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Chapter I
The Warning

The tuis in the taraire-trees were voicing their welcome to a glorious day of spring when Ronald Cameron awakened and saw the reflection of the red sunrise on the window of his little room. Usually Ronald lingered in bed for a few moments; but on this particular morning he threw aside the bedclothes without a regret for the cosy warmth he left behind him.

In short, this ninth day of November, 1868, was a red-letter day in Ron's young life. There is nothing that so carries an appeal to splendid youth as an appreciation of the fact that one is worthy of trust; and the confidence which Ron's parents were about to place in him was such as to make his blue eyes sparkle with pride as he scrambled into his rough woollen dressing-gown.

For several weeks past his mother had been in very poor health. In the course of the last few days she had grown steadily worse. John Cameron, page 14his father, therefore had decided that she must be taken where she could obtain the best medical advice that was procurable. To this end, all preparations had been made to remove her to Turanganui, the nearest township of any size.

Upon their arrival in New Zealand, several years previously, the Cameron family had taken up land in a very wild and rugged part of the Poverty Bay district. Here they had literally carved a home out of the wilderness, but already they had received promise of the reward of the incessant toil necessary to the courageous pioneers of the time. John Cameron had felled and burned part of the great forest which lay about them. Successive good seasons had smiled upon the corn he had planted and the seed he had sown, while the house he had built, mainly with his own sturdy hands, was already an attractive home, owing to the loving care with which his wife and children had tended the vines and flowering shrubs that he had planted about it.

The Camerons, then, were in a fair way toward becoming prosperous settlers when Mrs Cameron's illness had cast a gloom over the happiness of the little family. To all entreaties to journey to Turanganui she had returned the quiet but determined answer that she could not leave her page 15children; but eventually, becoming worse, she had allowed herself to be persuaded by her husband's arguments, and had made preparations for departure.

Thus, to the care of Ron, himself not yet fifteen years of age, were to be left the younger members of the family—Isbel, the only girl, and Hughie, who was but a baby of two. Small wonder that, upon this memorable morning which was to witness the departure of his father and mother, Ronald Cameron bore himself as one to whom manhood had already come!

Whatever might have been his wife's misgivings on the subject of leaving so young a lad as Ron in charge, John Cameron was entirely satisfied. He considered that Ron was, in every way, a true son of the pioneers. He had tested the boy in many ways. Ron had worked beside him on the land, had hunted wild pigs in his company, had forded flooded rivers, and had braved the many dangers of the wild country in which they lived. Further, he was aware that in matters of bush-craft the lad had few equals. Ron knew the bush and loved it, and whenever any of the farm stock wandered it was invariably owing to Ron's sagacity and knowledge of the forest tracks that they were found and brought page 16home again. Finally, the father felt sure that he could rely on his son's discretion in dealing with any untoward matters that might arise during his enforced absence.

Catching up his clothes, Ron hastened out into the kitchen, to find Isbel already bringing in wood for the stove. He stopped only long enough to assist her in getting the fire going, and then ran lightly down the path to the foot of the garden.

Here, through the beautiful native bush, which on this side of the house stretched away as far as the eye could reach, ran a creek some fifteen feet in width. In those days there were but few houses in the country that boasted a bathroom, and the Camerons were not among those few; so, in order to provide bathing facilities for his family, John Cameron had built a dam across the creek, thus forming a deep swimming-pool. In this pool Ron and Isbel had had their first lessons in swimming, an art in which, by this time, they were both highly proficient. Here, too, through many a still afternoon of midsummer, they had spent some wonderful hours, racing each other from side to side, and splashing the cool, sweet water about with noisy enjoyment.

On reaching the pool Ron was not long in throwing off his garments, and plunging in. page 17After a few vigorous strokes he lay on his back and floated, revelling in the cold sting of the water, and listening for the different bird-calls that would tell him which of his little feathered friends of the bush were about.

Of the presence of the fantails he needed no song to inform him. They were about the pool, literally in dozens, flitting here and there with their friendly twittering. The deep ku-ku-ku of the native wood-pigeons sounded from up the creek, and Ron reflected that they were probably already busy with their morning feast among the berries of a noble cluster of miro-trees that grew along the banks two or three hundred yards upstream. He could hear, too, the voice of the "pipi-wha-rau-roa," as the Maoris called the shining cuckoo, that strange visitor from overseas; and, above all, the fluting of the tuis, who, not content with their own songs, appeared to be mimicking every other bird-song of the bush.

As Ron regained the bank, and proceeded to rub himself briskly with a rough towel, his eye, trained to quick perception in all matters of bushcraft, noted tracks down to the water's edge on the other side of the stream.

"O-ho, Mr Pig!" he said softly. "So you've got cheek enough to come drinking at my private page 18swimming-hole! I guess it won't be long before I teach you better manners! I'll have a look for you this afternoon. Maybe Hori will go with me."

He referred to the only boy of his own age in the neighbourhood. Hori te Whiti was the son of a powerful chief, whose pa ¹ was situated about a mile from the Camerons' home. He was a splendid specimen of courageous Maori youth, and a mutual regard for each other's good qualities, quite apart from any question of colour, had made the two lads firm friends.

A "coo-ee" from the house caused Ron to abandon his half-formed intention of crossing the creek to look more closely at the tracks. Instead, he finished dressing, and ran back to the house.

Inside the kitchen, Isbel had been busy. The kettle was singing merrily on the stove, and her hands were dipped in the basin wherein she was mixing scones.

"Hurry, Ron!" said Isbel, as her elder brother appeared at the door, his face all rosy, and his hair still wet from his dip. "Get through milking as quickly as you can. I want to get breakfast over early."

"How is Mother?" Ron asked, as he took up the milk-pail.

"A little better this morning," Isbel answered. "Dad thinks she will be able to stand the journey all right."

When Ron had finished milking he washed his hands at the pump and went back to the kitchen. He found the other members of the family at breakfast, Hughie sitting next Isbel, who was endeavouring to persuade him that porridge was the nicest food in the world.

"Want a neggie!" announced Hughie, pushing his plate away.

"You shall have some of Isbel's egg presently, dear!"

"Want neggie now!" declared Hughie firmly.

"Mother will give you some of her egg, darling," said Mrs Cameron, taking him on her knee. "No, page 20let me spoil him this morning, John," she added, to her husband. "It will be some time before I see my baby again!"

She was already dressed for her arduous journey, and though pale maintained a show of good spirits. Both Ron and Isbel, however, were aware that she felt very keenly the impending separation from her loved ones.

A few minutes after the meal had concluded a peculiar whistle was heard.

"That's Jock!" cried Ron, rushing to the door.

Jock Abler was a big, muscular man, in age somewhere between forty and fifty, who had drifted into the district three years before. No one knew exactly whence he had come, and Jock had never been known to volunteer any information on the subject. He had bought a few acres of land, and had built himself a shack, where he lived with only his dog to keep him company. He made no effort to cultivate his land, beyond growing a little corn and a few vegetables, but seemed, rather, to take pleasure in giving his neighbours a hand with any work they required done. He was a splendid bushman, as handy with the axe as he was with his gun. Ron cherished a deep admiration for him; in fact, it was mainly owing to Jock's tuition that he had acquired so page 21wonderful a knowledge of the bush. The man had often allowed the boy to accompany him on hunting expeditions, and last Christmas had brought him as a gift the beautiful little gun that was Ron's most treasured possession.

On this occasion Jock had come to assist with the task of carrying Mrs Cameron over the rough bush road to the main highway that ran between the settlements of Roro and Turanganui. Arrangements had been made to procure a buggy at that point in which to drive her into Turanganui. Jock had been over on the previous day, helping John Cameron fashion a rough though comfortable litter for the purpose.

Soon the farewells were taken, and Ron and Isbel, the latter holding Hughie in her arms, stood and watched the two men take up the litter. They waved until the little procession left the cleared land, and was lost to sight in the bush; and then they turned back to the house, Ron wondering, as they did so, why it was that now that he was actually about to prove himself worthy of the trust reposed in him he did not feel a greater sense of elation. Perhaps it was the last sight of his mother's strained white face that brought to him the sudden conviction that her illness was something far more serious than he had supposed, page 22and the tears that Isbel was openly shedding did not serve to mend matters.

However, putting his own dejection aside, he comforted his sister; and, having helped her with one or two of the rougher tasks in the house, he went out to the wood-pile. Soon he was whistling cheerily as his axe flew, and the heap of chopped wood beside him grew in size. This, and the repairing of a broken fence, occupied him until noon.

After lunch, the call of a weka¹ from the other side of the creek announced a visitor, and presently Hori te Whiti appeared. While Isbel, who liked the young Maori no less than did her brother, busied herself with making a pot of fresh tea, Ron took Hori down to the pool, and showed him the wild pig's tracks.

When Ron proposed that they should hunt out the pig that afternoon he was astonished to observe Hori hesitate, then shake his head slowly. Usually Hori did not need pressing to join in any adventure that was afoot.

After a while Hori said, speaking in Maori, which language he had been teaching Ron and Isbel for the past few months: "We have been as brothers, you and I?"

"Indeed we have, Hori," responded Ron warmly.

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"Then, my brother," replied Hori, "my words to you are these. Where there is a trust to be fulfilled, see to that trust. Stay by the weaker ones within the house. Do not leave your home this day. There is danger!"

"But what danger could there possibly be in this quiet place?" asked Ron, bewildered.

"I do not know very much," answered Hori, "for my people, aware of my friendship for the pakeha, tell me very little. But I had eyes to see the messenger who arrived at the pa of my father this morning, and since then there has been a curious excitement in the air. The warriors are looking to their muskets, and I have heard the name of Te Kooti spoken more than once."

"But Te Kooti is away in the wild Urewera country, away on the other side of the Patutahi ford!" argued Ron.

The Maori shook his head again. "And is it impossible for Te Kooti to cross that ford suddenly and fall upon the pakehas before they are aware? Te Kooti is full of resource, daring, and he is desperate. Did he not overpower the guard they placed upon him at the Chatham Islands, seize a convenient ship, and escape? No, my brother, my words to you are those of a brother. There is danger about—I smell it! Be wary in guarding page 24your home; but if at any time you should see a glare in the sky, as of a neighbour's house burning, take your sister and the small brother she loves and hide them in the place that only we three know of. I have spoken all I know."

Many and bewildering were the thoughts that surged through Ron's brain as he accompanied the Maori back to the house, and watched Isbel give him tea. He knew that Hori's warning was not to be regarded lightly, and the thought that Te Kooti might indeed, as Hori had suggested, come suddenly down from the Urewera country sent a thrill of horror down his spine.

" I'll go over to Johnston's, and warn them, to-morrow," he thought; "and Jock will carry the message to any others who live near here."

When milking-time came round Hori left. Isbel accompanied them out to the paddocks, so Ron had no opportunity of speaking further with Hori on the subject of Te Kooti, but he nodded in answer to the Maori's grave farewell gesture, and Hori departed, satisfied that Ron understood the import of the warning he had conveyed.

When tea was over Isbel put Hughie to bed, and then brought out her lesson-books, which she had promised not to neglect during her parents' absence. Ron also took up a book and made a page 25pretence of reading, but all the time he was listening for any unusual sound from without. At the same time he made the resolution that he would not sleep that night.

"Jock should be here soon," remarked Isbel presently. "He promised that he would come in on his way back, and tell us how Mother got on."

Her remark provided Ron with the very excuse he was needing for going outside. "I'll go as far as the edge of the clearing and have a look for him," he said, and, opening the door, stepped out.

It was a dark, moonless night, and clouds were drifting over from the east, but Ron's eyes were nearly as good in the dark as they were in the daylight. He could see the dim track that led across the paddocks to the edge of the bush. But he did not take that track. Instead, after a moment's reflection, he turned at an abrupt angle and commenced the ascent of a little hill that stood on the other side of the clearing. This hill, from the view it commanded of the countryside was called by the children "the Look-out."

He never reached the top. Half-way up he paused, drawing in his breath sharply. For in the west a ruddy glare brightened the horizon, and the knowledge came to him that Hori's warning had indeed been a timely one.

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"It's 'The Poplars'!" he said to himself. "They're burning Johnston's house! Oh, the wicked, cruel beasts, they have probably killed everybody in the place! And ours will be the next on their line of march! I must get Isbel and Hughie away at once!"

With his heart pounding against his ribs he turned and sped toward the house. Isbel sprang up as he burst in through the door.

"What's wrong, Ron?" she cried.

"Isbel," said Ron, trying to speak as calmly as possible, "go and dress Hughie, while I get my rifle and some food. Wrap him in a blanket, and put on your warm coat. We must leave here at once! The Hauhaus are coming!"