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Chapter VI
The Two Tairoas

Uncle John said he was "astounded, absolutely astounded"; Uncle Stephen "blamed himself more than a little"; and Uncle Dan wished he had come back from the South Boundary earlier; he would soon "have settled the old fellow."

But Kathie didn't wish it at all. You see, she had been out driving with Uncle Dan, so if he had been at Kamahi she would have been at Kamahi too.

It began with afternoon tea. Mrs. McPherson brought us out a very nice afternoon tea. Of course, the cups were thick—she seemed to think that we threw china at each other—but there were plenty of hot, buttered scones, tempting little tartlets, and a plate of rich, curranty cake. Jan didnt' appear with the cake, so I poured out, and the McLennans invited us to" wire in" and make ourselves at home.

How the conversation drifted from Christ's College, where the McLennan boys were boarders, to Maoris I cannot say. Perhaps there was a Maori boy at the school. At anyrate, Jock began to boast of Tairoa, in whom we took quite a proprietary interest, and the McLennan boys led him on, enlarg-page 75ing on all the horrors which he related. You see, they knew as much and a great deal more about Tairoa than we did. They had lived near Kamahi all their lives, and were far more at home there than we were.

The conversation waxed so gory and so interesting that we heaped ourselves into a hunch listening to Wally's thrilling stories. Wally was really a splendid actor, and he told the tales so dramatically, and lowered his voice so eerily, that it made the blood creep deliciously in our veins.

"One night, he came creeping—creeping—creeping up to the Pah. He was with the Maoris then. He had his mere with him, and he slung it whirr— whir-r-r through the air till it splintered Rupahu's skull. Then——"

"Don't!"

The cry came from where Denise sat alone and forgotten on her chair, her face very white, her hands twitching curiously.

I thought the pain had come on again, but the McLennan boys laughed and Nancy said "Cowardy Custard" not very much under her breath.

Denise looked at her half-pleadingly, and the colour flooded her poor white face. The boys were, as boys mostly are, very unsympathetic.

"She's frightened hell come and chop her up into a thousand little bits like he did Rupahu," jeered page 76Wally. "I shouldn't be surprised. He'd soon make mincemeat of you, Den."

"She's dark enough for a Maori, anyway. Come to think of it, I did see him looking at her last time but four we came over to Kamahi. Some night he'll come creeping—creeping—creeping——"

"You're getting a perfect baby, Denise." Nancy curled her lips disgustedly. "Once you weren't like this. You'll be frightened of your own shadow next.

Denise did not answer, but she turned away her head and bit her lip. The boys and Nancy, with their perfect health, could never understand the agony of fear that she suffered nowadays.

"Suppose he should come straight away," suggested Peter, taking a hand and looking mischievous. "I heard he's been a bit funny these last few days. Did you hear, Wally"?"

"Yes, I heard. Did you hear, Nan?"

"Yes, I heard," repeated Nancy like the answer to a catechism. "Did you hear, Jock?"

Jock looked surprised and a little incredulous, but Wally plucked him by the sleeve and they strolled away together. Soon after the other boys followed them, and Nancy and Pipi disappeared behind the fence, leaving Denise and me alone.

"Why don't you go too?" she asked. "There's no need for you to stay. A cripple isn't lively company."

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She spoke so bitterly that I longed to comfort her, tut somehow my sympathy could not form itself into words. But I think she knew that I wanted to be with her, and I hope she understood a little of all that I felt. For a long time we sat silently side by side under the trees, listening to the wind moaning through the leaves over our heads and watching it sweep across the shimmering expanse of yellow-brown tussocks that was like a wonderful gold-brown sea. It was very, very still—you know the wonderful stillness of the country; somewhere over at the whare a dog barked. I always remember the silence and the sudden bark, and then—

This is where the Adventure begins. It came with a terrifying cry, a second scream more horrible than the first, a crackling of branches, and the sight of a fantastically garbed figure which leaped over the fence to our right and came across the paddock towards us. Over its shoulders hung a weird feather mat, a wideawake shaded its face, and it brandished a murderous-looking axe.

I stood with bulging eyes and my mouth wide open, too horrified to scream. But Denise caught hold of my hand; her face was working queerly and her eyes bright and strained, but her mouth smiled.

"It's W-W-W-ally!" she gasped. "Don't you—see —his legs? He—he can't hide his legs. Hasn't he page 78got s-s-spindle-shanks? You should hide your calves, Wally. You should—you should—"

"A11 right! Shut up!" With something like a grunt of disappointment the apparition halted in its journey towards us, and the wideawake falling back revealed Wally's chubby face, purple with heat and excitement combined, and with strange marking round the chin and under the eyes.

"Tattooing," explained Wally, very satisfied with himself and exulting in the success of his practical joke. "Just geranium juice rubbed in. It'll wash out. Took you in all right—didn't I, you fellows?"

The "fellows'—Nancy, Pipi, Jock and the McLennan boys—who had hidden behind the fence to watch proceedings, now joined us again, much pleased with the success of the trick, and all talking in very loud voices and all at the same time.

"Jock got the hat," cried Wally. "Tairoa was mad. He—"

"Jumped and squealed when we borrowed his mat. You should have seen Ngaire. And if there had been forty Tairoas all raving mad Denise couldn't have squeaked louder."

"I never squeaked at all!"

"Well, you would have if you hadn't seen my legs. It was enough to make a cat laugh. I—why— oh! Jock! Peter!"

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Oh, I shall never, never forget it. Sometimes I wake with the fear of it fresh upon me still. He came running towards us—no sham Maori this time, but Tairoa himself—Tairoa wildly excited, brandishing a mere, shouting unintelligible words and grimacing horribly.

"Someone sounded the retreat. We gave one terrified glance around and then our legs took control of the situation and we went across the grass at a gallop.

Do you ever dream that you are running as fast as ever you can away from some nameless horror which pursues you, but your feet are weighted to the earth and, try as hard as you will, you cannot cover ground? That is how I felt when we went across the paddock that afternoon with Tairoa gaining on us behind and the barn, a friendly refuge, Waiting for us before.

On! on! on! When I shut my eyes I still seem to see Pipi's long legs flashing over the ground and to hear her encouraging Nancy McLennan who had fallen down and was doing the last lap on hands and knees.

It was not till I was nearly at the barn and saw Pipi, Nancy and Peter swarming up the ladder that I remembered.

Denise!

We had left her alone under the pines—Denise page 80who could not walk without her crutches, Denise who was chained to her chair.

Oh, I hate to tell you of the agony of fear which held me then. I wish I could say that I turned straight away and ran back to her aid. Oh, how I wish I could tell you that! But I can't! No, I am no heroine. I thought of Tairoa, and of how he hadn't taken to me at all, and of how fierce he looked, and how sharp his mere was. I—I didn't want to go back, not at all. Instead, I went straight on towards the loft. Only a few yards, but each yard seemed a mile. The picture of Denise rose up to confront me. Coward!

"Denise!"

I went round the corner of the barn instead of up the ladder. From there I gained the shelter of the fence and stole along in its shade, hoping to get safely to Denise without attracting Tairoa's attention. The others were safely in the loft; they had thrown down the ladder, and the Maori was standing at the foot dancing and screaming with rage.

I felt sick with fear. If he should see me!

It was at one of the small gates which led through the trees to the garden that I met Jan. At first I could not speak; I could only gasp and point wildly one way, then another. I suppose I was trying to tell her about Tairoa at the barn and Denise all alone under the trees.

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"I—I—I—" That was all I could gasp out till the lump broke in my throat. You don't know how glad I was to see Jan, to feel that she was near, and to know that she was brave and strong and would never, never desert us.

"It's—Denise—Denise!" I tried to explain. "Jan, it's Denisel"

"Denise? Ngaire, dear, don't cry so. What is it? Where is tt?"

"Tairoa—he's off his head—he's—he's mad, and Wally was Tairoa. He—he's got a mere, and Denise is alone. They're over in the loft now, and he's there, too, at the bottom. Oh, he's seen us! Jan! Jan! he's coming here. What shall we do? Oh, what shall We do?"

Was Jan scared? Perhaps she was, but we did not see her fear. Did she run like the rest of us? Not a bit. She pulled herself together very quickly, took me by the shoulders and pushed me towards the gate.

"Run up to the house quickly," she whispered. "Get help."

"There's no help there, only Mrs. McPherson and Maggie. No men. Oh, Jan, he's coming. He-he—he's here, Jan!"

"Run away quickly," whispered Jan under her breath, but I'm glad I didn't. Glad—glad—glad! Instead, I followed her across the paddock to where page 82Denise sat alone in her chair under the pine trees. Poor lame Denise! How could we have been so cowardly? Jan gave her a smile.

"It's all right" she said so cheerily that really she made me feel quite brave too. "I'm. going to talk to him. What a fuss over nothing!"

Tairoa came over to us. One minute, I thought, and we shall all be finished. I shut my eyes and tried to pray, but I could only remember the grace we say before meals: "For what we are about to receive."

Denise clasped my hand tight. I heard her breath coming in little sobbing gasps. But Jan? Ah! Jan was the heroine every inch. She went to meet Tairoa, and the sound of their voices—Jan's very sweet and coaxing, Tairoa's very gruff and terrible— came over to us.

At last I opened my eyes. Jan had rested her hand on Tairoa's sleeve, and they were going through the gate into the garden. She turned and waved to us, though her face was set.

"Tairoa and I are going up to the house for some tobacco," she cried. "Stay where you are and talk to Denise till I come back."

Then she disappeared, and Denise and I were left alone.

I tried to talk to Denise, truly I did. I laughed like anything at a sheep that wasn't doing anything page 83in particular, just being a sheep, but I said it was funny, and Denise said it was funny too, and laughed with me. But oh, how the minutes dragged! Gradually the sun disappeared and a chill night feeling crept into the air. Eerily the wind whispered in the tree tops, a morepork lifted its voice in dismal cry, a rabbit crept out, eyed us with mild curiosity, and slipped back into its burrow. The minutes dragged themselves into an hour, the hour doubled itself. Two hours! Two long, long hours when each minute seemed an eternity of horror.

And what do you think Jan was doing all this time? Why, entertaining Tairoa in the dining-room while Maggie, the maid, scoured the station for help, and Mrs. McPherson shivered behind the door in the passage labouring under the delusion that she was protecting Jan. Protecting! Why, her teeth had hardly stopped chattering yet.

Uncle John came home first. He entered by the French window in the dining-room, and when he saw Tairoa sitting in the most comfortable chair and smoking one of uncle's own special cigars—well—well, not knowing the facts, he nearly burst; he truly did. He said "Jeanette" in a very loud voice. "Jeanette! What is the meaning of this?"

Jan turned and looked at uncle, trying to smile and to speak casually, just as if nothing unusual were page 84happening. But her eyes told all. Uncle grasped the truth at once, and he is usually rather slow at getting hold of anything too. Jan says that he quite gushed to Tairoa, and suggested a walk down to the whare. Fortunately Tairoa agreed, otherwise things might have heen a hit awkward for uncle. When they arrived at the men's quarters uncle inveigled the unsuspecting Maori in a bedroom and locked him up. But as the fit had worked itself off by now there was little to fear; we were all perfectly safe again, uncle said.

Jan kept up right to the turning-the-key-in-the-lock moment, and then quietly and unostentatiously fainted away. Poor Mrs. McPherson! As she afterwards said, "she didn't know whether she was on her head or her heels." Jan lay on the sofa, all pale and interesting, Uncle John relieved his feelings by a good old storm, and Maggie fussed excitedly and succeeded in doing nothing very well indeed.

It was only when Jan came to, and talked vaguely about "Denise" and the "Barnfield," that they remembered the rest of us, and came to see if we were alive or chopped into one hundred thousand little pieces. Uncle picked up Denise as if she had been a baby and he said "Poor children! Poor children!" so many times that I quite lost count. I suppose he was glad to find that we were untomahawked, and as the others over in the barn were shouting and page 85yelling at the top of their voices he knew that they too were safe.

I went over to them and Maggie and Mrs. McPher-son came along, and I lifted the ladder and the prisoners descended to earth once, more, and everyone began wildly explaining the whole thing to poor old uncle, who stood listening with a funnily bewildered face, trying to sort things out a little and to understand what had happened.

It was silly, I know, but all at once I felt that I couldn't stand it any longer, that I would have to scream outright in a minute. So I slipped into my own room and screamed into the pillow where it couldn't disturb anyone.. Uncle Stephen said afterwards that my nerves had been overtaxed. I am glad to think that there was an excuse f6r my foolishness.

Do you ever cry and cry again, and yet not know exactly why you are crying? I think, when I look back, I feel just a little sorry for myself.

Oh, I wanted mother. I wanted to feel her arms around me to know that she was holding me tighter, tighter, tighter, and would never let me go. Oh, mother! mother! mother!

I screamed right out aloud when someone lifted me from the bed, hardly conscious of what I was doing. It was Uncle Stephen who had come to my aid —dear, kind, safe Uncle Stephen, who let me sob out my silliness against his rough coat and put his arms page 86protectingly round me. Uncle Stephen has mother's eyes. I never noticed them before, but now I know.

"They have been telling us," he said, "Denise and Jan. Ngaire, dear little girl, there is nothing to fear. You are quite safe now."

Yet I held him tight, fearing that he would leave me, content to lie quietly in his arms where no harm could come.

Soon someone stole into the room, whispered, and went away again.

"Kathie," said uncle to me. "She's bringing you some tea in here."

But Jan brought the tea; also some toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a little cake—a dainty feast set out on a dainty tray. Jan herself looked tired; her hair ribbon was gone, her collar askew, her face very white, but as I gazed on her I felt that I was in the presence of a really true heroine.

"There never was anyone so brave before," I said to uncle after she had gone, and do you know what he answered?

"I know someone who is equally brave."

"Brave as Jan?"

He looked at me with a smile.. "Brave as Jan, but her name begins with an N."

"Oh! but—but——" I thought of Tairoa, of my agony of fear, of the run across the paddock to the barn. No, not as brave as Jan, not one quarter as page 87brave. Why, even now I was wondering if the whare door was strong and Tairoa well locked up for the night.

Uncle listened to me as I faltered it out, and then bent down and his eyes smiled tenderly into mine.

"That makes it all the braver, little girl," he said.