Free The Runaway Settlers by Elsie Locke Page A

their backs, toddlers, boys and girls, young men, old men.
    ‘What shall we do if they grab us?’ whispered Jack.
    ‘It’s fatal to run away. If they touch us, we’ll dodge up the hill!’
    Bill and Jack marched on. The road was too narrow to avoid the waiting group, and a two-year-old boy leaned from a woman’s arms to catch at Jack’s sandy-coloured hair. The hot air from the pipe she was smoking blew across Jack’s face, and her eyes looked strange under her hat—a man’s felt hat faded to a dull green. Jack pushed the child away and a gabble of voices broke out around him. Hands were everywhere; the sack of cabbages was slipping from his shoulders; and Bill had vanished. With his throat so dry that he couldn’t utter a sound, Jack ducked between the blanket-wearers and made a dash for the hill.
    At first he felt sure that he was being followed by a dozen men or more; but soon the voices seemed distant and he crept behind a bush to look back. The Maoris were still clustered in the road and there was no sign of Bill.
    Jack went on moving stealthily in the direction of Lyttelton, aiming for a point just above where the road crossed the next hill. Everything was very quiet. After a time he heard a low whistle from up above him, and when at last he caught a glimpse of his brother he saw with relief that Bill was still carrying his sack.
    At least one of them had not been robbed! But Jack cursed his bad luck. With only half their supply of vegetables to sell, there could hardly be enough money to buy fishing-lines.
    Still carefully keeping concealed from any watching eyes, the boys moved from bush to bush and hollow to hollow, coming closer until they slid together through the tussock over the brow of the hill. A thrill of triumph ran through them. They had escaped!
    ‘Hurrah!’ cried Jack and stood up—to find himself looking straight into the eyes of a Maori boy sitting alone on a bank.
    He gasped and began to run. The boy ran also, shouting, and soon was ahead of them in the middle of the road. ‘Grab a stick, Jack, we’ll stand and fight,’ said Bill.
    Jack needed no persuading. He tore a dry branch from a fuchsia tree and stopped to size up his enemy. The Maori boy, wearing long trousers and a back-to-front sailor’s jersey with one sleeve missing, stared back at them. Suddenly, like an eel he darted past and backed up the hill the way he had come. Bill and Jack watched, not moving, still grasping their sticks.
    When the boy reached the skyline he lifted something up and sent it rolling towards them. Then, shouting, he flung himself into the air with both arms and legs outstretched and disappeared down the other side of the hill. The object kept on rolling.
    ‘It’s my cabbages!’ cried Jack.
    ‘They were afraid we’d tell the police,’ scoffed Bill. ‘They’re awfully scared of our police.’
    All the same, he was not sure that this was the right explanation.

11. Surprise at Lyttelton
    Lyttelton was very lively. The shops all seemed busy. Men stood outside the Mitre Hotel in noisy groups, and a regular hubbub sounded from the bar. The cracking of carpenters’ hammers echoed through the crisp air. Men were levelling the clay roads and ploughing the gutters along the side to carry away the next fall of rain. At the wharf lay the Zingari, the steamship that carried mail between the North and South Islands. Some small boats were also alongside; two large ships rode at anchor; and sailing gracefully with the easterly wind behind her, a good-sized barque came into view.
    The boys were passing the Steadfast Dining Rooms when one of the sash-windows was thrown up and a woman called after them:
    ‘What have you there, boys?’
    ‘Cabbages, spring onions and radishes,’ answered Bill.
    ‘Wait! Let me see!’ The woman, plump and wearing a white cap and apron, came rustling through the door. She held a knife to cut the flax cords, but Bill was not to be hurried. He untied the sacks carefully and drew