He and Don could have fled at once, but they could not leave their New Zealand friend in the lurch; and as the struggle went on, Jem had literally to feel his way to Ngati’s help, no easy task in the darkness when two men are struggling.
At last he was successful, and got a grip of one of the combatants’ throat; but a hoarse, “No, pakeha!” told him of his mistake.
He rectified it directly, getting his arm round the neck of the guard, tightening his grasp, and with such good effect, that Ngati wrenched himself free, and directly after Don heard one heavy blow, followed by a groan.
“My pakeha!”
“Here!” whispered Don, as they heard the rapid beating of feet, shouts below, in the pah, and close at hand.
Ngati seized Don’s hand, and after stooping down, thrust a spear into it. Then, uttering a grunt, he placed another spear in Jem’s hand, the spoils of their fallen enemy, and leaving him for a moment, he felt along the fence for his own weapon.
He spoke no more, but by means of action made Don understand that he would go first, holding his spear at the trail, he grasping one end, Don the other. Jem was to do likewise, and thus linked together they would not be separated.
All this took time, and during the brief moments that elapsed it was evident that the whole tribe was alarmed, and coming up to the pah.
“All right, Mas’ Don! I understand. It’s follow my leader, and old ‘my pakeha’ to lead.”
Ngati did not hesitate a moment, but went rapidly down the steep descent, straight for the river, apparently right for where some of the yelling tribe were advancing.