FICTION

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1680, 11 May 1904, Page 3

FICTION

A FIGHT TO A FINISH. o A STORY OF THE MAORI WAR.

BY OWEN HALL.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. CHAPTER X. A GLIMPSE OF ROPATA. ‘“You two haff ailll ze luck.” This Avas the remark with which our captain greeted Dick when lie and I rode int-o the. Rangers' camp the day alter the fight at Mauku. It seemed to be the general opinion of the corps too, and lifter .that day it was always looked on as good luck to bo attached to any expedition that was under Dick's command. I 'don’t know that I quite agreed about the luck of having been in the Mauku fight. Though I said nothing about it, it was a good many weeks before I could quite forget the sights and sounds of the fight, ana many a time I saw in my dreams the charge lr the Maori warriors, and started up, wide awake, with the echo of their yells ringing in my ears.

Luckily for me I had pi.enty to dc', and but little time for remembering the ugly side of the war. Another fortnight saw the road finished, and the way open for the invasion of the Waikato Valley. It seemed a pity, too, for it was a beautiful place. The great, quiet river, gliding almost imperceptibly between its level banks, dotted here and there with clumps of forest where the land was low and marshy, covered deep with ferns and ti-tree scrub where‘it "was dry, except where now and then the huts of- a native village peeped out from a grove of peach trees surrounded by the village cultivations-of sweet potatoes -and corn. Beyond the river the view was the same,-except that there the.background of wooded hills rose gradually to the height of a hw mountain ru eye that seemed to shrink farthe- father back from the river, leaving the valley tp grow wider as it went, south. { Even in the valley we had to make a road as we went. There were tracks fib

for riding along, but nothing for a cart or waggon, and least of all for anytliing as heavy as a gun-carriage with its can-

non. There were Bwampy places litre pud there, aud it seemeu-as it every hundred yards or so a little stream found ' its way from the higher land covered with forest through a gully, great or small, till it ended in the river. Buy after day, we went steadily on, making the road, building the bridges, and inov- ' ing forward with slow steps, but ©o surely that it looked as if it was the advance of fate. I often thought to myself what it must look like in the eyes of the Maoris. Our orders were to destroy nothing, and 1 suppose they were fairly obeyed, but., to the owners it might not have appeared so evident. , Our place was generally in the front, and we often reached villages that had been left only a short time before by the owners. Sometimes the fires were smouldering on the floors of the huts. More than once we round food that had been, cooked and left behind.

Tho weather was growing warmer, and it was no s hardship to’live, as the Rangers did, entirely in the open air. Th© regular soldiers had tents, and even the newly formed corps of the Waikato Militia, but we invariably camped in the open air round camp-fires, that served the double purpose of cooking and of keeping off the hordes of mosquitoes that now opposed our advance at every step. The one subject that we discussed as we sat around the fires, smoking vigorously to keep the insect enemy at bay, was when the natives themselves would make a stand* There was plenty of skirmishing along the line as we advanced, but nothing like a real fight, much less a battle,' had taken 'place. Some of us thought there would bo none atoll 1 ; some said the Maoris were afraid to face a regular force of soldiers, and would go on retreating as the army advanced, but bpth Dick and I had a different opinion., All our men had been in, skir-

mishes, most of them <a good many, but .. they had never seen a real fight as we hack It was useless to tell us they wore afraid: for w© had seen them, and we Knew better. No, 'if they didn’t fight at once it was because. fJor some reason, they thought they could do better by waiting.

Dick said he thought they were right too. The eoamtiry wo were cwlvn m criLnig through was too open to give them a , fair chance. The streams were too small and the gullies were tdo shallow to make good places for defence. Dick had seen on© or two pahs somewhere up the country, and he said they were always built bn places that gave the defenders a great advantage. He was ail the time keeping a look pulfc for one of these while we were scouting, for he fedt sure We should find it fortified r l We had been several weeks at this

work, but so far we had seen nothing. We seemed to be always just behind the bnemy, but we could hardly ever see him. Sometimes as we came along in oben order towards a gully fa dhot or

two would be fired at us from the thick so rub on the cither side. Sometimes when we got to the top of one long, low swed of ground we caught sight of a man on horseback on the top 'of the next one, who would wave has hand over his head and gallop off. but as long as the land was open this was ail we saw of the enemy. It was certainly disappointing, but I felt very sure ilt was not cowardly, as some of our fellows used to cull it. They weren’t ready—that was ail.

“We’re goling to have trouble with these fellows on the river,” Dick said to me oaio evening as we eat together smoking after we had finished supper. “On the river, Dick! How do you mean?” I asked, taking my pipe from my lips, and looking down ai- the long ribbon of glassy brightness that lay a Tittle below where we were sitting, reflecting back some of the crimson glow that still lingered in the sky to the west,- where the sun had not very long gone down. There was nothing to suggest trouble of any kind in the' view that evening in October, and I thought, as I looked, that I had seldom seen a calmer or more peaceful looking scene. “Didn’t you hear about the horses of the transport corps, that were found down Year the headquarters crimp of the fork' th regiment last night ?” Dick said, “Why. there’s been nothing ©so talked about* all tho way up the road to-day.” “Well, it hasn’t got up as far as this, Dick,” I said, “unless you’ve brought it with yen; hut you’re not much of a fellow to carry news when you do get it. It takes a surgical operation to get it out. or you—that’s a fact,” “Oh. I forget, Jack,’the said with a laugh. “Yes, I heard it when I rode back to tho advance party of the eighteenth this afternoon. I fancied everybody knew about it.” “No,” I replied in an .injured tone, “it’s none too often we get a chance to hear what’s going on behind us, so the least you could do would be to pass on tho news When you get it; but whrut’e this about?” “Weill, Jaok, you know the fortieth camp at the Were-Were creek, five or six miles down the river from here. The ooiniuirtsariar people have got a big depot there you know.” I nodded. “Yes, Dick,” I said, “so we heard. That’s the pla.ee we noticed so much grass as we came up; I suppose that was the reason they thought of it for the horses.” “Very likely,” Dick said dril’y. “'Weill, I hear they lost nearly fifty of tho best of the transport corps’ horses there last night, and they can’t make out how it was done.” “Stolen, Duck?” I asked looking at him in surprise. “Well, I did think the soldiers could beep a better look out than that.” “The very thing the general wants to know. I hear, and nobody can tell him. It’s serious, too, for they were the whole of the reserve in the valley, and they my it may delay us best, part of a week in getting up the stores.”. ‘They were on that grass land, I suppose ?” Ijsaid. “Yes: they had it fenced in, and the horses were in the paddock.” “Who do they suspect?” I asked, after considering for a moment. “Oh, the fortieth men say it must baverbeen some of our. own people; but of course they would say thait-rit doesn’t look so bad as admitting that the Maoris passed their sentries.” . “Yen think it was the Maoris, Dick.” I said, “but how could they have got there ?” “Oh, easily enough. I’ve been expecting that some of them would be smart enough to make use of the river ever since we began to come up this way; why Jack, every inch of our flank is exposed.” “They say that not a Maori has been soon on the other side for weeks, Dick, and there's not a canoe on the river.” “Yes, I know,” Dick said thoughtfully, taking his pipe from his mouth, and looking across the liver. “A lob they know about it. Well, that job down at the creek was done somehow, and I’d bet my life they were natives. It was just such a thing as Ropaita would 'have managed without leaving a trace behind him. Of course, it wanted nerve; but two or three fellows like him could have dropped down the liver in a canoe', or swum across for that matter, crept past the sentries, and hamstrung those horses easily, I’m sure.” “Did you tell anybody what you thought Dick ?” . “Why, yes. Jack. Most likely I was only a fool for my pains, for these military men don’t like us any too well now, but I did tell one of the generals staff what I thought about it.” “And whait did he say?” “Oh, he said pretty stiffly that he’d report any opinion to General Cameron.” We were camping nob auore than a hundred vards from the river that night, in a little hollow where our camp-fires couldn’t be seen from the river. I had noticed that, as Dick and I rose from the fallen log on which we haid been sitting for our talk, almost without knowing that I had noticed it. It came back to me a lit tie later, however, as I lay on a soft cushion of ferns, covered with my blanket so as to keep the mosquitoes off, I had got some mere partiCulaas tof the attack made on the transport horses before wo came in. and' I had been, puzzling

myself as to how it had been done. I thought, as Dick did, that it had certainly been the work cf the enemy, and it musit have been both a brave and Oliver fellow that thought of and carried it cut. I could see that Dick had got into his head that his friend Riopata was tho man, and though I knew so little of Ro.pata that- I oouM form no opinion about that, the remembrance of that first sight of the forest, and of Ropata’s management cf the boar came back to me as I lay there.

It was my turn at sentry work after twelve, and when Dick, who had just made the rounds to see that all was right, woke me, I said, “Oh, Dick, by the by, let me take the side next- the river, will you; i:t can’t make any difference to the other fellow, and I have a fancy that I might find out fciomethimg.” ‘All right, Jack,” he said, “I’ll arrange it; but mind you don’t/ get into any tow. If you hear anything report to me.”

That was the very thing I wanted. It had occurred to mo that if the natives were beginning attacks on our flank they would probably come down the river to do it. I knew that great pains had been taken to clear the river of canoes; indeed, several man-of-war boats and crews had been brought up aili 1 the way from Auckland to make a thorough search for them, as well as to patrol the river. Some few canoes had been found and destroyed and it Seemed unlikely* that any had been stowed away along the opposite bank so as to escape search duiing all the time the patrol Pad been on the river. S'ere was nothing but the danger of the thing, however, to prevent canoes floating down the stream on any dark night,. and this was a kind of thing it was not easy to provide for. Perhaps I might have the luck to make out- sometilling if I had tho chance, and if I did the service would be of value. It had been the regular custom to place our sentries on nights when we were near the river on any higher ground that would command a view of the water from above, and this was all right When there was any moonlight. The sentry whose place I took that night at twelve had as usual made his rounds along the top of the higher ground, near the place Dick and I had been sitting when we talked, and as I relieved him I asked him whether he had seen or heard anything. “Not a blleesed thing, mate,” he said. “'Oh, by the by, you’re the fellow they says has ears that can hear anything; well, you’ll have to prick them up pretty stiff, I can toll you, to hear -much tonight. It’s as quiet as a churchyard. I believe I heard a fish jump half an hour ago. so you may guess it’s not noisy.” “A fish jump,” I repeated to myself as he marched off, glad to turn in after his four hours cf duty—-‘“a fish jump?” —well, it must have been a pretty good one if ho could hear it up here. 1 stood for a minute or two looking down at tho darker streak that showed where the Waikato slid past the banks ’without a murmur. My eyes were good, but do my best I couldn’t persuade myself that I saw anything; it looked only like a darker patch Where every bluing was dark. No, I thought to myself, it would puzzle anybody to tell, a canoe down there from a fish.

Hcilding my rifle loosely in my hand by the barrel I made my way stop by step down the slope towards the bank. The ferns and bushes of various kinds grew thicker and more matted 'together as I got nearer the river, and it was too dark to see one’s way. but I managed to do it at last with very little noise. It was little if anything short of seventy yards from the place the last sentry had stood to the edge of the bank, and the more I thought of it the less I believed that he could hear a fish jump. I looked back at the little * ridge of Land from which I had come, and I coulld see it against the sky quit© plainly. If anybody bad been there now, I couldn’t have missed seeing him from Where I was, but be oouldn’t possibly have caught a glimpse of me. Yes, a canoe could have slipped past as easily as a fish on a gray, cloudy night, such as this and the last night or two had been.

Where I stood now was perhaps four or five feet above the water, and even here I could see nothing of the river

itself—it was only biaok, with now and then a very faint glassy gleam, that sparkled for a moment and then passed. That was near the bank too. Out ia the stream, quarter of a mile away, of course it woulld bo hopeless.. No, I should have to trust to my ears. Somehow that jumping fish occurred to me again every time I looked at that dark water. Now that I was close to it I could hear the softly whispered lapping sound—almost like a kiss —with winch the river crept along, but there certainly were no fish. The/re might have been one when he was 'listening of course—a big one too, it must have been—but I didn’t believe it. Nio, if he really heard anything at aM it was a canoe, I felt certain; a canoe going to do some mischief like what it had done the night before.

It was tiresome work standing there so long, and at last I found a spot Where the bank was clear of bushes, and sat down with my logs dangling over. 3t was a low i>lace, and I noticed that my feob very nearly touched the water. Another thing I noticed too—now that my eyes wore So much nearer t : V* Wei I ccuild see more. I might be ang but it looked as if I should be a"Cie to see anything that stood out much above * tho surface; I certainly seemed able to hear more than I had heard before. Down here 1 couM distinguish the gentle whisper of the water as it eddied round the little points, and even a soft*, sbw voice that appeared to creep along the top of the river and told cf the places it had passed, and the tilings it had seen.

I sat as if bound by a spell, and stiM that soft, half audibla Whisper crept on, and seemed to grow stronger. J had thought at first it was no more than a fancy.of my own, but now as I listened, Ml ding my breatib to make sure, I was more and more convinced the sound was a > real one—it was something on the river. I drew up my legs very cautiously toll I could change my position, and at last I lay stretched out at full length with my head just over the bank, and my eyas fixed on the dark, glassy faoe of tho river as near as I could to where I supposed the middle of the stream would be. I could seo nothing, but the sound I had heard grew stronger and stronger, as it crept towards me coming np the river. I knew what it was at last—the sett gush and gurgle of the water pushed back by the strokes of one oir more paddles. And at last it came into sight. I had thought it would be far out in th© stream where it might not be possible to see what it was but now I understood that I was wrong, and I seemed oven to understand why the canoe—for it was a canoe —crept along not far from the bank where I was lying. The shadow was deepest near the shore; a sentry at the isppc where our sentry had stood would be moire helpless to see it there than farther out. It crept up like a shadow. Not a sound of the paddles entering the water, not a sound of their being lifted out again. Nothing but the low whispered gush and gurgle of the water as it eddied back from the pressure of the stroke. If there had been a breeze enough to stir the water to a ripple. I eauld have heard' nothing, but in the perfect silence I could 'hear it distinctly. It crept nearer yet; and now the outline of the canoe seemed each minute to grow more clear as it stole like a ghost over the dark face of the river—if it hadn’t been for that soft whispering sound I should bav© thought it was a ghost indeed. At last it was opposite me. I could count the figures as they swayed gently backwards and forwards with each soft stroke of the paddles—there were six, and ono that stood upright in the stem. He had something in Jiis hand, but not a war-club such as I had seen, the big chiefs wave at the stems of the great war canoes. This was something short —perhaps eighteen inches long, and even in the dark shadow it seemed to .me that its edge was sharply out. My memory went back with a jump to the night when I had sat on Dick’s bed and heard him fcdll of Ropata’s visit and of the mere he had been so eager to 'change for Dick’s gun; this was the same. I stared harder than ever oft the figure as it stood there and I seemed to recognise it too. It was Ropaha himself. He’seemed to have grown a little stouter; he had something new and stately about him as he waved th©

mesne —-which I now remembered Dick bad said showed that lie was a .great chief among his own people—'bub it was ' the same Ropata who (had tempted the wild (boar to rush out of his hiding place by waving the stick before his eyes that morning in the forest. ' What Should I do? .Dick must have been tight, and it realty had been Eopata after all who lamed the horses; ought Ito shoot him now? My hand grasped the rifle that lay on the bank at my side, hut I hesitated. “What would Dick have done?” was the question that darted through my mind; the answer came—Dick would let them go. on;. Dick wouldn’t fire. He would wait for a chance to fight—he wouldn’t try to shoot him new even if he had not been Ropata. I let the rifle drop among the ferns, and watched them out of sight. When I was relieved at four o’clock I was back at the spot on the top of tlie ridge where the other sentry had stood, and 1 went quietly back to the plaice where my blanket lay beside the watchfire. “I have something to report to Dick,” I said to myself, as I covered my head to keep off the mosquitoes', and fdll asleep.

CHAPTER XI.

A DARK NIGHTS TRAMP.

I had just finished my morning wash in the creek when Diok came up. “Weill Jack, did you hear* anything?” he asked “Yes, and saw something too, Dick. You weren’t far wrong about the horses either.”

“Hold a'minute, Jack; I must get a chance to hear all about it.” He glanced at‘the others who were washing, then he added—‘Wow, if you’ve done here, come along and show me that place; I’ve got ten minutes to spare,” He turned off towards the river and I followed him.

“Well, Jack,’” he said when we had gone a few yards, “we can talk here •irithwit these fellows hearing. What did you hear and see?” Dick spoke eagerly for him, and I knew it. took a great deal to make him excited. I hold him nearly as I could just what I had seen and heard at the river, and when I had finished he stood for a minute thinking. “Do you really think it was Ropata, Jack?” he asked at last. “Weill,” I said, “I don’t know Ropata well enough to feel sure: I don’t suppose % should have thought of him particularly if- it hadn’t bean, for what you said last night, and what you told me about that mere.” Dick nodded.

“Well, I Shouldn’t wonder if your guess was right; but anyhow I must think what’s best to be done. The worst of it is that the captain’s off this morning, and he won’t he back before night.” ,f Sliall we be about here tonight as well then, Dick?” “Unless we get fresh orders to move on, I suppose?”

Jit seemed a long morning, for there was nothing to do while we waited for the captain. It was getting near dinner time, and I was sitting on a. rock among the ferns reading a worn newspaper a week old when an officer of Generali Cameron’s staff rode up followed by two orderlies. He pulled up when be noticed me.

■ “Hullo, my man,” he shouted—“Do you know where Lieutenant Leslie of the Rangers is to be found?”

‘Yes, sir,” I said, rasing and saluting **Sq went up along the creek not ten minutes ago. Shall I caEl! him?” ‘Yes, tell him Colonel Retnwick of the Staff wants to speak with him.” I didn’t 'hear , what passed between the CoFjonel and Dick when I had brought him, but at last D'ick ‘himself called me. “Look here, my man,” the Colonel said as I came up, “Lieutenant Leslie lias told me you report having seen a . canoe on the river last, .night while you were on duty; what hour' do you think it was?” *

“About one o’clock, I should say, sir,” I replied.

“One,” he repeated, as if considering, *lAil\ it might be the same. Did they paddle fast?” “No sir; very slowly, so as to make no noise.”

tc Wlliy did you go down to the river ?” "It was to dark to see the rivea* from the. higher ground, and as I thought the noise the sentry before me, had taken for a fish jumping might'have been a canoe I came to have a ?cok.” ."You didn’t challenge them, I 'understand ; how was that P” "I had no orders to Challenge a boat on the river, sda*; besides, I thought it might be. more useful to report them than to let them know they had been seen.”

®ie colonel.looked at me for an instant under his knitted brows, as if the idea of a private soldier having an opinion at aSI was something new to l«ni. Then ho turned to I>iok.

"Well, lieutenant-, it does seem posable' your idea may have been correct, after all, though it was a dare-devil trick. However the general’s orders are that you are to consider-yourscff under orders to put a stop to it. You will, 'if: possible, capture any canoes that attempt to come diown the river. Should any unfortunately get past you will at once pass on tire warning to the next post.”

" The colonel, who had never dismounted. rode off, looking X fancied;' anything but well pleased by the rebuilt of ins inquiries. I looked at Dick, and

noticed a smile that was half amused, and half disgusted, on (his face as he Ihoked after him. “What shall you do, Dick ?” I asked when we were well out of hearing. ‘Til hove to think it over, Jack. Of course it would be easy to fire on them: the puzzle is how to capture the canoes without a boot of our own.”

“Qou'ldn’t you have got one of the patrol boats, Dick? I’d have asked for one,, anyhow.” “So I did. Dtidri’t you hear what he said ? Two of them were stove in last night, so as to be useless. I believe it was that made them think of what I had said at headquarters.” I whistled. “Good man, Ropahai,” I exclaimed. “If it’s your friend Dick, he means business. I don’t believe they went far up the river before they landed 'last night, though I wonder if there might nob be some way of getting at them, after all?”

“What makes you think they landed soon. Jack?” Dick asked. “Well, I can’t be sure, but after they had passed it seemed' to me I could 'hear them by listening hard for a while, and then the sound stopped suddenly—it didh’t seem to die away as I should have expected.” Diok said no more then. When I had eaten my .dinner I wandered off to the highest ground near at hand that overlooked the river. I had no duty to do in the afternoon, and I felt restless—too restless to enjoy company—so I thought I should enjoy a smoke while I took a good look at what was to be seen of the river. As I sub and smoked it seemed to me that I grew more and more certain I had been right about the canoe—it had not gone much farther up the river than the next bend, which was perhaps a third of a mile away. There was a stretch of low, swampy-looking land between us and the place, covered with tall, straight, melan-choly-looking trees, with foliage, and beyond that again the land seemed to rise higher. . “That’s tihe spot,” I said to myself; “there’s a creek of some Sort there'—• perhaps a village where they keep the canoes.”

The idea was exciting. If we could only be sure, the plan would be to get the Rangers across, go round by land,, and capture the whole lot. I was still looking at it, and noting in my own mind the ridge of higher land that ran round the piece of wet forest land, when Dick came up with his field glasses in his hand. “Dook here, Dick.” I exclaimed, “1 know how we could dot it if we had only a boat of some kind. Do you see that lidge of higher land behind the bush there? Well, I don’t believe they could havo gone farther than that. I daresay there’s a village there; anyhow, there’s almost sure to be a creek.”

Dick took a goad look through his glasses. “Well, you anight ,be right about tho creek anyhow. Jack,” he said. “I only wish we could make sure, but we are not to* go beyond this creek till the captain joins us again, and of course we have nio boat.”

-s. “Look-here, Dick,” X said; "give me the chance, won’t you? At any rate, give me leave to come down to the rivea* after dark and see what X can make out. As they’ve done so- well, they’re nearly sure to try some l thing more to-night,.and (somebody will have to be on the look-out, anyhow.” “Well,-Jack, I’m not so sure; if they’re as wise as I give them credit for, they’ll give us a rest for a night or two; but cf aourse we’ll have to keep a look-out. Yes, I’ll arraaige that for you, Jack, if you’ll promise to he cautious and try nothing rash.” And so it was settled, for Dick never said -much. I watched eagerly for tire captain to come back, for I knew that if he did it -might throw out our arrangement: but it came to be supper-time and then dark without any sign of him. I -oast many an anxious glance at- the sky as the sun went -down to see what sort of night it was likely to be. There wasn’t much to go by. At sunset the sky was pretty clear, and the glow behind the hills to the west might have been the reflection, of a forest on fire. Then the light died down slowly, and the stars came .out on© by one, but after a time they seemed to grow hazy and dim,, and I thought with satisfaction they would soon .be -obscured by tihe light clouds that floated up from the east. I was still sitting near the camp-fire when Dick -cam© round. "You can do ae you said. Jack,” he said in a low tone as he passed me. "[Report at once if you hear or see anything ; I’M -he here.” The few other fellows who were near noticed nothing but Dick’s "Good-night, Jack/’ as he walked on, but I had only been waiting for leave to go, and in a very few minutes more I was on • my way* rifle in 'hand, along the side of the creek towards the rivea*. 1 had taken a. good look in the afternoon, and made up my mind that X could get down to the river that way better than any other without being seen by our. sentry, and though* I didn’t know why. I felt anxious that none of our fellows should be able to watch what- I did. I wasn’t at all sure what I expected to see or to do, even while-1 was making my way cautiously through the ferns and scrub that filled the little gully through which the creek found its way to the river. X had half a doz'en vague expectations, and a dozen plans that were Still more uncertain, hut I couldn’t have fold erven myself what it was I expected to happen,

or why it was I felt sio excited at the prospect of some kind of adventure The spot where till© little creek joined the river was a piece of very low land which must have been quite covered when there was any water worth mentioning in the creek, but it was low now, and only ran in a little stream through the middle, leaving a flat place on each side. There was a small log of half-rotted timber, no doubt brought down by the floods, one end resting on the bank and the other half buried m the soft earth and sand, and on this I took a seat, and took a good long vook at the dark ribbon of water in front. It was a good place for a look-out station, such as I had thought I should like to get, for it was easier from where I was sitting to see along the surface of the river than it had been even when I lay on the bank at the spot I had watched from the night before, because; 1 was nearer its level. Then it was 1 certain our sentry couldn’t possibly I command a view of the spot and indeed | the dark background of the swampy forest on the opposite side seemed to make the water doubly dark Yes, the place was ail right, but now that I had got there the question was what could Ido ? I had expected to do something important when I 'had got leave to come, and I thought Dick expected it too; and if only something or other would happen, or these Maoris would do something, it would be all right—'but would they? After all meet likely Diok was right; they would expect us to be on tlie lookout now, and they would give us a bit of a rest. The longer I sat there, looking cut over the dark, shining water —for somehow, though it was really almost quite dark, there was a strange glassy look on the surface —tlie more likely it seemed to be that he was right, and that. I should have my labour for my pains. "It was certain there was nothing to be seen now, and except; the soft whisper cf tho running water as if washed the banks, there was not a sound orp any sort; I oo'uf.d almost have gone to sleep. I don’t know how long I sat there', looking at tlie river but liardly seeing anything, while I puzzled myself with fancies of what might happen, but at last something attracted my attention. For a minute I didn’t 'know what it was, but it seemed to me vaguely that there was some change in what I was looking at. Tt was Something that had come, like a darker shadow, between me and the further bank, and though I looked and rubbed my eyes, and looked again, it was several minutes before I could feel certain wliat it could be. At first it appeared to be a part of the opposite hank, and I thought of an animal that might have wandered there; but even while I was staling at it I could see that it moved. No*, it was not the bank—it was drifting. The place it had drifted to was not perhaps any lighter itself, bub it had a lighter background. Instead of the blacklooking trees the land was clear, and by bending tall I could look along the surface of tlie water I made it out at last—it was.otn the river, and it was a canoe, It was 'smaller than any canioe I had yet seen, and I was nob sure that there was even one person in it, but after the first I had no doubt it was a canoe. What wag it doing there? was tihe question that puzzled me. It might have drifted down by accident, and if it was really empty that was the likeliest explanation : but was it really empty ? It seemed so at first, for I could see nobody; but then how was it that- it had stopped l ?

The question was answered at flash As X watched it moved again. This time it turned slowly round as if. it had been caugbt in a current, til alt. grew smaller and smaller, and at -last only the end of it pointed my way. What was going to happen? As I looked it seemed to* slip away and disappear under the darker Shadow of the bank. It flashed on me in a moment wbat had happened—it had been' pulled ashoi*e. I didn’t know Why it was, but in a single moment I seemed to understand what it meant. There was, a roan in the canoe, most likely crouch- j ing low down in the bottom; perhaps hie had anchored her with a stone near the bank and now he had -hauled her in: was he going ho land? The' more J thought the’more likely it seemed. He had come to see whether we were on o*w guard; and now he couEd get back by land more easily than ’by the rivea*. That

was my idea; but I might be wrong. The oaily way to make sure would be to see him I had to wait some time, for I suppose he was cautious. At last I saw something move on the top of the low bank among the terns and ti-tree - scrub. It was impossible to see * what it waa that moved so carefully, but I tod no doubts now. I wa« as sure I had been right as if I had seen it all by daylight.

I laid my rifle carefully against the bank: I put my cartridge belt beside it, and tightened the belt at any waist; then I slipped cautiously into the river, and in an instant I was out of my depth. I was a good swimmer, and even with my dlothes on the distance was not serious—not more than half-a-mile certainly, and I knew the current wasn’t strong. I struck out quietly for the opposite bank, with long, vigorous strokes. My plans had not | been formed . when I started, hut they j seemed to grow into shape tag I swam steadily on. The first thing was 1 i o sco the canioe, of course, hut as I went on, heading ror a little point rather higher up than the place where I had seen the canoe,-it seemed to grow more and more evident that I must try to follow the Maori who had been spying on us till I teftmd out where he came from. The canoes that had been doing the misChief on the river were waiting there, ml doubt, for his repefrb before they canio down again. It was true I had not told Dick, and of course I hadn’t got. leave to do it, but that wouldn’t matter a bit, l knew, if only I succeeded in doing something of real use. I don’t know how long it took me to cross, for I was not- thinking of that, but of my- plans whan I got- over, but it could not have been long until! 1 felt that the dark shadows of the tall kahikateo* trees made the water seem darker than ever, and in another minute or two my feet touched ground. I landed at last not ten • yards below the spot where the canoe had been drawn a. little way up on the sloping beach, above which the bank lose seven or eight feet almost perpendicular. I had been right in thinking the canoe was a small one. Now that I looked at it closely I could see that it was made from a log roughly hollowed out, and certainly not big enough to carry more than two or three people safely. If there had been a paddle it wag gone, indeed there was nothing in the little hollow shell, not even a seat of any kind, so that my fancy was right , and the Maori crouched in the bottom. It was plain there was nothing t.o be done with that. If there had been a paddle I might have taken it over, but it would not have been worth the trouble for anything we could do with it; and without a paddle I coufdn’t even do that. I had stood looking at the' canoe for a minute but now I turned away—'the only thing to be done was to follow tho man who bad just got out. of it. It "might be dangerous, but at least it would be exciting. Tlie night waa dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t see what was close to me. or even mow that my eyes were quite accustomed to it, things a few yards off. I squeezed aa much of the water as I could out of my clothes and made a start.

It was easy enough to find the spot -where t-he Maori had -climbed the bank. It was steep, and the earth was soft, so that he had torn out a let of the ferns and ti-tree when -he dragged himself up. And now that I had once got the begin** ning of his track it was easy to follow it. The fern and scrub was only about three feet high, and the little trail ha had made through it ran round the edge of the low, swampy ground where the trees grew. That accounted for my not having seen him after he reached the top of the bank. It was dark—darker, now, that I had the trees cfose to me on my left than when I was on the river—* but I knew I coat'd hardly go far ivrong. The man I was following had kept close to tihe because he knew* be couldn’t be seen there from the opposite bank, -and as long as there was a risk of that he was sure to have kept to the little ridge T was on. Sometimes I cculTd make out the track he had made,.and even When I-couldn’t I felt sure it was close at hand. I walked as fast as I could, partly because the night, air on my wet clothes made me cold, and partly in hopes of overtaking the man I was following, near enough at least to' make sure I shouldn’t miss him.

I had skirted nearly half • the forest land when I noticed. that the faint track I was following turned inland, and led up to the higher I had observed from the other side. The track was so much better here that I fdlt sure dt was the one that had been often used before, and I was able to get along a great deal: faster, though I had to move carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, while I kept an anxious look-out on every side .as I burned on. ■ .. .

It was a longer road than I 'had supposed. . I believe I must have walked at least a mile before I caught sight of the man I had followed so. far. Even then Itv as net very near him.. He had suddenly come out of the shadow of the higher land and was walking on the very top of the nidge. For a moment, indeed. I felt as if I were riloise to him. he looked so.tail and distinct against the dim gray background of the skyand the thought flaslied across my mind, “could he have heard me following?” No. 'he 'hadn’t done that I felt sure, as I watched him pause for a second to look at something. I almost started, for as I looked at him now I could see that he was only a boy. He was not. so tail by some inches as I was, and he was slight and active; yes, be was a boy, or at the most a very young lad, and I felt sure I was older, and a good deal stronger. In one way that didn’t matter, for of course I had no idea of attacking him. What I wanted was to know where he had come from, and what he liad come to find out; but yet I was conscious that the knowledge that in was only a lad was a help to me, and it wag with a-more confident step that I followed by the path which led along the side of the ridge. < At last I reached the place where the path turned up. and in a minute more I too was on the top of the ridge. I remembered how he had paused, and almost involuntarily I did the same. T understood it in a moment. The ridge on which I was standing was not very high, (but it was higher, than I had thought above the creek which, as I had suspected from the first, lay beyond it. There was a village too;, at- least there were lights that eeemed to come from, a dozen different huts for they were scattered about in various directions and some of them were only paih•ly visible—owing no doubt, to the fruit trees that always seemed to grow around them. The lights, of course, came through the doors of the hurts, from the fires that burned on the floors, but I had never seen so many in a village before.

I stooped low, in case the lad I was f following should look behind him, and hurried as cautiously as I oou : !d ! along the path. As I went I was turning , things over, and trying to make up my mind w|iait -to do.. The village was ahead of ns. and therefore nearer to where the creek must run into the river, but except the scattered Sights I wasn’t able /as yet to make out anything in. the dark hoi-low,, so t-hait I had no idea, whether there was a fleet of canoes, such -as I had seen onoe before, or only one like the one I .had seen on. the- river. I must be able to report as to- that, or after ail-1 I should have done nothing. Ouv ridge was running parallel! with the creek and I would scon knew. Of course it was dangerous—-more danger*oua every minute, for though the lad never looked behind him there might be a dozen others, and they might see better from below. I crouched more closely .together and hurried on. We were opposite the lights ait- last, and liow I got a glimpse of water on which one of the lights seemed to rest and sparkle. . At that moment the boy, who couldn’t have been fifty yards ahead of me, turned down the slope and disappeared. I doubled myself so that I could almost have run on my hands V and knees and. reached the spo-t where the had turned. Yes, the path went down MIT and bellow, at no great -dis tance, was the creek. The village was on the .ether side, at least all the lights were there, and now I began to see more of the creek itself. It was a wider creek than any we had crossed coming up to the river,'and as I stared eagerly , at its shad'o-wy and yet somehow glistening surface, I saw that there were not only one but a good many s canoes there. I couldn’t make them out clearly enough to count them, but my suspicion had been correct: there were several, and they were big ones. I stayed for a minute or two where I was thinking \yihat it meant; then I turned and hurried back along the path hy which I 'had come—-Dick must know. (To be Continued.)