“Ah! while it is empty. But if it has anything to do with the other stream it probably will not be empty for longer than that was flooded last night. Besides, it may lead us miles away into the mountains for no good. I’m more inclined to make the attempt to get round to the back of those peaks and so on to the top of that precipice. I’m sure I’ve been there before, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t do it again.”
“If you are going to look for ‘the way of the spider,’ then,” I said, “I’ll have a try at ‘the way of the fish,’ and it seems to me that this stream may be in some way connected with it.”
“Possibly. ‘The way of the fish’ must as certainly be by water as ‘the way of the spider’ must be by climbing.”
For some time we discussed the possibilities of these two hints old Te Makawawa had let fall in the course of his story, and finally we arranged to make a start as soon as possible, with the understanding that Kahikatea was to take his way round the western end of the Table Land until he reached the south-eastern side of the peak, and there attempt the ascent, while I was to follow up the bed of the stream and reconnoitre the base of the mountain wall. We told Tiki that the fierce chief Ngaraki dwelt among the mountains, and that he must remain hidden in a sheltered spot in the bush till our return, to which he replied that he had once seen the great tohunga Ngaraki, and would be very pleased to keep well out of his way, for Ngaraki would certainly kill him if he found him on the tapu.
Then, after a hasty meal, we set out. As I shook hands with Kahikatea our eyes met, and he said: “When we meet again we shall probably know more about this mysterious business. Don’t set out to look for me within three days, but if I reach camp before you I shall conclude you have fallen into Ngaraki’s clutches—if there is such a person,” he called back over his shoulder as he strode away.
“If there is such a person,” I repeated to myself, as I set out along the bank of the silent watercourse. I was very soon to discover, however, that Ngaraki the Maori was no phantom of Te Makawawa’s brain.
CHAPTER VI.
NGARAKI—CHIEF AND TOHUNGA.
In the dim shadows cast by the towering rocks upon the Table Land I followed the course of the dried-up stream, which, after a distance of nearly a mile, took a turn and led round towards the mountain wall on my left. In half an hour I came within the deep shadow of this mighty pile, and, looking up, saw its tremendous outstanding crags, nearly a thousand feet above, surmounted on each hand by the snow-capped peaks clearly defined against the rosy flush of the eastern sky. High up on the wall, where it united with the base of the northern or left hand peak, a spur left the parent rock and ran down obliquely from a height of several hundred feet to within fifty feet of the ground, then, curving upwards again, terminated in a gigantic crag, which to my mind suggested a strange resemblance to a huge lion sitting upon the plain with his head erect, and mounting guard over the approaches to the mountain.
Following the bed of the stream right up to the base of the great wall, I saw that this spur hemmed in from the bare plain a small valley, about a hundred yards across at its mouth, but gradually narrowing back until it ended in a precipitous ravine in the acute angle formed by the descending ridge and the main rock. Great pines grew upon the spur’s inner face, and the varied foliage of the virgin bush which it enclosed softened its rugged contour. In the broadest parts of the valley grew smaller trees, isolated and with green grass beneath them, while further back the creeping vines wove the tree-tops together and crowned the tangled undergrowth with white flowers and yellow berries. One or two tall palm ferns nodded their heads over the lower growth, and some little distance up the valley towered a gigantic rimu, holding its massive foliage against the deep gloom of the ravine beyond. On seeing this great tree I immediately recalled that part of the aged Maori’s story in which he spoke of burying a stone instead of the child beneath its shade, and determined to visit the place and see for myself.
But meanwhile the course of the stream was demanding all my attention. I was beginning to wonder whither it was leading me as I followed it for another hundred yards towards the valley, its one bank the mossy turf of the plain sheltered by a little scattered bush, the other the bare rock itself. Here a little proof of human occupation confronted me: I almost stumbled over a small stack of firewood, neatly piled beneath a clump of silver birches and giant manuka. A little further on I came upon a kumara[16] patch and some peach trees laden with ripening fruit.