Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story

  *CHAPTER XIX.*

  *MET AT LAST.*

  The boys were recovering their equanimity, when the stiff sea-breezeblowing in their faces scattered the rushes and sent them sailing downthe stream.

  Whero drew his canoe to the bank as they came to a quiet nook whererushes were growing abundantly, that he might gather more.

  Whero was out of his latitude, in a _terra incognita_, where he knew nothow to supply the want of a dinner. How could he stop to discover thehaunts of the wild ducks to look for their eggs? How could he reach thecabbage in the top of those tall and graceful ti trees, which shooktheir waving fronds in the wintry breezes? Ah! if it had been summer,even here he would not have longed in vain. His bundle of rushes wasunder his arm, when he noticed a hollow willow growing low to theriver-side. A swarm of bees in the recent summer had made it theirhome, and their store of winter honeycomb had filled the trunk. Swarmsof bees gone wild had become so frequent near the English settlements,wild honey was often found in large quantities. But to Whero it was arare treat. He was far too hungry to be able to pass it by. Hescrambled up the bank, and finding the bees were dead or torpid with thecold, he began to break off great pieces of the comb, and lay them onhis rushes to carry away.

  As he was thus engaged a man came through the clustering ti trees andasked him to give him a bit.

  Whero was ready enough to share his spoils with the stranger, for therewas plenty. As he turned to offer the piece he had just broken off, hesaw he was an ill-looking man, with his hat slouched over his eyes,carrying a roll of pelts and a swag at the end of a stick, which hadevidently torn a hole through the shoulder of the wretched old coat theman was wearing.

  "Much craft on the river here?" asked the man. "Any barges passing thatwould take a fellow down to the coast?"

  "I am a stranger here," answered Whero; "I do not know." As he spoke,his quick eye detected the stains of the hateful blue volcanic mud onthe man's dirty clothes.

  "I'll be off," he thought. "Who are you? You are from the hills,whoever you are."

  He gave him another great piece of the honeycomb, for fear he shouldfollow him to ask for more.

  "That is so old," objected the man; "look how dark it is. Give me abetter bit."

  But he took it notwithstanding, and tried to put it in his raggedpocket. The holes were so large it fell through.

  "There is plenty more in the tree," said Whero. "Why do you not go andhelp yourself?" He took up his rushes and walked quickly to the canoe.

  Edwin was making a screen for his face with the few remaining rushes.Whero saw that he was looking eagerly through them, not at the honeycombhe was bringing, but at the man on the bank.

  "Do you know him?" asked Whero.

  "Yes, yes; it is Lawford," answered Edwin, under his breath. "Look, hehas got his rabbit-skins and his swag. How careful he is over it! Hehas set his foot on it whilst he gets the honey."

  The canoe was completely hidden by the tall tufts of bulrush growingbetween it and the willow, so they could watch unseen. The man wasenjoying the honeycomb immensely. He was choosing out the best pieces.Whero gave Edwin the kaka, lest it should betray them.

  "You are sure it is Lawford?" asked Whero.

  "Yes, quite," replied Edwin, beginning to eat.

  The best of the honeycomb was higher up in the hollow trunk, where therain could not wash out its sweetness. As Lawford was stretching up hisarm to get at it, the sweet-brier, now so plentiful in New Zealand, thatwas growing about its roots caught the ragged old coat. They heard therent; something fell out of the pocket on the other side.

  He picked it up hastily, shaking off the dirt into which it had fallen."It is my father's belt!" exclaimed Edwin. Whero was over the side ofthe canoe in a moment, and crawling through the bed of rushes with thenoiseless swiftness of a wild animal watching its prey.

  He saw Lawford unpack what New Zealanders call a swag--that is, a pieceof oil-cloth provided with straps, which takes the place of knapsack orportmanteau amongst travellers of Lawford's description. If a man hasnot even got a swag, he is reckoned a sundowner in colonial eyes. Swagsare always to be bought at the smallest stores. No difficulty aboutthat. As Whero drew nearer, he saw the swag was a new one. Everythingelse about the man looked worn out.

  Lawford was unpacking it on the ground, throwing suspicious glances overhis shoulder as he did so; but his recent companion seemed to havevanished. He stood up and looked all round him, but there was no one tobe seen.

  He took out a small bundle packed up in flax-leaves, which he beganslowly to unwind.

  Did not Whero know the bag which his own mother had woven? Couldanything produce those tell-tale stains but the hateful mud from whichit had been dug up?

  Lawford wrapped the belt round the bag, and bound the flax-leaves overboth as before. When he began to strap up the swag, Whero crept back tothe canoe. His eyes were ablaze with passion.

  "Pull off your coat," he whispered, "and leave it in the rushes. Takemine, or he will know you."

  Edwin eagerly complied.

  "Sleep deep; lie on your face!" whispered Whero, covering him over withthe rushes he had brought. Then, before Edwin had the least idea of whathe was purposing, Whero pushed out his canoe into the middle of theriver, and paddled quickly to a handy landing-place a little farther on.He ran up the bank shouting to Lawford, "If you want a boat to go downriver to meet a coaster, I'll row you in my canoe. But you will have topay me."

  "You would not work without that if you are a Maori, I know," retortedthe other, taking out a well-worn purse.

  "Come along," shouted Whero; "that's a' right." The unsuspectingLawford took his seat in the canoe, and gave Edwin an unwary kick.

  "Who have you got here?" he asked.

  "A chum asleep," answered Whero, indifferently, as he stroked his kaka.

  Edwin was feeling anything but indifferent. He knew not how to liestill. "If we are not dead unlucky," he thought, "we shall get allback--Nga-Hepe's bag, and father's belt too. We must mind we do notbetray ourselves. If we can manage to go on board the same steamer,when we are right out to sea I'll tell the captain all; and we will giveLawford in charge as he lands." Such was Edwin's plan; but he could notbe sure that Whero's was the same. He dare not exchange a look or sign;"for," he said to himself, "if Lawford catches sight of me, it is allover."

  They passed another little steamer going up the river, with itscoal-barge in tow.

  Edwin felt as if Audrey's sedate face would be looking down upon himfrom its deck, but he was wrong.

  "Nothing is certain but the unforeseen," he sighed; but he rememberedhis part, and the sigh became a snore, which he carefully repeated atintervals, for Lawford's benefit.

  He little thought how soon his words would be fulfilled. The steamerwas some way ahead, and Whero was making towards it steadily. The bargebehind them was lessening in the distance, when the Maori boy fixed hisfingers like a vice in the strap of Lawford's swag, and upset his canoe.

  Whero knew that Edwin could swim well, and that Lawford was unused tothe water. Whero had detected that by the awkward way in which hestepped into the canoe.

  The two struggled in the water for the possession of the swag. At lastthe man relinquished his hold, and Whero swam to shore triumphantly,leaving him to drown.

  "He shall not drown!" cried Edwin, hastening towards him with vigorousstrokes; but before he could reach the spot, Lawford had sunk. Edwinswam round and round, watching for him to rise.

  It was a moment of anguish so intense he thought life, reason, allwithin him, would give way before the dreadful question, "What have Ibeen? An accomplice in this man's death--all unknowing, it is true; butthat cannot save him. Oh! it does matter," he groaned, "what kind offellows a boy is forced to take for his chums."

  The drowning man rose to the surface. Edwin grasped him by the coat.For a little while they floated with the current, until Lawford's w
eightbegan to drag Edwin down.

  "Better die with him than live to know I have killed him," thoughtEdwin. One hurried upward glance into the azure sky brought back theremembrance of One who is ever present, ever near, and strong to save usto the uttermost. This upheld him. A tree came floating by; he caughtat its branches. Lawford had just sense enough to follow his example andcling for dear life to the spreading arms.

  A bargee, unloading his freight of coal upon the bank, perceived theirdanger, and swam out with a rope. He threw it to Lawford, but he missedit. A second was flung from the barge, and the noose at the end of itcaught among the branches flapping up and down in the water. Men'slives were at stake, but as the value of the drift-wood would well repayits capture, they hauled it in with the bold young swimmer clinging toits boughs; for the first of the watermen who came to their help hadseized Lawford, who relinquished his hold on the tree to snatch at therope he brought him.

  The two men swam to the barge. Edwin was drawn in to shore. Hescrambled up the bank and looked around him for Lawford.

  He saw the rabbiter half lying on the deck of the barge, panting withrage and fear, and shouted to him, "Safe! all safe!"

  But Lawford answered with a bitter imprecation on the son of thecannibal, who had purposely flung him over, tossed him like a bone tothe hungry sharks.

  "Ask yourself why," retorted Edwin. "And what might not I have done toyou, if I had never heard such words as, 'Neither do I condemn thee: go,and sin no more'?"

  "Come," interposed the waterman to Lawford, "shut up. Such language asthis is wonderfully unbecoming from the mouths of fellows scarcesnatched back from a watery grave, and we don't care to hear it. Saywhat you will to the young 'un, he made a bold fight with the tide tosave you. Let him alone."

  "Where were you bound for?" said the bargee aside to Edwin, as the boypoured out his gratitude for their timely assistance.

  "I wanted to take a passage on board the steamer for Christchurch, and aMaori boy was rowing me down to meet it. This man was in the samecanoe, and had robbed the boy who was rowing us. In the strugglebetween them the canoe was upset."

  "Go on with him, then," advised the bargee, "and give him in charge whenhe lands."

  "No," answered Edwin resolutely, "for the boy recovered his own. Butthis man is a bad one, and I would rather stay where I am than be in hiscompany another hour."

  "Run off, then," returned the bargee kindly; "run until you are dry, andyou will take no harm. As for this fellow, we will ship him off to theSouth Island, if that is where he wants to go."

  Edwin wrung the bargee's horny hand, and followed his counsel with allspeed. Lawford's jeering laugh was ringing in his ears.

  "He thinks I am running away from him; if he fancies I am afraid, hemakes a mistake, that is all," reflected Edwin, racing onward.

  But where was Whero? A run of half-a-mile brought Edwin back to theriver-brink again, but nearer to the spot where the canoe was upset.Whero had recovered it, and was looking about for his friend. Edwincould see his tiny "dug-out" zigzagging round the boulders, and stillrushing seawards, as he paused to reconnoitre a leafless bush on thewater's edge, which seemed to bear a fancied resemblance to the figureof a crouching boy. Edwin pulled off his jacket and waved it high inthe air. He threw up his arms. He shouted. He did everything he couldthink of to attract Whero's attention. But his back was towards him.All his signals seemed in vain, but not quite; for the kaka was swinginghigh up among the top-most branches of an enormous willow near the sceneof the upset. From such an elevation it espied Edwin, and recognizingWhero's jacket, which he was waving flag-like over his head, it swoopeddown upon him with an angry scream, and seizing the jacket by thesleeve, tugged at it with all its might. If Whero could not distinguishthe shout of his friend from the rush of the water, the doleful "Hoke"of his bird could not be mistaken, and Edwin soon saw him rowing swiftlytowards them.

  "What for?" demanded Whero; "what for go bother about a thief? What ishe good for? Throw him over, and have done with him."

  "Ah!" retorted Edwin, "but we never should have done with him. The lifewe had let him lose would have lain like a terrible weight on us,growing heavier and heavier as we too drew nearer to the grave. ForChrist himself refuses to lift the murderer's load. But you do not know;you are not to blame, as I should have been."

  The overmastering feelings which prompted Edwin to say this shot fromhis eyes and quivered in his voice, and Whero, swayed by a force hecould not understand, reaching him only by words, yielded to theinfluence of the light thus vibrating from soul to soul.

  "Yes," he said, reflectively, "there is something greater than killing,and I want the greatest things."