"He wants you to go to his help. He wants help badly by the lake amid
the hills."
"Where is that?" asked the men of each other.
"I'll guide you," said Edwin. "I'll show you the way."
"Not you," they answered simultaneously. "You just lie here and sleep
in safety. Some of the other fellows will know. That will be all
right."
As they laid him back on the blanket, Edwin saw in the dim, uncertain
light the rough sleeve of a blue jacket.
"What! surprised to meet us here, my boy?" said the voice, which he now
knew to be the captain's. "Though our feet were sore with dragging over
the oyster-bed, we went back with Feltham's shepherds. When we saw your
fire flash up against the night sky, says some of the fellows, 'That is
a signal,' and off they went to see, and when they brought you into camp
I knew you in a moment."
Edwin grasped the horny hand held out to him with a smile.
"Where is my horse?" he asked.
"Tethered outside; but there is not a bit of food to give him--no, not a
single bite. But lie still and sleep and eat yourself, and in a few
hours you will be all right."
When Edwin waked again it was daylight. A piece of camping-out bread
and a cup of water stood beside him, but every man was gone.
He took the breakfast they had provided, and walked to the door of the
tent eating his bread. There was no one in sight but Beauty, looking
very wretched for want of food. Edwin broke the crumb from his piece of
bread, and carried it to him.
"We will go shares, old fellow," he said, patting him, "and then you
will carry me to father.
'What must be, must;
But you shall have crumb,
If I have crust.'"
He looked about the tent, and found a small pail. The hiss and splash of
bubbling water guided him to the geyser. He knew the men would not have
put up their tent unless there had been a spring at hand. He filled his
pail with the boiling water, and left it to cool for Beauty's benefit.
Still he thought they could not be very far off, or they would not have
left their tent. But he was afraid to waste time looking about him.
Some of the party had no doubt remained behind. He longed to follow the
captain, and go back to Ottley and Whero, for when their work was over
by the lake he knew they would help him to find his father. Edwin found
a charred stick where the men had made their camp fire. He wrote with
it on a piece of bark:--
"Good-bye, and thanks to all kind friends. I am going back to
Ottley.--EDWIN LEE."
Then he gave poor Beauty his water, and started off for the Rota Pah.
He was trusting to the horse's sagacity. "If I give him the rein," he
thought, "he is safe to take the road to his old home."
But no brief spell of sleep, with its blessed forgetfulness, had come to
Whero. He had kept his lonely vigil on the tumbled thatch, chanting his
mournful dirge until the echoes rang. There, with the starshine
overhead, and that strange cloud through which the fire still flashed
rising like a wall between him and the sacred hills, he felt himself
abandoned by earth and heaven. But his despair had reached its climax.
The help which Edwin had gone to seek was nearer than he thought. A
long, dark shadow was thrown across the star-lit ground, and Ottley
hastened towards him, exclaiming,--
"Stop that howling. Be a man, and help me. We'll soon see if there is
any one alive beneath that thatch."
He found himself a pole among the broken arms of the trees, and set to
work tearing away the thatch until the starlight waned, and the darkest
hour of all the night put a stop to his efforts.
But in many places the roof was stripped to its rafters, so that the
cold night breeze could enter freely. Whero was gathering the heaps of
dusty rush which Ottley had flung off to make a fire. The cheery flames
leaped upward, but were far too evanescent to do more than give a
glimpse into the interior of the whare. But Ottley saw something in the
dark corner of the room like a white dress, fluttering in the admitted
gust. Could it be the thin white sheet in which Kakiki had chosen to
disguise himself?
Brief as the blaze had been, it had served as a beacon to guide the
captain and his mates to the spot with their spades and bill-hooks. To
chop away the beam, to build a more substantial fire with the splintered
wood, was easy now. Whero leaped through the hole, and reappeared with
his mother in his arms. The captain swung himself down after him,
directed by Ottley to "that something white in the corner." He dragged
it forward--a senseless burden. A spade full of ice from above was
dashed into the unconscious face of the aged chieftain resting on his
shoulder. As Kakiki Mahane opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was
the well-remembered face of Ottley looking down upon him, and the first
thing he heard was the heartfelt murmur which ran through the little
group above, "In time! thank God, in time!"
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*FEEDING THE HUNGRY.*
As Edwin crossed the desolated bush, the morning sun lit up the
marvellous cloud-banks with a flush of pink and gold that held him
spell-bound with the strangeness of the sight, until the dust-drift
before him began to tremble visibly with an earthquake shock. He was
not wrong in his estimate of Beauty's intelligence, but the weary horse
poked his head forward and walked languidly. Edwin avoided the hill
where he had found the kaka. He shrank from the gruesome spot even by
daylight.
He was trying to find a safe pathway to the lake, when he saw Ottley
walking rapidly towards him. He waved his arm to the boy to stop. As
they drew near to each other, Edwin almost shuddered, expecting to hear
nothing but ill news. He was bitterly reproaching himself for not
having asked the captain if he had heard anything of his father.
But Ottley shouted out "Well met" in a cheery tone, adding dryly, "I
hope you got some breakfast at the camp, for on this side of the bush it
is very hard to find. We have been at it all night. Nga-Hepe has not
yet come round; but Marileha is saved, and her white-haired father too.
We have done what we could, with nothing to help us but the keen frosty
air and muddy water. Now we must have food, for most of the villagers
from the Rota Pah had taken refuge with them. The mud slipped off the
sloping roof of Nga-Hepe's whare when half the huts in the pah lay
crushed beneath its weight. I am going to the ford to see if Hirpington
has come back to his place. He kept a full store-room at all times."
"O Mr. Ottley," exclaimed Edwin, "let me go too, for father may be with
him."
"No, he is not, my boy," returned Ottley, compassionately. "He was the
first in the field, and did wonders. He has been hurt by a falling
tree, but an old fellow they call Hal is taking care of him in one of
the tents. I'll show you where."
"Show me at once," entreated Edwin. "I must go to father first,
wherever he is. I have been such a very long while trying to find him.
Is it very far from here?"
"No," answered Ottley; "but you must wait until I can take you there.
You had better come with me now, and get some food for your father
whilst I can give it to you. If Hirpington has not come back, we must
dig into the house and help ourselves, and reckon the pay when we meet."
"Please, Mr. Ottley," burst in Edwin, "tell me all about father. Is he
much hurt?"
"My boy," exclaimed Ottley, "I know no more than you do; but if he is
roughing it, as our fellows do up there alone, better wait and see what
I can find."
Edwin felt the force of this reasoning, and said no more. Ottley laid
his hand on Beauty's rein, and walked beside him.