Henry looked with horror at Miriama’s scarf as Sullivan waved it in his face. Sullivan curled his lip. “Turns out the doctor’s little sidekick is in truth a bird.”
Burgess bristled. “We don’t ’arm womenfolk, remember?”
Henry believed him. He’d heard Burgess say this before. “We all have muvvas and sisters of our own.”
“Back off, Burgess,” Sullivan snarled. “No ’arm in a bit o’ fun.”
What’s he done to Miriama?
Sullivan jiggled her scarf in front of Henry again. “Ooh, she’s a feisty wee tart!” he taunted.
With dismay Henry saw fresh blood on Sullivan’s shirt, and a scratch on his cheek.
Miriama! He couldn’t bear to think Miriama had been harmed – or even killed. “What’ve you done to her?”
“Nothing – yet,” Sullivan grinned. “Savin’ her for later.”
“Where is she?” Henry yelled.
Sullivan hit him, this time with Smith’s doctor’s bag. Henry fell backwards into the ferns.
“She’s safe, as long as you’re a good wee boy.”
Henry struggled to his knees. He looked past Sullivan and saw Miriama lying unconscious on the ground, hands tied behind her.
“Miriama!” he cried out.
Burgess rounded on Sullivan. “What the ’ell did ya bring ’er for?”
“To make sure he behaves himself.”
“We’ve already got his muvva.”
Sullivan smirked. “Quit complainin’, yer majesty.” He slung Miriama over his bony shoulder and marched into the cottage.
Henry appealed to Burgess. “Don’t let him hurt her!”
“You brung this on yerself, ’Enry,” said Burgess, and yanked Henry to his feet.
At this moment Levy appeared, breathless. His smart clothes were mud-spattered.
“Comrades!” he called. “What gives?” He saw Sullivan carrying Miriama into the cottage, and frowned at Henry, who was still red in the face. “Too many witnesses!”
“Not for long,” Kelly piped up, and drew his finger across his throat like a knife.
Are they really going to kill us? Henry wondered.
Burgess signalled to Levy. “Spill the beans, bruvver.”
“They’ll be here presently. Three men, five packhorses.”
Burgess rubbed his hands. “It’s on, lads! Look sharp, Kelly.”
Sullivan returned with a leather thong, and secured Henry’s hands tight behind his back. He put his craggy face next to Henry’s ear and whispered, “Got me eye on you, kid.”
Henry shuddered. God help me!
The men had found a dark “tunnel” through the dense undergrowth – probably a short cut created by Māori war parties – and they entered it in single file. Levy was up front, followed by Sullivan. Kelly dawdled, humming, carrying the physician’s rifle.
Burgess pushed Henry ahead of him through the undergrowth.
Suddenly Levy hissed, “Down!”
Henry gasped as Burgess tugged his thongs to force him to his knees.
“Horseman,” said Levy.
Henry peered through the bushes and was alarmed to see Doctor Smith on horseback some hundred paces away.
“It’s ’im!” snarled Sullivan.
Doctor Smith stood tall in his stirrups, searching the undergrowth, and yelled, “Come out, you murderer!”
Henry was horrified. You don’t know how close they are! Keep away!
Smith raised one of his pearl-handled Tranters and fired.
CRACK! A bullet rocketed – WOOSH – through the leaves close to Kelly.
Kelly whimpered. “Why me?”
Shall I call out? Henry wondered. But Sullivan clamped a grimy hand across his mouth.
They huddled behind the bushes: Levy, Kelly, and Burgess and Sullivan, both holding Henry down.
After a time, Burgess peered out. “Gawn,” he announced.
“Looks like he’s off to Canvas Town,” said Levy.
Sullivan removed his hand, allowing Henry to gulp in air. He lay back on the ground, chest heaving. He didn’t see Smith ride off. But Sullivan watched keenly.
“That’ll keep ’im out of the way while we attend to business,” he said. He continued to watch Smith as he rode into the distance.
Burgess looked at Sullivan, quizzical.
Sullivan glared back. “What?”
“D’you know that geezer, Sullivan?”
“What you sayin’?”
“Well,” said Burgess, “yer look like ya seen a ghost.”
Sullivan grunted. He cracked his knuckles and followed Levy.
Burgess pushed Henry forward, along the rough track towards Maungatapu Rock. It was not long before they emerged from the forest. Sunlight bathed the huge rock.
“A bee-ootiful spot for a pinch o’ mischief!” chortled Burgess. “Doo dah bloody doo!”
Henry was reminded of Smith’s observation, just a few days ago, that this would be an ideal place for an ambush.
He was about to be proven right.