“Here, I’m not going to—”
“Hush, Jem. You’ll be heard,” whispered Don.
“Yes, but—lookye here.”
There was no time to say more. The first lieutenant of the ship, with a middy, Bosun Jones, and about twenty men came marching up, to find a group of Ngati’s men seated in a close circle, their blankets spread about them and their heads bent forward, grunting together, and not so much as looking round.
The men were halted, and the lieutenant addressed the tattooed Englishman.
“Well!” he said; “where are our two men?”
“Ask the sharks,” said the renegade, shortly.
“Humph! Yes. I suppose we shall have to. Poor wretches! The captain thought we’d have a last look round. But mind this, if they turn up here, you and your men will detain them till we come back. I shall hold you responsible.”
The Englishman grunted after the fashion of one of the savages.
