“Yes: my pakeha; Maori pakeha!” cried the chief eagerly.
“But what is a pakeha?”
“Why, you’re a pakeha, I’m a pakeha. They call foreigners pakehas; and he wants to claim you as his.”
“What, his slave?” cried Don.
“No, no; he means his foreign brother. If you become his pakeha, he will be bound to fight for you. Eh, Ngati?”
The savage gave vent to a fierce shout, and went through his former performance, but with more flourish, as if he were slaying numbers of enemies, and his facial distortion was hideous.
“Well, when I was a little un, and went to school,” said Jem, “I used to get spanks if I put out my tongue. Seems as if it’s a fine thing to do out here.”
“Yes; it’s a way they have when they’re going to fight,” said the Englishman thoughtfully. “S’pose it would mean trouble if I were to set you on to do it; but it wouldn’t be at all bad for me if you were both of you to leave the ship and come ashore.”
“To be cooked?” said Jem.
“Bah! Stuff! They’d treat you well. Youngster here’s all right; Ngati would make him his pakeha.”