Free Kiwi Wars by Garry Douglas Kilworth Page A

the group of men, who all turned at his cry.
    ‘Mr Wynter,’ Jack said. ‘Do you have a moment?’
    ‘Ha, you know me name. Yes, yes – I remember. You’re that cap’n, an’t you? Can’t recall the name, but I know you’re me brother’s officer. Please-ta-meetcha again, Cap’n.’
    ‘Crossman. Captain Crossman. Have you been out buying land again, Mr Wynter?’
    The lean, sharp-faced man stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and suddenly glared.
    ‘What if I have?’
    ‘No, don’t misunderstand me. I’m just curious. You see, I’d like to purchase a plot myself. A small farm would be enough I think. Perhaps five hundred acres? Something of that nature.’
    Abe laughed, turning to invite the Maoris to share his humour, which they seemed to decline, remaining with stony expressions.
    ‘Five hundred acres? That’s a piddlin’ backyard, that is, Cap’n. Five thousand’s what you want, more like. Do you know that in Australia they have single farms bigger’n England and France put together?
Farms!
That’s what you want. Somethin’ as big as two countries. A small farm would be the size o’ Holland or Belgie. It’s true this an’t Australia – New Zealand is a country the size of the old country – but you can do better’n five hundred acres, old chum.’ I’m not your old chum, thought Jack, but he did not say so. ‘Do you want me to get it for you, Cap’n?’ Abe continued. ‘Seein’ as how you look after me little brother, I could do you a deal you wouldn’t get nowhere else. There’s coves out there all linin’ up for land, and you’d be at the back of the queue, just now. You just tell me where you’re lookin’ at, and I’ll see what I can do for you.’
    Jack glanced at the Maoris, who were lounging around at the end of the bridge, smoking pipes. They were dressed in woollen jumpers and trousers, and one or two wore caps. All carried rather scarred, elderly shotguns, which they leaned on like crutches. None of them had the magnificent build of Potaka or Ta Moko, but one or two were wiry rather than pot-bellied. They all looked tough and able.
    ‘Admirin’ my Maori, eh?’ said Abe Wynter. ‘Proud sort of fellahs, an’t they? Me an’ them get on just fine.’ He winked. ‘We got somethin’ deep in common, see.’
    ‘Something in common?’
    ‘Ah, can’t tell you, Cap’n, or you’d know all me secrets, wouldn’t you? Now, what about your problems, eh?’
    ‘You think I would have trouble finding land?’
    ‘Know it, old chum. It’s premium, an’t it? But I got ways of jumpin’ the queue, if needs must. Come an’ share a pot o’ beer with me. We’ll discuss it. How much money you got? Honest now!’
    Jack told him as they walked along. Abe nodded thoughtfully.
    ‘We can do somethin’ with that, certain sure.’
    Jack felt very uncomfortable in the company of Private Wynter’s brother. Jack was no snob and Abe Wynter was often in the company of far more exulted persons than a captain of foot, but there was too much of the Harry about Abe for Jack to feel easy.
    However, it would be nice if he could build a farm on his own land before Jane arrived so that he could surprise her. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. And Abe Wynter was a legitimate agent, recognized by the government. What harm could there be in using him to purchase the land? Certainly Jack had not the time himself to deal with the negotiations and bureaucracy involved.
    ‘I don’t think I need to tell you, Mr Wynter, that I require everything to be legal and above board.’
    Abe Wynter wore a shocked expression.
    ‘Cap’n Crossman, ’ow could you think otherwise of me? What need have I to be underhand or chiselling? I’m a rich man already.’ He leaned forward as they sat at a table outside the alehouse. ‘Listen, I admit it – I jumped ship. But I’ve made amends for that with the navy. Paid a proper fine and all’s forgiven, so far as they’re concerned. Steep