that Ngati seemed to have a glimmering of what his companion meant,
and nodding quickly, he went off at a trot toward the farm.

"He'll bring some one who can understand," said Don to himself; and then
he began to feel that, after all, it was a dream consequent upon his
being so ill, and he lay back feeling more at ease, but only to jump up
and stare wildly toward where the farm lay.

For, all at once, there rose a shout, and directly after a shot was
heard, followed by another and another.

Then all was still for a few minutes, till, as Don lay gazing wildly
toward where he had seen Ngati disappear, he caught sight of a stooping
figure, then of another and another, hurrying to reach cover; and as he
recognised the convicts, he could make out that each man carried a gun.

He was holding himself up by grasping the bough of a tree, and gazing
wildly at Mike and his brutal-looking friends; but they were looking in
the direction of the farm as they passed, and they did not see him.

Then the agonising pain in his head seemed to rob him of the power to
think, and he sank back among the ferns.

Don had some consciousness of hearing voices, and of feeling hands
touching him; but it was all during a time of confusion, and when he
looked round again with the power to think, he was facing a tiny
unglazed window, the shutter which was used to close it standing below.

He was lying on a rough bed formed of sacking spread over dried fern
leaves, and the shed he was in had for furniture a rough table formed by
nailing a couple of pieces of board across a tub, another tub with part
of the side sawn out formed an armchair; and the walls were ornamented
with bunches of seeds tied up and hung there for preservation, a saddle
and bridle, and some garden tools neatly arranged in a corner.

Don lay wondering what it all meant, his eyes resting longest upon the
open window, through which he could see the glorious sunshine, and the
leaves moving in the gentle breeze.

He felt very happy and comfortable, but when he tried to raise his head
the effort was in vain, and this set him wondering again, till he closed
his eyes and lay thinking.

Suddenly he unclosed them again to lie listening, feeling the while that
he had been asleep, for close beside him there was some one whistling in
a very low tone--quite a whisper of a whistle--a familiar old
Somersetshire melody, which seemed to carry him back to the sugar yard
at Bristol, where he