wounded?"

Tomati nodded.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"No," was the reply, feebly given. "It's all over with me at last; they
will fight--and kill one another. I've tried--to stop it--no use."

Jem exchanged glances with Don, for there was something terrible in the
English chiefs aspect.

"Where are they taking us?" said Don, after a pause.

"Down to Werigna--their place. But look here, don't stop to be taken
there. Go off into the woods and journey south farther than they go.
Don't stay."

"Will they kill us if we stay?" whispered Don.

"Yes," said Tomati, with a curious look. "Run for it--both."

"But we can't leave you."

Tomati smiled, and was silent for a few minutes.

"You will not--leave me," he whispered, as he smiled sadly. "I--shall
escape."

"I am glad," whispered Don. "But Ngati?--where is Ngati?"

"Crawled away up the mountain. Badly wounded, but he got away."

"Then he has escaped," whispered Don joyfully.

"Yes. So must you," said Tomati, shivering painfully. "Good lads,
both."

"I don't like to leave you," said Don again.

"Ah! That's right. Don, my lad, can you take hold--of my hand--and
say--a prayer or two. I'm going--to escape."

A thrill of horror ran through Don as he caught hold of the Englishman's
icy hand, and the tears started to his eyes as in a broken voice he
repeated the old, old words of supplication; but before his lips had
formed half the beautiful old prayer and breathed it into the poor
fellow's ear, Don felt his hand twitched spasmodically, and one of the
chiefs shouted some order.

"Down, Mas' Don! Lie still!" whispered Jem. "They're ordering 'em into
the boat again. Think we could crawl into the bush from here?"

"No, Jem; it would be impossible."

"So it would, lad, so it would; but as he said, poor chap, we must take
to the woods. Think any of these would come with us?"

Don shook his head despairingly, as he longed to look in Tomati's face
again, but he dared not stir.

A few minutes later they were once more in the leading canoe, which was
being urged rapidly over the smooth sea, and it was a long time before
Don could frame the words he wished to say. For whenever he tried to
speak there was a strange choking sensation in his throat, and he ended
by asking the question mutely as he gazed wildly in his companion's
face.

"Tomati, Mas' Don?" said Jem sadly.

Don nodded.

"Ah, I thought that was what you meant, my lad. Didn