Arthur Bowen was by Edwin's side as he spoke. With one impulse the bar was lifted to its place, and the trio retreated to the veranda. A long train of pack-horses came winding down the valley.
Which was coming—friend or foe?
The boys stood very close to each other, ready to bolt in-doors at a moment's warning. Edwin was at once the bravest and the most apprehensive.
"You had better go to father and leave us two to watch," he said to his brother.
"But old Cuth won't go," muttered the little fellow, squaring his shoulders and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he took his stand between them.
"Holloa! ho! oh!" shouted a cheery voice they all knew well.
"It is Ottley! it is Ottley!" was echoed from side to side.
Down went the bar once more. Out ran the trio, leaping, jumping, chasing each other over the uneven ground, strewed with the broken arms from the fallen giants of the neighbouring forest. They raced each other across the valley in the exuberance of their boyish spirits, let loose by the momentary relief from the pressure and the fetters which had been crushing them to earth.
"Until the coach can run again," said Ottley, as they came up to him laughing and panting, "I have started a pack-horse team to carry up supplies. The roadmen are rebuilding their huts, and as I came along they warned me one and all to avoid the ford to-night. They were anticipating a bit of warm work up there with their Maori neighbours, and were holding themselves ready to answer the fordmaster's signal at any moment. They told me of a crossing lower down the stream. The fords were sure to shift their places after such a time as we have had. I found myself so near the valley farm, I turned aside to water my horses at the rivulet, and rest for the night."
"Come along," cried Edwin; "father will be glad to see you. But there has been no scrimmage at the ford; trust Mr. Hirpington for that."