This time a scout came running in uninjured and with his spear to announce the nearer approach of the enemy.
Tomati received his news coolly enough, and then, after a word or two with Ngati, signed to the man to join the defenders, while two fresh scouts were sent out to spy the neighbourhood, and keep the chiefs well informed of the coming danger.
Ngati’s eyes seemed to flash, and there was a savage rigidity in his countenance that suggested hard times for the man who attacked him; but he seemed to place the most implicit confidence in Tomati, obeying his slightest suggestion, and evidently settling himself into the place of lieutenant to the white captain.
After the first wailing and tears, the women and children settled down in their shelter quite as a matter of course, and as if such an event as this were no novelty in their social history. Once within the pah, and surrounded by stout fighting men on whom they could depend, they seemed quite satisfied, and full of confidence in the result of an attack, and this took Jem’s notice.
“Can’t be much danger,” he said, half contemptuously, “or these here wouldn’t take it so coolly.”
“But it looks as if there was going to be a desperate fight.”
“Tchah! Not that, Mas’ Don.”
“But look at that scout who ran in. He was hurt.”
“So is a boy who has had his head punched, and whose nose bleeds. There won’t be no real fighting, my lad. I mean men being killed, and that sort o’ thing.”
“Think not, Jem?”