CHAPTER II
No. 99,109, R/M Carr
"You can't," said Dick. "For one thing, you are tied to your job;for another, you are not old enough."
"I'll have a jolly good shot at it anyhow," declared Malcolmresolutely. "Plenty of chaps have gone to the front at sixteen orseventeen. Ted Mostyn, for example; he's only eighteen, and he'sback with two buckshees (wounds) already."
"_Kia ora_, then, old chap," exclaimed Selwyn. "I hope you'll pullit off."
Both lads set to work to fit the new inner tube and replacejuggernaut's front off-side wheel. This task completed, Malcolmwashed the dirt and grease from his hands, saddled his horse, andset off for the office of Mr. Hughes, the Head of the WairakatoSurvey.
"Morning, Malcolm!" was that worthy's genial greeting. "Where'sSelwyn? Coming along, is he? That's good. I wanted to see you aboutthat section of pipe-line that has been giving trouble. Did youbring your rough book?"
Not until the matter of the survey had been gone thoroughly into didyoung Carr tackle his principal.
"I want to know," he began, straight to the point, "I if you couldrelease me at noon."
"Certainly!" was the ready response. "The work is well in hand, andI believe you haven't had leave for some months."
"For the duration of the war, I mean," continued Malcolm.
"For the duration of the what?" exclaimed the astonished Hughes."Dash it all, what's the war to do with you? They haven't put you inthe ballot by mistake?"
"No," replied the lad. "It's like this. But perhaps I'd better showyou the governor's letter."
Mr. Hughes read the proffered document.
"I see," he said gravely. "And you wish to avenge your brother?"
"Not avenge--it's duty," corrected Malcolm. "I can't exactlyexplain---- Now Peter's gone----"
"You have no positive information on that point, Malcolm."
"Wounded and missing--that means that there is no longer a member ofour family in the firing-line. I'm seventeen, I'm a sergeant in thecadet corps, physically fit, and all that sort of thing. And I don'tsuppose they'll be too particular as to my age if I forget to saythat I was born somewhere about the year 1900."
The Boss considered for some moments.
"I won't stand in your way, my boy," he said kindly. "After all, theactual work here won't start until after the war. The preliminarysurveys can still go on. All right, Malcolm! jolly good luck and allthat sort of thing, you know. Come and lunch with me before youstart."
The morning passed ever so slowly. Contrary to his usual manner,Malcolm found his thoughts wandering from his work. The desire to beup and doing, to push on with his share in the great adventure,gripped his mind to the exclusion of all other topics. In the ranksof the Dominion lads there was one of many gaps waiting speciallyfor him to fill, and he meant to fill it worthily.
On his way back to the hut, after having lunched with Mr. Hughes,Malcolm encountered a sturdy Maori.
"Hallo, Te Paheka!" he exclaimed. "You're just the man I want tosee. You want another motor-car? All right, come with me toChristchurch, and you can have my blessed car. That's a bargain."
Te Paheka was a typical specimen of a twentieth-century Maori. Hewas a tall, heavily-built, muscular man of about forty-five years ofage, and lived at a _whare_ about three miles from the camp. In hisyouth he had been given a thoroughly sound college education, andhad gone to England in order to graduate. As a scholar he shone; asa business man he was a failure, owing to the fatal and all toocommon trait amongst Maoris of the educated class of pleasure in thespending of money, and, oddly enough, to an inherent tendency torelapse, if only temporarily, to an aboriginal existence.
Te Paheka owned a considerable amount of land. Frequently he soldtracts of ground to settlers, displaying much shrewdness in thevarious transactions. He never went back on his word. To those whodealt fairly and squarely with him he was a stanch friend, but itwas his boast that no white man would have the opportunity ofletting him down a second time.
With the proceeds of the sales Te Paheka would come into the nearestlarge town, and have a right royal time while funds lasted. Usuallyhis weakness in that direction was a motor-car. He had been known togo to the largest dealers in Christ-church and purchase the swiftestcar procurable, drive it at breakneck speed until he collided withsomething, and then sell the remains and retire to his _pah_ untilhe found an opportunity for another exuberance of pecuniaryextravagance. But of late Te Paheka had fallen on hard times. Thewar had hit him badly. With the heavy drain upon New Zealand's manpower and the sudden and marked diminution in the stream ofimmigrants, the opportunities to sell land vanished, and with themthe prospects of buying another motor-car.
Malcolm knew this. He also had found the Maori ready to do him agood turn. On one occasion Te Paheka had extricated the lad from adangerous position during a landslide on the Wairakato Ridge; andnow the chance had arrived to repay the courteous native by makinghim a present of the ancient but still active Juggernaut.
"Would I not?" was Te Paheka's reply to the lad's offer. "Yes, I'lltake great care of her for your sake, Mr. Malcolm. What can I knockout of her--a good fifty?"
"Hardly," replied Malcolm, laughing. The idea of juggernaut amblingalong at nearly a modest mile a minute was too funny. "Come along. Iam starting for home at three o'clock."
"I suppose you'll let me drive?" enquired Te Paheka.
Mental visions of seeing juggernaut toppling over the edge ofHorseshoe Bend, and crashing upon the rock four or five hundred feetbelow, prompted Malcolm to a discreet reply.
"It's my last chance of driving a car for a very long time, TePaheka," he said diplomatically. "You'll be able to do what you likewith her after I get home."
"You lucky bounder!" was Dick Selwyn's greeting when the chums metat the hut. "The Boss is a decent sort. He might very well have putthe tin hat on your suggestion. Shall I lend a hand with your gear?"
"Packed already," announced Malcolm. "All except my .303 rifle andthe greenheart rod. Thought they might come in useful for you, and Idon't suppose I'll need them in a hurry."
With hardly anyone to see him off, excepting a couple of Maori ladswho were employed as messengers, Malcolm, accompanied by Te Paheka,set off on the momentous journey that was to end--where? Perhaps inFrance, perhaps on the high seas. He found himself counting thechances of getting back to New Zealand. Would it be as a wounded,perhaps crippled man, or as a hale and hearty veteran after thatstill remote day when peace is to be declared, and German militarismcrushed once and for all time?
Without incident the lad brought the car to a standstill in themarket-place of Christchurch. Te Paheka, torn between the desire torun away with his new gift and to wish his white friend farewell and_kia ora_ in a manner worthy of a dignified and old-standing Maorigentleman, looked like prolonging the leave-taking ceremonyindefinitely, until he leave-taking happened to see the tail-end ofa Napier racing car disappearing round the corner.
"There's Tom Kaiwarawara with his new motor, Malcolm!" he exclaimed,making a dash for juggernaut's steering-wheel. "Golly, I'll catchhim up or bust. _Kia ora_, Malcolm."
And the last the lad saw of juggernaut was the car cutting round asharp corner at a good twenty-five miles an hour, whilst pedestriansscattered right and left to avoid being run down.
"I'll see Te Paheka's name in the papers before a week's up," musedjuggernaut's late owner. "Either in the police-court intelligence orin the inquest reports."
"I am not at all surprised at your decision, Malcolm," said hisfather, when the lad had reported the progress of his quick yetcarefully considered project. "I can see that you are resolved, andon that account I won't stand in your way. After all's said anddone, you are likely to make a far more efficient soldier than somemen I know who have had to go. And the old adage 'a volunteer isworth two pressed men' still holds good. Unless a man has his heartin his work he's not likely to shine at his job."
Two hours later Malcolm Carr duly enlisted, and for many a day hisoffi
cial designation was to be No. 99,109, Rifleman Carr, N.Z. RifleBrigade.
A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front Page 2
