Chapter III.

Erana and her baby were in the hut, and they were not alone. There was quite a lively conversation going on, in English pure and English broken, in Maori with the harsh “k” substituted for the soft “ng,” and in the language which only mothers can interpret as it issues from the pouting lips of the babbling babe, and is as the cooing of the dove. Old Karo was responsible for much of this polyglot chatter. She had come up by Cobb’s coach to see her grandson, and prouder kuia never carried tamaiti on back than that same relict of a whaler captain. If Erana had been beautiful and attractive as a maiden, she was simply glorious as a matron. Old Karo was neat and prim, in the style peculiar to the Anglicised Maori of the domestic kind.

Supper was over, and they were sitting by the fire chatting, when a knock came to the door.

Erana was not alarmed, for since the advent of Karo, Kit Carroll, Sam Ross, or others of those diggers who formed the great firewood brigade would drop in of an evening. The half-caste girl simply said “Come in.” Turning to investigate the visitor, she gazed straight in the face of Broughton, and was speechless.

“Well, Nelly, old girl, how are you. Got a family party, eh?”

(Erana is the Maori form of Eleanor or Ellen, otherwise Nelly.)

“Tenakoe, pakeha,” from his wife. Not a word from Karo, usually so voluble.

He had on the crimson sash and the nugget boots, and the hat with its spire high towards heaven, and only the moleskins and the soles of the boots showed signs of service. He had been uneasy lest the news of his escapade should have reached the Dunstan before him. By the absence of horror and outcry he was reassured, so in a cool, calm voice he remarked:

“You seem pretty comfortable here, old girl?”

“Yes; we fitted it up out of the last money you sent.”

He was sure of his ground now; his failure to supply means was the only grievance, and as he had an object to gain he would be cautious.

“Is that our kid? Let’s give him a kiss.”

“No, it is not; don’t touch him.”

“Whose is it, then? We ought to have a kid knocking around somewhere. I hope he ain’t kicked out.”

“You never sent to inquire after him. This boy is mine.”

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Karo thought it about time to assert a claim, so with a gesture of the hand towards Broughton, she said, she so proud of her English: “Pakeha whakarongo mai. Na maua te tamaiti nei” (“Listen! The child is ours”).

Broughton would not be angry, he would carry his point. The aspect of affairs in the hut betokened prosperity.

“Have you anything to eat, Nelly?”

“Yes,” and in silence all she spread the rough but clean table with bread and meat and poured some tea from the pot yet standing by the fire, and then:

“Sit up, eat.”

He did so, amidst a solemn silence, and having finished, rose and went to his swag and commenced to unpack, when Nelly said sharply: “Stop, put it on your back, and go.”

“By God, it’s my house, and I’ll do as I like. But I don’t want to be disagreeable, especially as I have something to say, and as you don’t want me to stay, I may as well say it at once: I want some money.”

“Pawn the silk sash and tall hat; there’s no money here.”

He was standing near the door, where he had dropped his swag when he came in, and Nelly was nearest to him on one side of the fire, whilst Karo sat on the other. Broughton lost his temper, and, seizing Nelly by the arm, he shouted, “By God! I’ll make you stump up or search the hut.”

Nelly rose like a tigress and smote him in the face, at which he laughed, which was not wise, as it made an opening which Karo filled. It will be observed that the old lady had said but little—perhaps she was thinking. In any case she now showed herself a woman of action and resource. As the handsome mouth of Broughton broadened with a grin, she rose suddenly from the fire, holding a long burning stick of manuka with both hands, which brand she thrust suddenly into the gleaming teeth of Broughton.

The fellow backed rapidly, stumbled over his swag, fell against the door and burst it open, falling prone on the stones outside. The two women (it is astonishing with what concert they acted without a word) seized—one the swag and the other the hat, threw them on the top of the owner, and then pulled to and barred the door. They knew Broughton would commence the attack as soon as he had pulled himself together, but as the door opened outwards, it would take some time to batter it in, and when he started, they would commence the first line of defence of the women of the pakeha, whether against mouse or man—they would scream for all they were worth, and some of the boys would hear them.

All was silent for a time, and then they heard a rattle of stones outside as the nugget boots sought a foothold to enable their wearer to rise. page 210 The two women drew in their breath preparatory to the first war cry. But just then voices were heard on the path from the township, and the amazons withheld their fire. The scuffling noise outside the door increased, and then rapid footsteps were heard descending the rocky path toward the river, evidently those of a person having important business ahead: they knew that Broughton was gone.

No, the reaction was not too great. Neither of them fainted, but each calmly returned to the fire, when Nelly suddenly remembered the baby. That embryo warrior had lain on his back on the bed during the whole business, and when his mother went to him he waved his chubby fists in the air and crowed the crow of victory.

The noises from the township sounded nearer and nearer, and footsteps halted at the door.

“Come in,” said Nelly, in answer to the knock, and in walked Mr. Christopher Carroll and his mate, Sam Ross. Mr. Carroll’s gorgeous get-up calls for the full Christian name and the prefix. Sam wore his ordinary evening clothes, those of a miner out of hours; Kit’s were diggers’ clothes intensified—very much intensified.

“Good evening, Nelly; how goes it, old lady?” was the salutation of each to the two women. She was Nelly to the boys of the firewood brigade in esoteric conference; she was Mrs. Broughton to all in the presence of outsiders. “Why, what’s up, Nelly; who’s been playing with fire?” queried Kit.

The two women laughed, actually laughed, and then Nelly said, “Boys, Broughton has been here.”

“You don’t mean it?” said Kit. “She’s poking borak,” said Sam.

“I see,” said Kit. “You’ve cremated him, and these are the ashes.”

Nelly saw they took it as a joke, and did not believe her, so she told all she knew.

Kit grew pale under his tan, and his blue eyes glinted with the glitter of steel. Sam remarked: “’Scuse me, Mrs. Broughton, but I disremembered when I came away that I left a box of matches on the bed and rats is plenty when we’re away. Heaps of stores has been set on fire by rats and matches, and I’m afraid of the hut. I’ll just take a stroll home, and back.”

If the ridiculous reason had not sold him, the “Mrs. Broughton” would have given him away utterly, so Nelly said, “Stay here, both of you, please. I gave him food, and I don’t want him interfered with by anyone from this house.”

Sam nudged Kit and murmured, “Sharp as speargrass to a naked foot, ain’t she, young ’un?”

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The young man acquiesced with a proud smile. Poor boy, there was not the slightest chance for him whilst Broughton lived, and he knew it; but he’d hold on—you bet he’d hold on. By-and-bye, another knock came to the door, and Jim Black, another of their mates, walked in.

“Well, Nell, how’s her head? How’s the world using you, Karo, my beauty?”

“Stow that gammon! I know you sailor man, gammon all the time.” Karo was at home.

Said Jim: “Poor Carry Peters wants to see you particular to-night, both you and Karo and the midshipman in the hammock there. She’s afraid she won’t last the night, and she says she’d sooner see you nor a sky-pilot, if it was a choice of the two. She’d sooner die wicked than do without you to-night; but if you go, why, then, maybe she’ll send for t’other.”

Nelly was no fool; but no harm had even come from Mrs. Peters’ fictions, quite the contrary, so she determined to go, and the boys went outside whilst the women and the baby got ready. There Jim told the other two an eye-opener, with the result that when they returned inside, Kit said, “Nelly, we conclude it’ll be better for a couple of us to stay here to-night, in case Broughton comes back, so you’d better choose one of us to go with you to the township,” and Kit’s heart stood still, in fear lest she might choose Sam or Jim. But she didn’t.

When they reached the pub., Nelly was surprised to see the redoubtable Carry serving drinks to the boys in the back parlour, and she wondered when the sky-pilot was coming. She asked Carry, and in consequence that lady scarce stopped laughing the long night through, with the exception of the time when she was telling Nelly the news about Broughton which had arrived that night.

From that time the half-caste did not leave the great Old Gold calico hotel, but served behind the bar, and was favoured as a daughter of the house, whilst Karo took the boy to Dunedin. Nelly knew that the care with which her mother had fostered herself would be repeated with her boy, but her heart was very sore at the parting.