FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1676, 13 April 1904, Page 3

FICTION.

BY OWEN HALL.

A FIGHT TO A FINISH. * „ A STORY OF THE MAORI WAR.

CHAPTER 111. A DECLARATION OF WAR. Xfc took ms the best pa.it of two hours to get back to Matakohe. We were rather a -silent party, for D*ck didn’t seem to care to talk much, and as far ins I had seen Ropata never did talk unless he was spoken to first. I iiad asked Dick one or two questions, but ho had seemed to be so occupied with his own thoughts that I hadn’t pressed him, but merely kept my place in the Indian file in which we followed the track which led down the - stream tilil at last wo reached the end of the little valley in ~.whioh the Maori village had been built, aind them across a succession of ridges skirting the forest land till me got home to the farm. . . _ Wiieln we came to the gate Dick stopped and looked back at Ropata, who way following me perhaps fifty yards away. Hie didn’t hurry liimself, but as ho .came up Dick hailed him: r ‘'Rcpaha come Matakohe havekorero?” His' eyes rested thoughtfully on Dick, I thought, for a moment.before he answered; then he said: tT&iboa, Ropato come korero Tika. By and by plenty dark. . Ropata go kaiamga. now.” Ho didn’t wait for any further invitation. but turned away from the gat© at which Dick and I were standing, and walked on. in the direction of his own village, which lay beyond the next ridge in the hollow. -i “Wlia-t does it all mean. Dick?” I asked my companion, as we closed the gate and walked towards the house, which stood' on the rising ground about a quarter of a mile away. “Why do you suppose Ropata wouldn’t come now ? He knew he. would get something to eat, and if he was half as hungry as I am after liis tramp he must have been ready for it.” ' “'He wants- to see what his own people are going to do, I suspect—perhaps to* tell them what he saw over at old TEmati’s village.” - -Wiry, Dick, what do you suppose ho saw there?” “The same that you and I saw, I suppose, and very likely other tilings we didn’t see.” “You mean the men we saw in the chief’s wliaro cleaning the guns?” “'Yes, : and the fact that they ha,ve seat away the children somewhere, and that they didn’t mean us to know the man had come back from tiro korero.” ••'Why didn’t they stop us from going up to-the big -hut then, Dick? lit would have been easy enough to do that, would it not?” & “Yes,” Dick said, “I suppose it would, but somehow' it doesn’t seem to be the Maori " way of doing things. I don’t think they are cunning; their nature seems rather to be bold. They might be fierce andi cruel enough in war, but I can’t fancy them- treacherous and ouinining. I liav.e no doubt they were vexed •wo came, and more nexed yet -that we saw what they were doing, because they know that of -course we should let the authorities know about it. Redskins would, I fancy, haSV© made an end of us at once, and so* kept the secret till! they were ready to strike, but the Maori would never think of- that, I pm sure.” “But, Dick,” I said, “how do you suppose they will let us know when they are really going to fight ? They can’t do it like civilised nations do, yon know.” r ' “I was just wondering,” he said. “But I fancy we shall see before long. They v mean fighting, I’m sure, or they wouldn’t •have sent the children away. I had no idea they had so many guns, Jack. As far as I could* see at a glance, every man of them , ill, .the whare had a gun of . some sort.” We had uncaused outely hurried our steps as we were talking, and as. Dick spoke he opened the garden' gate and ran forward to where he .saw his father standing on the steps of the broad verandah apparently waiting for us. “I’m glad to see you hack again, boys,” he said. “I’ve just beard it- is rumoured •that the korero up at Ngaruawahia has ended in the Maoris deciding to fight. If this should!, be true I shouldn’t feel comfortable about your mother and sister out here. We'shall be a_ good deal too near the Maori villages tio: be safe. Get' something to eat, and then you had better rid© into town and find out What truth there is in the story—most likely it’s only a story.” Ais we went in Dick told his father ‘ where we had! been, add what we had seen. My' uhole’s face grew grave as he listened. “Well, boys,” he said “there’s all the - more reason you should make haste. This -may be news to the military aiutohoiritlies, and 'they should certainly know. While you get something to eat I'll write a line to the Governor telling

him what' you observed, and I’ll have the horses got ready. I suppose,” he added-, looking at me, fi you’d ! both like to go?” Of course I said yes, and in less than ten minutes we had snatched a hasty mealL and were ready. “Quarter past one, boys,” my uncle said, looking at his watch as we mounted. “You should do- it by half-past^three with the horses as fresh as they are today. See they have a feed and water, ■Dick, while you go to Government House with the let,ter. and you should get back by seven o’clock at the latest. We shall be looking for you. anxiously you know, though I shall not tell your mother the news you brought.” I wias fond cf riding, and Dick was a first-rate horseman; the t orses, as my uncle had said!, were in high -spirits, and were capital horses besides, so I need hardly say we lost no- time. W© had no opportunity for talking, but I hardly missed that, there was so much that was new and interesting to be seen. We rode through .one of the pensioner villages, as Diok called it, where every neat little house had its acre of orchard and garden around it. Di-ok had told mo before that there wore four of these villages lying in. almost- a. semi-oiroie round the city of Auckland, which was the capital of the -colony. They had been established fully twelve years before to protect the settlement from possible attack, and were inhabited by retired soldiers of the British army, who had pensions and received the gift -.of their houses and acres of land on condition of living •there and being available for active service when needed. Matakiohe was more than as fair again away from the capital as these villages, because settlement had spread as more land was bought from the natives by the Government, and more people came out from England every year, but it was some satisfaction to me to think of that inner line -of defence that would be '.available if the worst came to the worst. There were no signs of excitement either in the military village we passed through, or in Auckland itself when we got there, and it wasn’t till wo had put up the horses at an inn, and gone up the hill that Dick might -deliver Ids letter at Government House, that I saw ainy signs of military preparations. Dick had pointed me out the gate into the barrack square, and I went in while he went to Government House, which was close at hand. The square was a wide space cf intensely green grass, around the outside limits of which, near the high stone wall that surrounded' it on every side, were the barracks and stores and officers of the garrison. There were some so-ld-iens in rad moving about here and there near the buildings, but. what interested me most was the parties of mein, dressed in all sorts of costumes from ordinary -coats, such as clerks wear, to- blue shirts aud moleskins, the usual dress of labourers. Half a dozen parties of men like these were being -drilled by officers in very quiet uniforms, like the undress uniforms -of the regular army, so I had no doubt they were local militia or volunteers. - I found plenty to amuse me, so that I was astonished, when Diok found me at last*, to hear him say, “Well. Jack, here I -am at last; you must have thought I- was never earning. I’ve been, making tlhiu acquaintance of all the big-bugs in the place-. “Why, you haven’t been long, Dick.” I said! in alll good faith. “I’m glad you think so, Jack; but if we’re to get home by seven we must be moving. It’ll bo dark in ha-lf-an-hour.” It was .a fact, as I found when I began to look around me and in spite of all we claiuid do* we- found ourselves, after a very hard ride along roads that wore more than indifferent- in the dark of the winter’s night, at last at. ' the stable yard at Matakohe, where our man William was waiting for us with a lantern. “Well, boys, I began, to think something -had detained you,” was our greeting, as my uncle came out at the sound of our horses’ hoofs, to welcome us back. “We couldn’t get away - a minute sooner, father,” Dick said, as we handed over the horses to William and followed him to the house; “the Governor, when he had read y our letter, insisted on my seeing. Gen oral Oaineroh and telling him all I knew about it.” .“Well,* C I have T>een wishing you had been here. William tells me that. Maori lad Ropata you think so much of has been here twice sincto you went to see you, and the blockhead of a fellow never told me till he had gone the second time, or .of course I should have tried to find out what ho wanted.; it may have been something important-.” Dick stopped and looked at liis father. “Don’t you think I had better try to find 1 my way down to Ropata’s* kaianga; it may have been something very unportalnb, father; I don’t think he’d have come twice if it hadn’t been.” “N]o, Dick, I think not,” my unde said. “I should: have to explain to your mother, and she would bo terribly alarmed at the idea of your going to the village at night if there was a doubt, of the friendliness of the Maoris. No, oome and get- supper now. If there’s anything serious no doubt* he’ll come back again, though I don’t suppose lie’ll think it urgent enough for that.” Diok looked uncomfortable, but we went in to supper, which had been waiting for us for nearly an hour. It'was etvident that both my aunt and cousin

had been told that our ride to town had had something to. d|e with the rumours of a 'native rising, and many questions were asked as to* what we had seen and heard, all of which wo were able to answer without alarming them with the idea of any personal danger. I think I did most of the talking, for Dick seemed to be thinking absently of other things, and my find© said very little. I was ready to talk of -the men I had seen drilling in the barrack square, and to express the opinion that they wouldn’t be of mu-oh use in the bush. “Ok,” Dick said, “it wouldn’t take long to get them used to it; enough at any rate to get about if they were well led: they are different from, the soldiers, you know, who look as if they went by machinery—l can’t fancy them doing any bush fighting.” ' “Oh, I don’t know, Diok,” rjsy cousin Bessie said. “I think the soldiers look jusr splendid-- soi solid and strong, like a great wall of rook; I’m sure I should feel much safer with them than with volunteers.” “Walk Bess, you just wait and eee. If there's going to be fighting, Jack and I will have to be volunteers of some sort, I suppose, and I’ll back our corps against these stone-wall soldiers, I can tell you, if ever it comes to bush fighting.” My aiu'nt threw an uneiasy glance across the table at"my uncle, who .seemed to bo thinking, and not- paying much attention to what was being said. “Do you suppose it will be necessary for those boys to fight-,” she asked. My uncle smiled. “I suppose it all depends on how serious i,t is,” he said. “If the struggle is really coining I fancy it will be the one to set-tie the future of the country. I shouldn’t like our boys to be the last- -to come forward in that case.” “No, mother, and you wouldn’t eitner. you know,” Dick exclaimed. “I heard General Cameron say he should want all the help lie could get from the settlers, because be couldn’t- break up his soldiers into irregulars. He asked me if I was used to the bush, and when I told -him I was accustomed to hunt wild pigs through the forest, he turned to the Governor, and I heard him say, “Ah, a few companies of Incite like him might make all the difference.” “And what fun it would be, too,” I exclaimed, “a 3 good as one of Cooper’s stories. Diok here will be the Pathfinder, and I —l’ll be —let me see?” “Oh, Jack, you’ll have to be Tineas,” Bessie suggested with a laugh. Neither my aunt nor uncle joined, in the animated discussion that followed, winch was kept up chiefly between Bessie and myself, though we -did manage to- draw Dick into it too!*after a time. My cousin Bessie was just sixteen, and was full .of fun. -She coukl ricle, too, better than any girl I had ever seen -at- Home, and was first-rate oompalny, because she had had scarcely any companion but Dick, and so liad taken an interest both in what he did and what- he read. The discussion of my proper costume and adventures as the. New Zealand Eneas occupied us for some time, ha til my suggestion that after all I thought Ropata woulld represent the character better. reminded both Dick and my uncle of his visits, and Dick grew restless, which at last broke up the party. Dick and I went out on the verandah, where we were joined!, after a few minutes, by my uncle. The night was very dark afnd there were a few raindrops falling every new and then, while the wind moaned! in gustis from the south-west over the wooded ranges. “I say, Diok,” I remarked, in a low tune, “suppose these Maoris we saw were to come along to-night, what should we do ?” “Oh, I don’t, believe they’d do us any harm, Jack,” he said uneasily; but I’d give something if I could see Ropata, and have ten minutes’ talk; he would be sure.to know how they would be likely to begin a war —in all ©ur talks I never asked him the question; I wish I had.” “Wliat’s that you wish, Dick?” my uncle said —he had just com© out at the moment* Dick finished speaking. Diok repeated l wlrat he nad sard, and added: “Don’t you think it would hi worth while even now for me to go. down to the kaianga Maori and see him ?” “No, Dick; I have just, spoken about it to your mother, and she hogged mo not to allow it; besides. I feel sure that if it is really important Ropata will conie again, unless you have been greatly deceived in him, and if you. have it would be very little use, and it might even be dangerous to go down.” He stood for a minute or two looking anxiously out -into the darkness, and listening to the wind, which seemed to wail almost like somebody ih pain; then ho turned! awaiy. “Well, hoys,” ho said at last, “it’s nearly half-past ten now; nobody can tell what you may have to do to-mor-row, and you’ve had a good day’s work tionday; I think you -had better go to bed.” He' said good-night and went into the house, leaving us on the verandah together. “Weil, Jack,” Dick said, “I suppose wo had better; though I don’t feel : sleepy, and I’d give a, good deal to tee Ropata for five minutes.” “I don’t think he can be coming now, Dick,” I said, “I do begin to feel tired too, so I think I’ll do as your father advised. I shall load my revolver be-

fore I lie down, however, and have it handy.” “Well, I don’t suppose that’ll do any harm, Jack; though you needn’t expect to got another chance to distinguish yourself as you did' with the boar; two clianoos like that don’t come close together, you know.” “Very likely not, Dick; but times change and somehow the sound of that wind makes me feel as if something was going to happen. It comes from the place we were at this morning, doesn’t it?” “Oh, yes, and it’s melancholy enough to be ap bangi—that’s what the Maoris call a wailing over the dead—'Something like an Irish wake, you know. But I’ve heard it just the same many a time before whein nothing happened, soi 1 think you needn’t load up on that account.” “Ail right, Dick; then I’ll load up on general principles, for I mean to do it anyhow.” I turned and went in, and Dick followed me. My room was the next one beyond his, so I turned 1 at the door and said good-night as I went in. I had heard D*ck look and even bolt the front door after him —a thing I had never heard' done before since i came to Ma-'ta-kohe—and I oou'iin’t -help< thinking as I salt and reloaded my revolver carefully on tne side of my bed, that like myself, Diok felt as if something unusual might happen before morning. For some minutes after I liad got iuto -bed I lay wakefuily listening to the sound of the wind. I could hear that , Diok was still moving about in his room, for in ‘these wooden houses it is wonderfully easy to hear, I suppose because there is nothing between the lining boards but a hollow pla.ee which makes something like a sounding board of it. I lay drowsily thinking of this, and liow easily such a house would burn, and I suppose I liad all but dropped off to sleep, when I felt myself start-, and in an instant I seemed to be very wide awake, indeed. Then I asked myself what it meant.. Next instant the answer came in the shape of a low tap at Dick’s window. I sat up in bed and listened. I heard Dick’s window opened very quietly, iandi then the sound of his voice, “Is that you, Ropata?” Then came the almost whispered reply, “Kuia-, tika—Bo* pata.” i sat stilil in bed trying to catch a word here and there of the almost whispered conversation, which seemed as if it would never finish.. At last I began to put on my clothes very quietly, for I was quite determined to hear from Diok what he had learned, and I knew I shouldn’t want to sleep, at any rate till I heard it. I had finished dressing for some time before the whispering sounds ceased, and! I heard Dick’s window close quietly down again. I waited a minute or two aud then I crept to Dick’s door and gave one tap. “That you, Jack?” he whispered, and opened it softly., “Come in, but* don’t disturb anybody yet.” “What did Ropata come to tell you, Dick?” I asked going straight to the point-. “He says they’re going to figf" i ' &he pakehas, Jack.” I. stopped' for a moment to thins. “When are they going to begin, Dick, did ho say?” “No, he didn’t seem to know for certain ; but I should say pretty soon, for 'Ropata came to warn us to go away.” “I suppose he couldn’t* do anything to protect us,” I said, doubtfully. “Of course not. He’ll be fighting too.” “Did he say so?” I asked in great surprise. “Why, of course he did. Ho came partly to say good-bye to me. He and his people are off to- Ngaruawahia tomorrow. He says he expects to get a gun there. He asked me if I wouldn’t give him one of mine for his greenstone mere, though he values that above almost* anything, because you know it shows that he is a chief —it has been in liis family for ages.” “And lie wanted to exchange it for your gun, did he?” “Yes, the fowling piece; lie brought it with him on purpose.. He says a pakeha offered him fifty pounds for it.” “What did lie say when you refused, Dick?” “Well, he seemed a good deal disgusted, but he shook hands at parting all the same.” “But Dick,” I said, “did you find out how they will let us know that the war has begun?” “Yes, .ho says that they always begin by killing some of the enemy.” “Without any notice, do you mean, Dick?” “I’m afraid so. Ropata didn’t seem able to understand me when I asked thaiti; lie just repeated that of course they would begin by shooting some puke has.” “Well, but Dick, that* might- mean us, you know, as well as anybody else, might it not?” “Hadn’t you better wake your father,” I said. “Suppose these fellow's came here -p Diick “I bate to do tliat,” Dick said. “I couldn’t do it without waking mother, and I’m afraid it would give her a terrible, fright.” “Well, but if they did oome, it would be worse tha ! n a fright-, Diok.” “I suppose so,” he said at last, very > reluctantly; “welC I’ll throw on the rest of my clothes and do it somehow.” “All right, Diok. I’m dressed. In the

meantime I’M go out on the verandah, and try if I cam hear amything. Is Teazer doose P” ' “No, William always shuts him up rn the stable at night, in case he should disturb mother.”

I stole cautiously along the passage f tiH I reached the door. Theii I felt for the lock and the bolt and opened it I quietly, letting myself out. Them I closed it and stood listening. There was mo sound but the sigh of the wind I had felt like a warning am hour before. I wondered' if it really had been. I tried to think what I had better do

in case anything did happen, and it sud- \ demly struck me that 1 had better let Teazer loose. He might he of some use in giving a warning if there should b - lamy body about. I went quietly to the end of the verandah, and through the little gate that led from the garden, into the stable yard. The yard at Matafcohp was a large one, and the stable and. barn were built on the sloping ground, so that they did! not stand so high as the house. The ridgei of higher ground an away to the eastward and as I picked' my way across the wet places in the yard), I no- „ ticed' that the eastern sky was growing brighter—the moon was rising. I I Stopped and looked out in that direction, and) I saw that though the moon wasn’t above the horizon, there was ai dear strip of sky that showed white and silvery compared with the black, drifting clouds higher up. My eye ran along the strip of light, and! then stopped) xvith a start*. About half a male from Matakohe in the direction we had gone in the • morning, the ridge on which our house was built ended in a round-looking top amd on this, 1 saw something against the whiter light beyond. / It was the figure of a man with something in his hand 1 . It looked l like a.gun. CHAPTER IV, THE FIRST BLOW It was top far off to be certain about, amd I shouldn’t have seen' what he was carrying at tall if he had not been, holding it above his head. I looked again. Yes. it might be a spear, perhaps, but I felt sure it was a weapon of some kind, and from the way he was holding it out I was sure he must be signalling to somebody. , It was my first* experience of danger of this kind, and I felt for a minute or two as if I couldn’t think what to do*. The figure didn’t move, amd for a single moment I wondered whether he was real or only a fancy of my own. He seemed almost too big for a real man, as he stood out against the sky looking nearly naked ’ike a great figure carved from black stone; and if be was only a creature of my own fancy how silly I should look if I gave any alarm. ai don’t know how long I had stood staring at him before he moved, but be did at last. I saw him raise the gun or spear he held still higher above his head and then wave it or shake it in the air. That brought me" to my senses again, amd I turned back quickly. I was close to the stable; should I let* Teazer out? Thoughts seemed to come more quickly now. I had 1 my hand almost- on the door to open it when it dashed through my mind that it might be worse than useless to let Teazer out. I knew ail that he could tell us already, but the Maoris didn't know that we knew now, amd they would if the dog began, bo bark. No, 1 would let him stay where he was. I turned and ran as fast as I could across the yard back to the verandah. light glimmered in one of the windows —it was my aunt’s bedroom. / Dick must have roused my u'ncie —so much the better. -

As I opened the door he came into the passage holding a candlestick. He stopped when he saw me and said in a lew voice:..“ls that you, Jack? What have you been doing outside?” “I went to see whether anybody was about, Uncle, and I thought I would let Teazer loose.”

“Ah, perhaps it might be as well, m> boy. I suppose you could see nothing. Indeed, I don’t more than half believe that, fellow Ropata’s story.” “It was true enough, I’m afraid,” • I said'. “I believe they’re coming now.” ■ He held up the candle and looked at me. “Why, what do yon mean, boy? I thought, you said! you heard nothing.” “No, bnt ,1 saw a Maori on the top of the knoll, Uncle, waving a gun or spear, or something to the others.”

“The others —what others?” he asked Impatiently. ‘“Did you see any others? Or rather, how could you see anybody aw far away as the knoll on a dark night like this? You must have been dreaming, Jack, I think.” “No, really,” I said earnestly, “and I’m 6ure we haven’t a moment to lose if we mean to escape. You know Ropatia told Dick they would begin i>y shooting somebody, and I believe it’s us they’re after.” My Undo looked puzzled for a moment; then he muttered, as if to himself. “No, it’s impossible; the boy’s spset, and no wonder. He couldn’t have Seen anything so far as that.”

Dick came out of his pwn room at tbaa moment, just a® I was going to protest, indignantly, and his father turned to him with a look-of relief.

‘T)h, I>ick,’’ he said. “Here’s Jack telling me he has seen an armed Maori on the top of the knoll, and' he 'wants me tg wake jsaaiyir mother and sister, and

escape before they come. It isn’t possible he could really. have seen so far as the krnoll On a night like this. You could hardly do it in the brightest moonlight you know, and I couldn’t see ray hand before me in my room till I got a light.”

Dick looked at me. and I fancied there was a half simile in his ©yes. “Well, it* would take pretty good eyes to see as far as that I should think,” he said; r %ut I daresay any of us would see a good deal if we went out to look for it to-night.” “Yes, my hoy, that’s what I think, too. I’ll he bound if I went staring out into the dark now I could see a tribe of them myself.- But you know I can’t make myiself a laughing-stock toi the colony by running away from a shadow; and besides, nothing short of absolute necessity would make me take your mother out a night like this—the fright and exposure would he as much as her life was'worth.”

“Where were you, Jack, when you thought you saw him ?” Dick asked. “In the yard near the stable, I was going to let Teazer out wnou 1 saw it,” I said obstinately. Without a word Dick opened the door and went out. His fatter looked after him admiringly, as he muttered: “Ah, a, sensible fellow that; gone to see for himself. Now we shall know .in a minute.”

The minute seemed a long one!, for I couldn’t push past my uncle to get to my room, and each moment I fancied I heard the first note of an Indian war whoop rising outside. I don’t suppose Dick was away more than three or four minutes at most, however, and as he opened the door and came into the light,, I felt snre from his face that he had seen nothing. » “Well, Dick,” my uncle said in a low 7 . urgent tone, “ciidl you see anything, my boy?”

“No, father; the moon’s rising now, but it is tooi cloudy to see half way to the knoll.”

My uncle turned away. “Ah, then il won’t he necessary to alarm your mother, Dick. I must get her and Bessie away to town in the morning, though, for jl couldn’t stand this kind of anxiety every night. He shaded the light with his ■hand as he spoke, and went into his own room again.” ‘'‘Look here', Dick,” I said, eagerly, “you may think it’s all nonsense, but it’s as much as all our lives, are worth to stay here another half-hour.” DioK looked at me. a little startled. “But, Jack,” he said, “you couldn’t see half-way there, if you had the eyes of a cat.”

“Not now, perhaps, Dick; but when I looked it was as clear as anything behind the knoll, and I tel# you I saw him as certainly as I do you now.” Dick almost groaned. “But anyhow, Jock, what can we do? Nothing would convince my father now unless he could see or hear them himself; and without him what can we do ?”

I stood thinking for a moment. “I say, Dick,” I said at last, “couldn’t you wake Bessie quietly,, and l get her to diesis, so that she would 1 be ready. In case anything happened it would be one less on our mind? I’ll go out again and listen for a few minutes.”

“Well,” he said, after thinking a minute, “perhaps I might do that. Boss isn’t one of the screaming sort, so* she wouldn’t frighten mother. Ye®, Jack, I’ll do that; but don’t be. gone long.” I stepped cautiously into the verandah, and in another minute I had made my way to the place where I had stood before. Dick was right enough—it wasn’t possible to see the k'nol’l now. I listened, but there was no sound except the sweep of the gusts of westerly wind through the trees near the house. Could! I have been mistaken? No, I was sure I hadn’t been; and though I could hear nothing, that didn’t prove they were not quite dioise to us even now. And if they were really coming, how was it possible we could escape? The horses-—they would be our only chance, for, of course, the Maori® would have no horse®. They would be sure to be in the paddock, for they were always turned l out when they had finished their feed. Then a, sudden thought struck me —the saddles and bridles — I might take them out, so that if we had to make a run for it, we could saddle the horses where they were. I opened the stable door, and Teazer growled. I spoke to him and felt about till I got two saddles —the same Dick and I had 1 used —and two bridles. I closed the door after me, and Went along to the gate that-Jed into the paddock and let myself through. Trees had been planted along that side of the field to break the wind, and they had grown tremendously in the six years—l remembered telling Dick only two days before that it wasn’t possible they could have grown like that in the time. I looked at the heavy shadows they cast on the grass, and I thought now that it anight be lucky, a® I laid the saddles at the foot of one of them. Then I went hack again,.

As I go t hack to the verandah I stood still to listen. .There was no sound, and I went forward to the door, and paused again with my hand on the handle. _ At the moment there was a. gust of wind, and —yes, there was something more than wind. It was low. and it was far away, hut it sounded like a call of some sort. I listened) with all my might for a minute more. hut it didn’t dome again. I opened the door, and went in, onlv to

meet Dick, with a candle, coming towards me. “Did you hear anything, Jack?” he asked hastily. “I thought I did. Dick, an instant ago.” “So did) I, Jack. I was just coming to see. Bessie heard it too. she says, I Wonder if I had better tell my father ?” “I wouldn’t yet, Dick. Suppose we get the guns loaded first. I don’t think the call was near at handy and you kno w they mightn’t be coming to us. after all.” Dick turned, and I followed him hack down the passage. Bessie’s door was opposite Dick’s, and she put her head out a little as we came up. “Didn’t Jack here it?” she asked) rn a whisper. When both Dick and I told her I had she drew in her head. “I’ll be quite ready in two minutes, Dick, and I shall wake mamma, at any rate,” she said, as she closed the door. “She will, too.” Dick muttered to himself: “and I daresay it’s just as well'. When Bess makes ue her mind it takes a lot to turn her. I shouldn’t wonder if she gets a blowing up though.” We went into Dick’s room and loaded the guns. There were only two—a rifle, and a light double-barrelled fowling piece. “That rifle won’t be of much use. Jack.” Dick said, “the fowling piece might do* some damage at close' quarters though, so I shall stick to that in ease there’s a row. I suppose you have your revolver loaded ?” “All right,” I said. “I wonder you haven’t one, t-00.- I thought everybody in the colonies carried them.” Dick laughed. “Oh, yes, I know. The fact is people at home know as little about us as if w© were Chinese. I believe they get all their ideas out of Cooper’s stories, and fancy Maoris are just like Red Indians.” “Well, Diick,” I said, “I’m not so: very sure that you know what they’re like whetn it comes to a row after all. Suppose they come here presently, I fancy it won’t matter so very much to us whether they give war whoops or not, so long as they shoot ns will it?” “Anyhow, they won’t scalp ns. Jack; bnt I wouldn’t mind having a revolver to-night, though I can’t somehow believe that anything will happen even now.” We carried the two guns out into the hailil, and then we seemed to* have nothing else to do. That was the hardest part of it. To wait and listen for sounds that didn’t come, but always seemed to bo just beginning, seemed far worse than fighting, or even knowing the worst. Bessie had! done as she said she would, and had wakened her mother before my uncle could! prevent her, and now she eat with Dick and me in the diningroom waiting. I told them what I had done with the saddles and bridles, and both of them thought it was a good 1 idea, though we didn’t see how we could get to them if they really came and surrounded the house. I don’t know how long we had been there, though it seemed like hours, and every minute it seemed tie grow harder to sit still. At last Bessie started up and said she must find out whether her mother was dressed. The house was built with two wings that ran back at right angles to the main front, and her mothers room was in the other one, so she had to go down a passage to* the hall at the front door and sen"get to the other passage that led) to her mother’s door. She left the door of the dining-room open when she went, and she took no light with her. I heard her light quiok step going down the passage, and then it stopped suddenly. I don’t know why it was that I should' have started, as if there had been something unusual in the way she stopped, but I know I did; indeed, I jumped to my feet, and! so did Dick,? though for the moment we heard nothing at all except that her step had ceased. In another moment I. seemed to catch the sound of her footsteps coming back, a® if on tip-toe. I looked quickly at Dick. “It’s them, Dick,” I said. BDe returned my look and nodded. 1 1 wonder what we can do?” he said, as he made a quick step towards tlge room door. . . , r “At any rate, Dick, let’s divide it. Your mother will want your help most likely. I’ll jjodk after Bessie.” * added! aflcaan*

and Bessie stood in the doorway. Shffl looked very white and. frightened, hut there was a determined! look in her eyes l ,, too'. Dick laid his hand on her arm. “That’s right, Bess,” he whispered; : “steady, old- girl. You know we’ve often played! at this before. What did you# see ?” I “The figure of a man on the verandah 1 trying to see in at the hall window,’* she whispered steadily, though her lipi trembled. “What shall I Dick?” “Wait till we see, Bess. Anyhow, you stay as near Jack as yon can; he’ll look after you. I must see about mother.” Bessie looked at me as he spake, and ! I said: “Don’t be frightened, Bessie; ' you and I will manage it all right. Wait here till I come back. If we Have to moke a. bolt for it we had better try tha bacic door. We can get out either that way or through the window in my 1 room,, and then we won’t be far.from the paddock.” Bessie returned) my look, hut she didn’t! speak, and I followed Dick, who* had al» ready crept on tip-toe up the passage towards tliei front hall that ran at right angles to our passage. I could just* make out his shadow faintly ahead of rue when he came between me and the hail window where Bessie had seen the Maori, and I could see that, he went a step out of his way to seize the fowlingpaece in the corner. Then I caught up to him, and we both Hooked through the shadowy grey window place that faced the verandah, 2 noticed with a, sudden feeling of satisfaction that it was darker than I had expected, and it was all I I could do to* make out an outline that i seemed to' he ia> man at the outer edge of i tne verandah, with his hand on one of* tne posts, and Ids back turned to us. " I laid my hand on my revolver, a® I whispered to Dick: “1 could shoot him in a moment,. ] Dick.” “Sta could I, Jack,” he replied, “but/ that would be a fool’s tr.ick._They haven't done any barm yet. you know. Standing on the verandah isn’t a shooting business.” • course that was true, though it. waa hard to separate what we had heard from! that dim figure that seemed to iean foiiWiard peering into the darkness for something or other which we could only gueea at. ■ ‘ “Well, then, Dick,” I said, in an impatient whisper, “what are wei to do?”' “We’ll have to wam,” he -answered slowly. “You wait here, Jack, and I’IB creep along toi mother’s room and let my father know about, it.” I He was gone before the last* word! liad reached my ear, anch I stood alone stai--1 ing at that figure, and wondering what 1 next.. It seemed a long time*, but of j course it couldn’t have been more than I 'a few minutes before I caught the sound of cautious steps coming back, and Dick; whispered: “Has he done anything, Jack?” I was just, answering “No,” when the figure moved at last. He suddenly straightened himself and half turned, showing that lie carried something in hi® hand that was almost long enough for a spear, and yet wasn’t a spear. I seemed to recognise the thing I had’ seen him Wctvo lio stood on til© box© top of tilo knoll with the silvery background of sky —it was the same. . _ “What’s that*, Dick, in his hand?’ I whispered. a A taialia —a. war-dub, Jia-ds, h© said* As he spoke the Maori waved it. three time®, as if to invite somebody to coma forward. In * another minute I could! make out two figures dimly on the* steps! of the verandah, and could fancy I saw others behind them. _ . ‘‘They’re coming. Dick,” I said. Is your father ready?” The question was answered by my i uncle himself, who came behind me at : the moment, and, stooping a little looked through the narrow window over my head. “Why, hoys, it’s Tamati,” he said, as ‘ the figure I had seen first half turned toward® the newcomers, showing his'profile clearly for the moment. ‘lt must be a false alarm, alter all. I fiow old i Tamati very well —a very decent old fellow he is, too. Be made his people dig our last potatoes, and took care they did ilt honestly, too*. It must be all right. I had better ask hun what he W *Before Dick ctoruld say a word) -to stop I him hie had stepped forward and thrown

the window up as he exclaimed, “Tena ltoe, Tamat-i. What you . want Matakoihe to-night ?”

The tall Maori wheeled around at the first sound of my Uncle’s greeting/ and with a quiet motion of the slender dob In bis hand, that seemed more courteous than threatening, he moved q u midy aside. I grasped at any wnde’s* arm foi I had caught a glimpse of something i!n the shadows of the verandah, hut I was too late l .

I had seen the shadowy figures behind him raise their guns— there seemed to be four mere of them now—and as the voicse of the chief rose almost to a shriek, “Death! Death to- the pakeha War! War! For ever and ever war’ the four guns flashed at once. Thor< Was a crash of glass and the breaking of wood as the shots poured in through the narrow window, and my uncle staggerer' back and: fell. Dick dropped on hi.knee at his father’s side and at the Same moment^a scream of terror came from my aunt’s room at the back ol the bouse.

ff Yorar mother, Dick; save her. Nobody can do anything for me,” my uncle gasped feebly. I raised my head as the dim grey lugbt was obscured! bv the bead and! one sljoulder of, a big Maori who seemed! to be Dying he’force his wav through the narrow ball window H spite of the remains of the window frame with its broken glass. The impulse was irresistible. I dragged my revolver from its oaise at my' belt and fired at him point blank—l couldn’t have been su fpet away. The man gave a hoarse cry that was something between a shout and a snarl, and seemed: to try to draw back, feint stuck fast where he was. “That’s right, Jack,” Dick said! fiercely; “now look after Bess.” I oast, one glance at the dark hear* on the floor over which Dick was banding, and as I turned away J seemed to eaten the faint whisper, “T'iaw, my boy, your mother.” I waited l for no- more, hui Lurried down the passage where Bessie Wias leaning against the wail beside the dining-room door as pale as death, only looking a question at me ouit of her eyes. “Yes,” I said; “Bessie, come! My Window will be the best chance, I think.’ - She seemed to understand, for she only sobbed out the^question, “Mv mother?”

“Dick has gone f or her: come on.” I had caught her by the arm, and dragged ■heir after me to the window of my room. I threw it open, for it was a French window that opened' on the verandah which ran along three sides or the*'ho use. and catdhing her in. my arms I lifted hev through. I 'had just enough presence of mind left fio close it after me, and ofien I hurried! my cousin along the few steps tilil we reached the Little gate which led from the garden into the stableyard. Another minute and! we had hurried across the yard and reached the state leading into the paddock where, the horses were kept. Here my cousin oame to a standstill, and looked back. "\ Cf Mbther!” she said, in a low. agitated voice. cl Alother and Dick. We can’t leave them behind uts, .lack.” “Of course not, Bessie.” I answered : feut you must catch the horses, or they won’t have a chance.”

I v-v* understood' my cousin when T made that reply. She grasped l me hy the arm, and almost sprain 2 the gate. “Chme. Jack ” sh-e exclaimed. “They will let me catch them sooner than anybody els©. Thevd] be down at the tower cornier. Where did you leave, the bridles ?” * -

I tod the wiay to the spot, and new I found the advantage of the independent colonial girl. It wras Bessie who decided we should carry the saddles as well ss th© bridles with, us that we might lose no time when we caught the horses. It 'Wias_fihe who insisted on carrying one of them, and leading the way to the comer of the paddock where she knew they were most likely to be found. It was .she. indeed, who did-nearly all the catering, in spite of the disinclination of the Ironses to be captured again, after their afternoon and evening’s work. There Was no time to think, much less to say anything about it then, hut I often thought of it afterwardls and felt sure tihat we all of us owed our escape and OU3- Hyeh to her presence of mind and ooolness. ' . . I harcMy know how wo dadi it, and I haven’t the least idea how long it took

us, for my mind seemed to be in a whirl with a shocked feeling of horror somewhere at the bottom, but somehow the ' horseo ware caught a'nd saddled, and as I paused, at a loss what to- do neixt, I saw Bessie scramble into one saddle somehow and heard her say: “Now, Jack, come on. I suppose you’ve got your revolver ready.” She led the way at a canter back to the corner where we had come in. but just iaa wo had reached the top of the rising ground, a bright flame burst through the roof of the house. Bessie gave a sharp cay, but urged' her horse forwards to the gate. As wo came near I could see that somebody was there before us; it wiais Dick, holding his another in -his arms. B'eusio threw heirsslf off .Dick’s house, which -she had been riding, and caught her mother nti her arms while ha mounted ; them he sto-o-ped and took her. insensible as she was. into his arms again. Bassid turned to mo, I gave her my bans and she sprang up before me. first resting her foot on mine. 1 threw my arm round her as I wheeled the horse to follow Dick’s, which had already started. I had locked at nothing but my aunt and Bessie, in spite of the blaiz-o that rase higher and higher 1 from the house, hut now as we wheeled I found myself face to face with the tal! Maori with tho 'native club who ha reached the gate, which Dick had leftopen.

At the moment I caught sight of him bo seamed for the first time to see us under the shadow, of the trees, for fie gave a -sudden guitteral cry that sounded like, “Awa!” and sprang through the opening. I suppose it was instinct, for I don’t remember that I thought about it than, but I let the bridle drop and grasped the handle of the revolver at my belt. It all seemed bo happen in an -instant. The big figure of the chief standing out black against the light of the burning house, with his club raised in the air like a broad-sword, leaping at us, while my band that held the revolver grew steady, as the remembrance came back of hew lie had signed with the same weapon to th e murder ers of my uncle, only, as it seemed, a few minutes before.

The chief sprang and the- revolver flashed at the same moment that I struck the harsh with my feet, making him swerve to the light. With another exclamation ' that was a,l moist a shout the Maori felt the fierce blow he had meant for us sing harmless through the air, and fell headlong to the ground.

I felt rather than heard a sob come from Bessie, as her head leaned heavily on my shoulder, and then she lay still in my arms. In another minute we had overtaken Dick. He turned as we came up. “Who was it you fired at. Jack?” he asked in a hard, strained voice: that was new to me from Dick. “The man with the club,” I said. “Did you hit him, Jack?” he said eagerly;. “I should; say so; at any rate he went down like a log.” “Too good) for the ruffian,” he muttered, as he turned away and galloped on.

(To bo Continued.)