To get back to the ford as quickly as they could was now their chief desire. It was aggravating—it was enough to make a fellow feel mad all over—to think that Effie and Cuthbert and the Bowens had passed them just that little bit too soon. Edwin grew loud in his regrets. Audrey would have called it crying over spilt milk. He could do nothing but think of Audrey and her philosophical proverbs. To practise the patience which was their outcome was a little more difficult. To sit down where they were and wait for the next steamer up stream to help them on their way was tantalizing indeed, when nobody could tell what might be taking place at the ford at that very moment.
But they had not long to wait, for the sight of a Maori boy, a Hau-Hau from the King country, in the heart of the hills, had a special attraction for every New Zealander coming from the coast. All were breathless for the particulars of the dire eruption, which had overwhelmed their sunny vales, and changed their glassy lakes to Stygian pools.
Not a sailor who could pull a rope, not a passenger lounging on its tiny deck, would willingly forego the chance of hearing something definite and detailed. The steamer stopped, and the man at the wheel asked eagerly for news, any more news from the doomed hills, looming gaunt and gray in the dim distance.
No sooner did they touch the deck than the two boys found themselves the centre of an earnest questioning group, athirst for the latest intelligence. It was a grave responsibility for both of them. They chose to remain on deck, keeping as near to the master of the vessel as they could without attracting attention. For each one knew that he was carrying his father's hoard, and their recent experiences made them regard the rough appearance of most of the men around them with mistrust.
It was a secret belief with both the boys that they were safer alone in their canoe; but Whero's strength was expended. He leaned on Edwin's arm for support, and was only restrained from falling into one of his cat-like dozes by the fear that another thievish hand might steal away his treasure while he slept. They could not return as they came; rest and food must be had.
A coil of rope provided the one, and the steward promised the other. But before the boys were permitted to taste the dinner so freely offered, Edwin had to describe afresh the strange and startling phenomena appearing on that night of terror, which rumour with her double tongue could scarcely magnify. He described them as only an eye-witness, with the horror of the night still over him, could describe them; and the men stood round him spell-bound. All the while his words were painting the vivid scenes, his thoughts were debating the very practical question, "Ought I, or ought I not, to spend some of father's money, now I have got it back, and buy more meat and flour and cheese to carry home?" He thought of the widespread dearth, and he knew that the little store he had found unhurt at the valley farm might all be gone on his return, and yet he was afraid to venture with the wealth of gold he had about him into doubtful places. No, he dare not risk it again. They must trust for to-morrow's bread.
When they quitted the steamer the short wintry day had long passed its noon, and the wind blew cold around them as they returned to the open boat. Edwin was rowing now; for when they drew nearer to the hills, both he and Whero agreed that he must lie down again beneath the rushes. The kaka had hidden its head under its wing when the exchange was made. The weary Maori boy could scarcely make his way against roaring wind and rushing water. They were long in getting as far as the ravine where the tiny kainga nestled.
Whero moored his canoe in a little cleft of the rock, where it was concealed from view, and landed alone. Edwin's heart beat fast when he heard light steps advancing to the water's edge. His hand was cold as the ice congealing on the duck-weed as a dusky face peered round the ledge of rock and smiled. It was Marileha.
"Good food make Ingarangi boy anew," she said, putting into Edwin's hand a steaming kumara, or purple-coloured Maori potato. Whilst he was eating it Whero brought round a larger "dug-out," used now by his father. It was piled with savoury-smelling roasted pig, newly-baked cakes of dirty-looking Maori wheat, with roasted wekas or wingless moor-hens hanging in pairs across a stick. Like a wise woman, Marileha had spent the day in providing the savoury meat much loved by one she wanted to propitiate.
"They have not yet come back," said Whero, beckoning to Edwin to join him in the larger canoe, where he could be more easily concealed beneath the mats on which the provisions were laid.