Ngati pressed their arms; and signing to them to lie down and wait, he crept onward, to be absent about a quarter of an hour, when he returned to say a few words in his native tongue, and then squat down and bury his face in his hands, as if in thought.
“They’re just in front, Mas’ Don. I keep hearing of ’em,” whispered Jem. “Sometimes I hear ’em one way, sometimes the other.”
“That is through the echoes, Jem. How are we to manage now?”
Ngati answered the question in silence, for, rising quickly, after being deep in thought, he silently picked some grass and moss, rolled it into a pear shape, and bound it on the end of his spear. Then holding the weapon up high, he bent his body in a peculiar way, and stalked off slowly, turning and gazing here and there, and from time to time lowering his spear, till, as he moved about in the shadowy light, he had all the appearance of some huge ostrich slowly feeding its way along the mountain slope.
“Moa! Moa!” he whispered, as he returned. “Jemmeree moa; my pakeha moa.”
“He wants us to imitate great birds, too, Jem,” said Don, eagerly. “Can you do that?”
“Can I do it?” said Jem. “O’ course; you shall see.”
Ngati seemed delighted that his plan was understood, and he rapidly fashioned rough balls to resemble birds’ heads for his companions’ spears, and made them turn up their trousers above the knee, when, but for their white appearance, they both looked bird-like. But this difficulty was got over by Ngati, who took it as a matter of course that they would not object, and rapidly smeared their hands, legs, and faces with the slimy mud from the volcanic pool.
“Well, of all the nasty smells!” whispered Jem. “Oh, Mas’ Don, are you going to stand this? He has filled my eyes with mud.”
“Hush, Jem!” whispered Don.