“Ask my mates!” cried Mike eagerly. “Here you, Don Lavington, you usen’t to believe me when I told you ’bout big wild beasts and furrin lands. We see three birds just here, fourteen foot high.”
“You always were a liar, Mike,” said Don contemptuously. “You did not see any bird fourteen feet high, because there are no such things. You didn’t see any birds at all.”
“Well, of all—” began Mike, but he stopped short as he heard Don’s next words,—
“Come, Jem! Come, Ngati! Let’s get on.”
He stepped forward, but after a quick exchange of glances with his companions, Mike stood in his way.
“No you don’t, young un; you stops along of us.”
“What!” cried Don.
“We’re three English gen’lemen travelling in a foreign country among strangers, and we’ve met you two. So we says, says we, folks here’s a bit too handy with their spears, so it’s as well for Englishmen when they meet to keep together, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“Indeed, we are not!” cried Don. “You go your way, and we’ll go ours.”
“That’s our way,” said Mike quickly. “Eh, mates?”