In the Land of the Long White Cloud

exactly give it away for free.”
    “The Maori are the natives, right?” Gwyneira asked with evident curiosity.
    Gerald Warden nodded. “It means something like ‘moa hunter.’ The moas were giant birds, but apparently the hunters were too zealous and the beasts have all died out. Incidentally, we immigrants are also named after birds. We call ourselves ‘kiwis,’ which is a curious, stubborn, and vivacious bird. You can’t escape a kiwi. They’re everywhere in New Zealand. Don’t ask me who came up with the idea to label us kiwis, of all things.”
    Only a few members of the dining party laughed, mostly Terence Silkham and Gwyneira. Lady Silkham and the Riddleworths were indignant that they were dining with a former shepherd boy and whaler, even if he had since acquired the title of sheep baron.
    Lady Silkham soon brought the meal to a close and retired to the salon with her daughters. Gwyneira only reluctantly quit thegentlemen’s circle. Finally the conversation had turned to more interesting subjects than Diana’s unspeakably boring roses and endlessly dull society. She longed to return to her room, where
In the Hands of the Redskins
awaited her, half-read. The Indians had just abducted the daughter of a cavalry officer. However, Gwyneira still had at least two cups of tea in her female family’s company ahead of her. Sighing, she resigned herself to her fate.

    Meanwhile, Terence Silkham offered cigars to the men in the study. Gerald Warden’s connoisseurship in selecting the best variety of Cubans impressed him. Jeffrey Riddleworth simply reached into the case and picked one at random. Then they spent an endless half hour discussing the queen’s latest decision regarding British agriculture. Both Terence and Jeffrey thought it regrettable that the queen clearly sided with industrialization and trade over strengthening traditional industry. Gerald Warden said little on the topic. He didn’t know much about it, and he didn’t really care. However, the New Zealander perked back up when Riddleworth cast a regretful glance at the chessboard that waited, set up, on a little table nearby.
    “It’s a shame that we won’t get to our game today, but we wouldn’t want to bore our guest,” he remarked.
    Gerald Warden caught the undertones. If he were a true gentleman, Jeffrey wanted to imply, he would make up some reason to retire to his rooms. But Gerald was no gentleman. He had played that role well enough until now; it was now time to get down to his real business.
    “Why don’t we play a little card game instead?” he suggested with an innocent smile. “One plays blackjack even in the salons in the colonies, eh Riddleworth? Or would you prefer a different game? Poker, perhaps?”
    Jeffrey Riddleworth looked at him with disgust. “I beg your pardon! Blackjack…poker…one might play such games in port town pubs but certainly not among gentlemen.”
    “Well, I’ll gladly play a hand,” Terence declared, glancing eagerly at the card table. He did not seem to be taking up Gerald’s offer simply to be polite. “During my time in the military, I played often, but here we hardly ever do anything on social occasions other than talk shop about sheep and horses. Hop to it, Jeffrey! You can deal first. And don’t be stingy. I know you make a fine salary. Let’s see if I can’t win back some of Diana’s dowry.”
    Terence Silkham spoke bluntly. During dinner he had partaken heavily of the wine, and upon entering the salon had tossed back his first scotch quickly. Now he gestured eagerly for the other men to take their places. Gerald Warden sat down happily, while Jeffrey did so reluctantly. He reached for the cards against his will and shuffled clumsily.
    Gerald set his glass aside. He had to be alert now. He noted with pleasure that the tipsy Terence opened with a high ante. Gerald readily let him win. A half hour later, a small fortune in coins and notes lay before Terence and Jeffrey. The latter had thawed somewhat, even if he still did not appear entirely enthusiastic. Silkham helped himself to more whiskey.
    “Don’t lose the money for my sheep,” he warned Gerald. “You’ve already played away another litter of pups.”
    Gerald Warden smiled. “Who doesn’t dare, doesn’t win,” he said and upped the ante again. “How is it, Riddleworth, going to call?”
    The colonel was no longer sober either, but he was mistrustful by nature. Gerald Warden knew that he’d have to get rid of