“Me? What, already? Lie down?”
“Sleep,” said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.
“All right, I’ll go. Didn’t think I’d been watching so long.” He nodded and walked away. “Wish he wouldn’t pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It’s just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough.”
Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.
“Wonder how long wounds take to heal,” he said softly. “Cuts arn’t much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I’m very tired, but I sha’n’t be able to go to—”
He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.
“All right, Sally, I’ll get up. I— Oh, it’s you, Mas’ Don.”
“Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming.”
Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening.
A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right.