“In my head, Mas’ Don.”
“Ah! We might stop now. Let me bind it up for you.”
“No, no; it don’t bleed,” replied Jem, gruffly. “I mean hurt inside my head, ’cause I could be such a stoopid as to let this here gun fall.”
“Then you are not wounded?”
“Not a bit, my lad; and if you’ll stop now, I think I’ll try and load again.”
But Ngati insisted on pushing on, and kept up a steady walk right south in the direction of the star which had shone in through the doorway.
It was weary work, for the night was very black beneath the trees, but every step was taking them farther from their enemies, and though they stopped to listen again and again, they heard no sound of pursuit.
Morning dawned at last, bringing light to their spirits as well as to their eyes; and for three days they travelled on due south by mountain and lake, hot spring and glorious valley, now catching a glimpse of the sea, now losing it again.
Ngati seemed to have some definite object which he could not explain; and when Don tried to question him, the great fellow only laughed and trudged on.
They did not fare badly, for fruit, roots, and wild fowl were plentiful, fish could be obtained, and with glorious weather, and the dying out of the pain of their wounds, the journey began to be pleasant.