“Through there, Jem?” said Don, rising slowly, and looking half stunned with horror.
“Yes, my lad; and Tomati’s busy over the other side, and can’t come. Arn’t it time us two did something?”
“Yes,” said Don, with his face flushing, as he gave a final look at the dead Maori. “Ah!”
Both he and Jem stopped short then, for there was a yell of dismay as Ngati was seen now to stagger away from the fence, and fall headlong, bleeding from half-a-dozen wounds.
An answering yell came from outside, and the clatter of spear and tomahawk seemed to increase, while the posts were beginning to yield in the weak spot near where the two companions stood.
“Come on, Jem!” cried Don, who seemed to be moved by a spirit of excitement, which made him forget to feel afraid; and together they ran to where two men, supported by their companions outside, were hacking at the toro-toro, while others were fiercely thrusting their spears through whenever the defenders tried to force the axe-men down.
“Pistols, Jem, and together, before those two fellows cut the lashings.”
“That’s your sort!” cried Jem; and there was a sharp click, click, as they cocked their pistols.
“Now, Jem, we mustn’t miss,” said Don. “Do as I do.”
He walked to within three or four yards of the great fence, and rested the butt of the spear he carried on the ground. Then, holding the pistol-barrel against the spear-shaft with his left hand, thus turning the spear into a support, he took a long and careful aim at a great bulky savage, holding on the top of the fence.