CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.
DON HAS A HEADACHE.
"Escaped from the Maoris, and then from a party of men you think wererunaway convicts?" said the broad-shouldered, sturdy occupant of thelittle farm which they reached just at dusk. "Ah, well, we can talkabout that to-morrow, my lads. It's enough for me that you areEnglishmen. Come in."
"I cannot leave our friend," said Don quietly, as he laid his hand onNgati's arm.
"What, the savage!" said the farmer, rubbing his ear. "Well, we--oh, ifhe's your friend, that's enough."
They had no occasion to complain of the hospitality, for the farmer, whohad been settled there, with a few companions only, for about fouryears, was but too glad to see fresh faces, and with a delicacy hardlyto be expected from one leading so rough a life he refrained from askingany questions.
Don was glad, for the next morning he rose with a peculiar achingsensation in the head, accompanied by alternate fits of heat and cold.
The next day he was worse, but he kept it to himself, laughing it offwhen they noticed that he did not eat his breakfast, and, to avoidfurther questioning, he went out after a time to wander up the valleyinto the shady woodland and among the tree-ferns, hoping that the restand cool shadowy calm of the primaeval forest would prove restful andrefreshing.
The day was glorious, and Don lay back listening to the cries of thebirds, dreaming of home, and at times dozing off to sleep after hisrestless night.
His head ached terribly, and was confused, and at times, as he lay backresting against a tuft of fern, he seemed to be back at Bristol; then inan instant he thought he must be in the Maoris' _pah_, wondering whetherthere could be any truth in Jem's fancies as to why they were beingkept.
Then there was a dull time of blank weariness, during which he sawnothing, till he seemed to be back in the convicts' lurking-place, andhe saw Mike Bannock thrusting his head out from among the leaves, hisface brown and scarred, and eyes glistening, as he looked from place toplace.
It was all so real that Don expected to see the scoundrel step out intothe open, followed by his two companions.
And this did happen a few minutes later. Mike Bannock, armed with aheavy club, and followed by his two brothers in crime, crept out. Thenit seemed to be no longer the convicts' home, and Don started from hisdreamy state, horrified at what he saw, for the scoundrels had not seenhim, and were going cautiously toward the little settlement, whoseoccupants were all away hunting, fishing, and attending to their crops.Don alone was close at hand, and he in so semi-delirious and helpless astate, that when he tried to rise he felt as if it would be impossibleto warn his friends of their danger, and prevent these ruffians frommaking their descent upon the pleasant little homes around.
An acute pain across the brows made Don close his eyes, and when here-opened them his head was throbbing, his mind confused, and as helooked hastily round, and could see nothing but the beautiful verdantscene, he felt that he had been deceived, and as if the figures that hadpassed out of the dense undergrowth had been merely creatures of hisimagination.
He still gazed wildly about, but all was peaceful, and not a sound savethe birds' notes fell upon the ear.
"It must have been fancy," he thought. "Where is Jem?"
He sank back again in a strangely excited state, for the idea that, inhis fleeing to this peaceful place, he had been the means of bringingthree desperate men to perhaps rob, and murder, and destroy, where allwas repose and peace, was too terrible to bear.
One minute he was certain that it was all fancy, just as he had dreamedagain and again of Mike and his ruffianly companions; the next he was assure that what he had seen was real.
"I'll go and find some one," he said hastily; and, rising feebly to hisfeet, he set off for the farm, but only to catch wildly at the trees tosave himself from falling.
The vertigo passed off as quickly as it came on.
"How absurd!" he said, with a faint laugh. "A moment's giddiness.That's all."
He started again, but everything sailed round, and he sank upon theearth with a groan to try and make out whether it was all fancy or adream.
In a moment he seemed to be back at home with a bad headache, and hismother passing softly to and fro, while Kitty, full of sympathy, keptsoaking handkerchiefs in vinegar and water to cool his heated brow.
Then, as he lay with his eyes tightly closed, Uncle Josiah came into theroom, and laid his hand pityingly upon his shoulder.
Don gazed up at him, to see that it was Ngati's hideously tattooedcountenance close to his, and he looked up confused and wondering at thegreat chief.
Then the recollection of the convicts came back, and a spasm of horrorshot through his brain.
If it was true, what would happen at the little farm?
He raised himself upon his elbow, and pointed in the direction of thehouse.
"Ngati," he said excitedly, "danger!"
The chief looked at him, then in the direction in which he pointed; buthe could understand nothing, and Don felt as if he were trying to getsome great dog to comprehend his wishes.
He had learned scores of Maori words, but now that he wanted to usethem, some would not come, and others would not fit.
"Ngati!" he cried again piteously, as he pointed toward the farm,"pakehas--bad pakehas."
The chief could understand pakehas--white men, but he was rather hazyabout bad, whether it did not mean good, and he gave a low grunt.
"Bad pakehas. Fight. Jem," panted Don.
Ngati could see that something was wrong, but in his mind it seemed tobe connected with his English friend's health, and he laid his hand uponDon's burning brow.
"Bad pakehas--go!" cried Don. "What shall I do? How am I to make himunderstand? Pakehas. Jem. Help!"
At that Ngati seemed to have a glimmering of what his companion meant,and nodding quickly, he went off at a trot toward the farm.
"He'll bring some one who can understand," said Don to himself; and thenhe began to feel that, after all, it was a dream consequent upon hisbeing so ill, and he lay back feeling more at ease, but only to jump upand stare wildly toward where the farm lay.
For, all at once, there rose a shout, and directly after a shot washeard, followed by another and another.
Then all was still for a few minutes, till, as Don lay gazing wildlytoward where he had seen Ngati disappear, he caught sight of a stoopingfigure, then of another and another, hurrying to reach cover; and as herecognised the convicts, he could make out that each man carried a gun.
He was holding himself up by grasping the bough of a tree, and gazingwildly at Mike and his brutal-looking friends; but they were looking inthe direction of the farm as they passed, and they did not see him.
Then the agonising pain in his head seemed to rob him of the power tothink, and he sank back among the ferns.
Don had some consciousness of hearing voices, and of feeling handstouching him; but it was all during a time of confusion, and when helooked round again with the power to think, he was facing a tinyunglazed window, the shutter which was used to close it standing below.
He was lying on a rough bed formed of sacking spread over dried fernleaves, and the shed he was in had for furniture a rough table formed bynailing a couple of pieces of board across a tub, another tub with partof the side sawn out formed an armchair; and the walls were ornamentedwith bunches of seeds tied up and hung there for preservation, a saddleand bridle, and some garden tools neatly arranged in a corner.
Don lay wondering what it all meant, his eyes resting longest upon theopen window, through which he could see the glorious sunshine, and theleaves moving in the gentle breeze.
He felt very happy and comfortable, but when he tried to raise his headthe effort was in vain, and this set him wondering again, till he closedhis eyes and lay thinking.
Suddenly he unclosed them again to lie listening, feeling the while thathe had been asleep, for close beside him there was some one whistling ina very low tone--quite a whisper of a whi
stle--a familiar oldSomersetshire melody, which seemed to carry him back to the sugar yardat Bristol, where he had heard Jem whistle that tune a score of times.
This set him thinking of home, his mother, and Cousin Kitty. Then ofstern-looking Uncle Josiah, who, after all, did not seem to have beenunkind.
"Poor Mas' Don! Will he ever get well again?" a voice whispered closeto his ear.
"Jem!"
"Oh, Mas' Don! Oh! Oh! Oh! Thank the great Lord o' mussy. Amen!Amen! Amen!"
There was the sound of some one going down heavily upon his knees, apair of clasped hands rested on Don's breast; and, as he turned his eyessidewise, he could see the top of Jem's head as the bed shook, and therewas the sound of some one sobbing violently, but in a choking, smotheredway.
"Jem! Is that you? What's the matter?" whispered Don feebly.
"And he says, `What's the matter?'" cried Jem, raising his head, andbending over Don. "Dear lad, dear lad; how are you now?"
"Quite well, thank you, Jem, only I can't lift up my head."
"And don't you try, Mas' Don. Oh, the Lord be thanked! The Lord bethanked!" he muttered. "What should I ha' done?"
"Have--have I been ill, Jem?"
"I'll, Mas' Don? Why, I thought you was going to die, and no doctor,not even a drop of salts and senny to save your life."
"Oh, nonsense, Jem! I never thought of doing such a thing! Ah, Iremember now. I felt poorly. My head was bad."
"Your head bad? I should think it was bad. Dear lad, what stuff youhave been saying."
"Have I, Jem? What, since I lay down among the ferns this morning?"
"This morning, Mas' Don! Why, it's close upon a month ago."
"What?"
"That's so, my lad. We come back from cutting wood to find you lyingunder a tree, and when we got here it was to find poor old `my pakeha'with a shot-hole in him, and his head all beaten about with big clubs."
"Oh, Jem!"
"That's so, Mas' Don."
"Is he better?"
"Oh, yes; he's getting better. I don't think you could kill him. Sorto' chap that if you cut him to pieces some bit or another would be sureto grow again."
"Why, it was Mike Bannock and those wretches, Jem."
"That's what we thought, my lad, but we couldn't find out. It was someone, and whoever it was took away three guns."
"I saw them, Jem."
"You see 'em?"
"Yes, as I lay back with my head so bad that I couldn't be sure."
"Ah, well, they found us out, and they've got their guns again; but theygive it to poor Ngati awful."
Just then the window was darkened by a hideous-looking face, whichdisappeared directly. Then steps were heard, and the great chief camein, bending low to avoid striking his head against the roof till hereached the rough bedside, where he bent over Don, and patted himgently, saying softly, "My pakeha."