In the Land of the Long White Cloud

story of Ruben and Paul, of Reginald Beasley and John Sideblossom and how she wanted neither of them for a husband.
    “So then you’re headed to Queenstown,” he concluded. “To look for Ruben. My God, if your mother had had so much pluck back then…” He bit his lip, but then went on calmly. “If you like, we can ride a ways together. All this business with Sideblossom sounds a bit dangerous. I think I’ll take the sheep to Dunedin and disappear for a few months. We’ll see, maybe I’ll try my luck in the goldfields!”
    “Oh, that would be lovely,” Fleur mumbled. James seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to gold. If she could get him to work with Ruben, perhaps the adventure might meet with success.
    James McKenzie held out his hand to her. “So, to a successful partnership. Though you do know, of course, what you’re getting yourself into. If they catch us, the jig is up, since I’m a thief. According to the law, you have to turn me in.”
    Fleurette shook her head. “I don’t have to turn you in,” she corrected him. “Not as a family member. I’ll just tell them you’re…you’re my father.”
    James McKenzie’s face lit up. “So Gwyneira told you!” he said with a radiant smile. “And did she tell you about us, Fleur? Did she maybe tell you…did she finally say that she loved me?”
    Fleur chewed on her lower lip. She couldn’t repeat to him what Gwyneira had said—though she was now convinced that her mother hadn’t told her the truth. An echo of the light she saw in James’s eyes had been in her mother’s too.
    “She…she’s worried about you,” she said finally. Which was the truth. “I’m sure she would like to see you again.”

    Fleurette spent the night in James’s tent, and he slept by the fire. They wanted to set out early the next morning, but they still took the time to fish in a stream and bake flatbread for the journey.
    “I don’t want to take any breaks until we’ve at least put the lakes behind us,” James explained. “We’ll ride on through the night and pass the inhabited areas during the darkest hours. It’s rough, Fleur, but up until now it’s never been dangerous. The big farms lie out of theway. And on the small ones, people look the other way. Sometimes as repayment, they find a good lamb among their sheep—not one that can be traced back to the big farms, but born here. The quality of the little flocks around the lakes just keeps getting better.”
    Fleur laughed. “Is this path through the streambed the only one out of the area?” she inquired.
    McKenzie shook his head. “No. You can also ride south along the foot of the mountains. This is the easier path; the land begins descending here right away, and eventually you simply follow the course of a stream to the east. However, this path takes longer since it takes you to the fjord land rather than the Canterbury Plains. It works for an escape route, but it’s not good for everyday use. So, saddle your horse. We’ll want to get going before Sideblossom picks up our trail.”
    James McKenzie did not seem all that concerned. He herded the sheep—a good number—back the way they had come the day before. The animals reacted unwillingly to being driven from their accustomed pastures, and James McKenzie’s “own” sheep bleated in protest as the dogs herded them together.

    On Kiward Station, John Sideblossom did not waste any time tracking down the horses that had been swapped out. He did not care whether the men rode workhorses or livestock—all that mattered was that they got going. This became even more important to him when the men discovered Fleurette’s escape.
    “I’ll have them both!” proclaimed John, glowing with rage. “The bastard and the girl. He can be hanged at our wedding to celebrate. All right, let’s go. Warden, we ride—no, not after breakfast. I want to be after the little beast while the trail is still fresh.”
    That proved to be hopeless. Fleur had left no trace. The men could only hope they were on the right track when they rode in the direction of the lakes and Lionel Station. Gerald suspected, however, that Fleur had fled into the highlands. He sent a few men on fast horses to Queenstown, but he wasn’t counting on their success. Niniane wasnot a racehorse. If Fleur wanted to outpace her pursuers, she could only do so in the mountains.
    “And where exactly do you mean to look for McKenzie?” Reginald Beasley asked despondently