“But convicts; we’re not convicts,” growled Mike.
“Gentlemen, p’r’aps, on your travels?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Mike with effrontery.
“Ah! Well then, I shall have to take you on beard His Majesty’s ship Vixen, where you will probably be hung at the yard-arm for inciting the ignorant Maoris to attack peaceful settlers. Forward, my lads!”
“Here stop!” roared Mike with a savage grin.
“What for?” said the officer sternly.
“Arn’t you going to take them, too?”
“Take whom—the Maoris? No; but for you they would have let these people be in peace. Forward!”
“No, no; I mean them two,” said Mike savagely, as he pointed—“them two: Don Lavington and Jem Wimble.”
“Halt!” cried the officer. “Do you know these men?” he said suspiciously.