CHAPTER XVII
SAFE BIND, SAFE FIND
When George Haughton managed to corner the busy chief and wrathfully demand of him how he had dared to claim him as a Pakeha-Maori, Te Karearea met his remonstrances quietly, professing himself astonished at the other's indignation.
'You said you might do worse,' he protested. 'I took that for consent. Besides, Hortoni, if you had not been my friend, you would not have stood between me and death. It is absurd to argue about so simple a matter.' And he stalked off, leaving George raging at his own incautiousness in having ventured to bandy ironical chaff with such a master of tricks.
Terence laughed when George reported the conversation.
'We must remember,' said he, 'that, thanks to Te Karearea, the Hau-haus are inclined to be friendly; but if we contradict his highness too energetically, we shall find ourselves surrounded by malignant enemies, and probably be separated. I am for making the best of it.' And in this view George at length concurred.
Events proved Terence right; for as time went on they did what they liked, and no one attempted to interfere with them. Nevertheless, an uneasy feeling that they were closely shadowed withheld them from any exploration of the surrounding country, and they wandered about, watching the girls at work on the kumara[1] fields across the river, inspecting the bags of the hunters, and keenly interesting themselves in the active preparations for war.
'There is something in the wind,' George said one day a fortnight after their arrival. 'I am told that the war-dance was performed last night. Now, a big war-dance is a thing unknown except on the outbreak of war, or just before a battle; so perhaps word has come of the approach of our troops, or there may be friendlies in the neighbourhood.'
'I noticed no particular excitement to-day,' observed Terence.
'Perhaps not; but all the same some big military movement is imminent. If you could understand their talk, you would have heard them boasting that none of the dancers fainted or fell, which is always considered a good omen.'
On the following afternoon, attracted by bursts of laughter, the comrades turned into one of the long lanes between the whares, and came upon a dozen lads amusing themselves by casting clubs at a sort of Maori equivalent to the 'Aunt Sally' of English fairs. The 'uncle,' as it was here, was grim enough, being the dried head of one of the Arawas slain in the recent fight. On the crown of this dismal object was set an empty beer-bottle, and to bring this down without touching the head was the object of the throwers.
But the more they threw, the more they missed, which struck Terence as odd, and, at last, Te Karearea, who was leaning nonchalantly against a door-post, looking on, drew out his mere and stepped forward.
'Let us show these children what men can do,' he said, and shivered the bottle at the first throw. 'Can you better that, Hortoni?'
'Perhaps I can equal it,' returned George, taking his stand. Te Karearea's eyes gleamed and flashed a glance of intelligence at a lank youth who was lounging near the mark, apparently uninterested.
Back swung George's arm; but as his right foot was raised preparatory to the cast, his greenstone club was plucked from his fingers, and he turned sharply to find Terence smiling at him and holding the precious weapon.
Without a word or a look at Te Karearea, George thrust the club back into his belt and strode away. Terence, however, lingered an instant to grin triumphantly at the chief, in exchange for which attention he received a scowl so hateful and malignant that he thought it wise to follow his friend without delay.
The captives were greatly troubled by their inability to discover the whereabouts of Paeroa, Kawainga his betrothed, and Pokeke the Hau-hau, not one of whom had been seen since the day of their entrance into the pah. George was convinced that all three had been hidden away, if not killed out of hand, in order to prevent them from coming further under his influence; and concerning Paeroa and his sweetheart he was sincerely distressed.
'It is intolerable to think that our pretty Morning Star should be at the mercy of such an unscrupulous brute as the chief,' Terence exclaimed angrily, as they were discussing this question in their quarters one stormy night. 'We must search for her and Paeroa. We have been here nearly three weeks, and I think we might venture to begin.'
'Let us chance it,' agreed George. 'We will try the under——'
'Salutations, friends!' said Te Karearea, appearing in the doorway. 'I come to ask if you will renew your parole.'
'We cannot renew what we have not withdrawn,' George answered irritably. He was wondering how much the chief had heard. 'When we are tired of liberty we will tell you. There will be no need for you to come and ask us.'
'The Pakehas are abominably deceitful,' Te Karearea remarked absently. 'It is very difficult to know when they are telling the truth.'
'How dare you say such a thing to us?' George cried hotly; while Terence, when he understood, flushed and glared at the chief.
'There is a bad spirit in you to-night, Hortoni,' the Maori said smoothly. 'When you stopped me with angry words, I was about to say that neither you nor Mura would break your promises.'
'Oh, were you?' returned George, by no means appeased. 'Hear now my word, O Hawk of the Mountain, for it shall be the last. Until we tell you that we intend to take back our parole, we shall respect it.'
'Until you tell me—not Winata Pakaro or another?' queried the chief, darting glances at them.
'It is you to whom we are responsible,' answered George curtly.
'Then, until I hear with my own ears from your own mouths the words "We take back our parole," I may rest assured that you will make no attempt to escape?' went on Te Karearea, with curious persistence and a sharp anxiety of voice and manner which George noticed but did not understand.
'You may,' he replied loftily. 'And for the future do not come here with insults in your mouth.'
'It is well,' Te Karearea said suavely. 'Sleep soundly, my friends, and dream of peace.' After a grave inclination, he drew his mat around his shoulders and stalked out.
'What is at the back of all that, I wonder,' said Terence.
'It was like his impudence to talk as he did,' fumed George; 'but he does nothing without a reason. But I am too tired to solve conundrums. Let us go to bed.'
Once or twice during the night Terence awoke and sat up, listening to the extraordinary clamour of wind and rain, in which, it seemed to him, a multitude of tongues spoke softly, and the faint pad-pad of naked feet made itself manifest. But the noise of the elements confused him, and it was not until breakfast-time next morning that he mentioned his fancies to George, who looked uncommonly grave as he listened.
'Let us go and find out if anything did happen,' he suggested as they rose from their meal; for he was oppressed by an uncomfortable feeling that trouble was in store for them. His presentiment presently grew stronger, for, as they walked towards the marae, or open courtyard of the pah, the unusual quiet of the long lanes surprised them, for the inhabitants were early astir as a rule.
The court itself was deserted, save for two old men, who sat upon a seat opposite to the open gates. George looked down upon the plain, where a company of women and children could be seen returning from the bush across the river. In anxious haste he turned to one of the old men.
'Where is everybody, O my father?' he inquired. 'Where is Te Karearea?'
The old Maori shook his head and showed his toothless gums. 'Nay; he is not here, Hortoni. He is gone to fight the Pakeha.'
'Gone to fight the Pakeha!' echoed George. He looked down again. A band of armed Maoris had issued from the bush and were crossing the river bridge. 'Is that the Hawk returning?' he asked. 'Wake up, old man!' He gently shook the ancient. 'Is it the Hawk who flies hither?'
The old fellow blinked drowsily in the warm sun. 'Nay; Te Karearea is gone to drive the Pakeha into Moana. Who knows when he will return? Let me slumber, Hortoni.'
George wheeled round upon Terence. 'The crafty rascal!' he cried wrathfully. 'I see it all now. It was the noise of his departure that you heard in the night, Terence. Well might he scheme that we should bind ourselves fast with our own words. Oh, if you had but woke me! But now we have promised, and——' He shook his fist in the direction of the bush. 'Terence, we have been properly fooled. We are caught in a trap of our own making.'
'A parole extorted by such a piece of treachery can hardly be considered binding,' objected Terence.
'Oh, we will keep our word, if only to shame him, if that were possible. But let the subtle Hawk look out for himself when we do take back our parole.'
'And may I be there to see,' finished Terence, taking his friend's arm. 'Let us go to meet those people and learn the news.’
[1] Potato.