but the earnest-money of the self-sought calamity which drovehim a beggar from the gangway of the San Francisco mail before manymonths were over.
As the boys weighed the weight of coin in their hands, they noddedsignificantly at each other. No wonder it wore Lawford's old pocketsinto holes before the end of his journey. Reluctant as he must havebeen, he was forced to buy his swag at one or other of the would-betownships, with their fine names, which dot the lower reaches of thebush road. They turned the poor unlucky bit of oil-cloth over and overwith contempt and loathing, and finally kicked it into the river. Edwinfolded his father's belt together, and once more resuming his ownjacket--to the great satisfaction of the kaka--he changed the belt intoa breastplate, and buttoned his jacket tightly over it.
To get back to the ford as quickly as they could was now their chiefdesire. It was aggravating--it was enough to make a fellow feel mad allover--to think that Effie and Cuthbert and the Bowens had passed themjust that little bit too soon. Edwin grew loud in his regrets. Audreywould have called it crying over spilt milk. He could do nothing butthink of Audrey and her philosophical proverbs. To practise thepatience which was their outcome was a little more difficult. To sitdown where they were and wait for the next steamer up stream to helpthem on their way was tantalizing indeed, when nobody could tell whatmight be taking place at the ford at that very moment.
But they had not long to wait, for the sight of a Maori boy, a Hau-Haufrom the King country, in the heart of the hills, had a specialattraction for every New Zealander coming from the coast. All werebreathless for the particulars of the dire eruption, which hadoverwhelmed their sunny vales, and changed their glassy lakes to Stygianpools.
Not a sailor who could pull a rope, not a passenger lounging on its tinydeck, would willingly forego the chance of hearing something definiteand detailed. The steamer stopped, and the man at the wheel askedeagerly for news, any more news from the doomed hills, looming gaunt andgray in the dim distance.
No sooner did they touch the deck than the two boys found themselves thecentre of an earnest questioning group, athirst for the latestintelligence. It was a grave responsibility for both of them. Theychose to remain on deck, keeping as near to the master of the vessel asthey could without attracting attention. For each one knew that he wascarrying his father's hoard, and their recent experiences made themregard the rough appearance of most of the men around them withmistrust.
It was a secret belief with both the boys that they were safer alone intheir canoe; but Whero's strength was expended. He leaned on Edwin'sarm for support, and was only restrained from falling into one of hiscat-like dozes by the fear that another thievish hand might steal awayhis treasure while he slept. They could not return as they came; restand food must be had.
A coil of rope provided the one, and the steward promised the other.But before the boys were permitted to taste the dinner so freelyoffered, Edwin had to describe afresh the strange and startlingphenomena appearing on that night of terror, which rumour with herdouble tongue could scarcely magnify. He described them as only aneye-witness, with the horror of the night still over him, could describethem; and the men stood round him spell-bound. All the while his wordswere painting the vivid scenes, his thoughts were debating the verypractical question, "Ought I, or ought I not, to spend some of father'smoney, now I have got it back, and buy more meat and flour and cheese tocarry home?" He thought of the widespread dearth, and he knew that thelittle store he had found unhurt at the valley farm might all be gone onhis return, and yet he was afraid to venture with the wealth of gold hehad about him into doubtful places. No, he dare not risk it again.They must trust for to-morrow's bread.
When they quitted the steamer the short wintry day had long passed itsnoon, and the wind blew cold around them as they returned to the openboat. Edwin was rowing now; for when they drew nearer to the hills, bothhe and Whero agreed that he must lie down again beneath the rushes. Thekaka had hidden its head under its wing when the exchange was made. Theweary Maori boy could scarcely make his way against roaring wind andrushing water. They were long in getting as far as the ravine where thetiny kainga nestled.
Whero moored his canoe in a little cleft of the rock, where it wasconcealed from view, and landed alone. Edwin's heart beat fast when heheard light steps advancing to the water's edge. His hand was cold asthe ice congealing on the duck-weed as a dusky face peered round theledge of rock and smiled. It was Marileha.
"Good food make Ingarangi boy anew," she said, putting into Edwin's handa steaming kumara, or purple-coloured Maori potato. Whilst he waseating it Whero brought round a larger "dug-out," used now by hisfather. It was piled with savoury-smelling roasted pig, newly-bakedcakes of dirty-looking Maori wheat, with roasted wekas or winglessmoor-hens hanging in pairs across a stick. Like a wise woman, Marilehahad spent the day in providing the savoury meat much loved by one shewanted to propitiate.
"They have not yet come back," said Whero, beckoning to Edwin to joinhim in the larger canoe, where he could be more easily concealed beneaththe mats on which the provisions were laid.
"We are going to take them their supper," added Whero. "When the menare eating I can get my father to hear me; then I put this bag in hishands and tell him all. Then, and not till then, will it be safe foryou to be seen."
"The Ingarangi boy lies safely here," whispered Marileha, smiling, happyin her womanly device for keeping the peace. "My skirt shall cover him.I leave not the canoe. You, Whero, shall take from my hand and carry toyour father the supper we bring to himself and his people."
Edwin guessed what Marileha's anticipation might embrace when he foundhis pillow was a bundle of carefully-prepared flax fibres, envelopinglittle bunches of chips--the splints and bandages of the bush. Edwin hada vision of broken heads and gaping spear-thrusts, and a ride in anambulance after the battle. What had taken place that day?
But the question was shortly answered. They were not bound for thelake, or the ruins of the Rota Pah, but the nearer wreck of theford-house.
His visions grew in breadth and in detail; smoke and fire were darkeningtheir background when the canoe stopped at the familiar boating-stairs.What did he see? A party of dusky-browed and brawny-armed fellows hardat work clearing away the last remains of the overturned stables.
Mr. Hirpington, giving away pipes and tobacco with a lavish hand, waswalking in and out among them, praising the thoroughness of their work,and exhorting them to continue.
"Pull them down," he was repeating. "We will not leave so much as astick or a stone standing. If the bag is there we will have it. Wemust find it."
The emphasis on the "will" and the "must" called forth the ever-readysmiles of the Maori race. Mother and son were radiant.
With a basket of cakes in his hand and a joint of roast-pig on a mat onhis head, Whero marched up the landing-stairs, and went in amongst hiscountrymen as they threw down their tools and declared their work wasdone.
He was talking fast and furiously in his native tongue, with manyoutbursts of laughter at the expense of his auditors. But neither Edwinnor Mr. Hirpington could understand what he was saying, until he flungthe bag at his father's feet with a shout of derision--t
he fifthcommandment being unknown in Maori-land.
Nga-Hepe took up the bag and changed it from hand to hand.
Kakiki Mahane leaned forward and felt its contents. "Stones and dirt,"he remarked, choosing English words to increase the impression.
"Sell it to me, then," put in Mr. Hirpington. "What shall I give you forit? three good horses?"
He held out his hand to receive the bag of many adventures, and then thecunning old chief could be the first to bid Nga-Hepe open it and see.But the remembrance of the tana was too vivid in his son-in-law's mindfor him to wish to display his secreted treasure before the greedy eyesof his tribe. He was walking off to deposit it in Marileha's lap, whenMr. Hirpington intercepted him, saying in a tone of firm control andgood-natured patience, in the happy proportion which gave him hisinfluence over his unmanageable neighbours: "Come now, that is not fair.Untie the bag, and let us see if it has come back to you all right ornot. You have pulled down my stables to find it; who is to build themup again?"
"Give us four horses for the loss of time," said one of the Maoris.
"Agreed, if you will give me five for the mischief you have done me," heanswered readily.
"You can't get over him," said Nga-Hepe. "It is of no use talking."
Kneeling down on the landing-stairs, he opened his treasure on hiswife's now greasy silk, displaying sharks' teeth, gold, bank-notes,greenstone, kauri gum--every precious thing of which New Zealand couldboast. They began to count after their native manner.
Mr. Hirpington stepped aside to Kakiki. "You took my advice andOttley's: you carried your money to the Auckland bank. Make Nga-Hepe dothe same."
"Before another moon is past I will," the old chief answered, graspingthe hand of his trusty counsellor, who replied,--
"It may not be lost and found a second time."
"True, it may not," said the old gray-beard, "if, as he meant to do, hehas killed the finder."
Mr. Hirpington started and turned pale.
"He has not killed the finder," said Marileha, rising with the dignityof a princess; and taking Edwin by the hand, she led him up to Mr.Hirpington. The "Thank God" which trembled on his lips was deep as low.But aloud he shouted, "Dunter, Dunter! here is your bird flown back tohis cage. Chain him, collar him, keep him this time, if you brick himin."
Dunter's hand was on the boy's shoulder in a moment. Edwin held out histo Nga-Hepe, who took the curling feathers from his own head-dress tostick them in Edwin's hair. The boy was stroking the kaka's crimsonbreast. He lifted up his face and shot back the smile of triumph inWhero's eyes, as Dunter hauled him away, exclaiming, "Now I've got you,see if I don't keep you!"
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 20
