The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 91

The Maori looked at him inquiringly.

"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.

"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."

He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.

"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."

"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"

He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati s.n.a.t.c.hed it away.

"No, no!" he cried sharply, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the other away.

"Pig!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."

But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.

"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"

"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."

So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.

This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.

"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"

"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.

"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."

Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre.

The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.

Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.

"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."

"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."

"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.

"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."

"Let me take the first watch, Jem."

"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."

"Call me then, at the end of an hour."

"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.

"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow.

These here baths don't do one's watch any good."

"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."

"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"

"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."

And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.

"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm?

Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please G.o.d save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

AN UNTIRING ENEMY.

Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rus.h.i.+ng waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike.

Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.

Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.

"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."

The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails.

The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the b.u.t.t and then came nearer.

"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"

He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.

"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"

"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.

"Me? What, already? Lie down?"

"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.

"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way.

It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."