In the Land of the Long White Cloud

terror. The other warriors hooted approvingly.
    “Easy now, easy!” cursed McDunn. “You’re making a mess of everything! I’d be happy to open the wagon for you, but…”
    The warrior had drawn a knife and cut the cover from its frame. To the amusement of his companions, the wagon bed now lay uncovered before him—as did the twins, who clung to each other, whimpering.
    Now Leonard became seriously concerned. Fortunately, there were no weapons or any ironware that could be used as one. He had a gun himself, but the men would disarm him long before he could use it. Even drawing his knife would be far too risky. Besides, the boys did not look like professional highwaymen, but rather like shepherds playing at war. For the moment, they did not present any immediate danger.
    Beneath the undergarments, which the Maori now pulled from the wagon and held in front of his chest, giggling, to the elation of his tribesmen, were more dangerous wares. If the men found the barrels of fine brandy and tried it for themselves right then and there, their situation could quickly become precarious. In the meantime, others had become curious about them. They must have been near a Maori village because a few adolescents and older men approached, the majority of them dressed in Western clothing and lacking tattoos. One of them lifted a crate of fine Beaujolais—Mr. O’Keefe’s personal order—out from under a layer of corsets.
    “You’re coming with!” said one of the newcomers sternly. “This wine for Wardens. I once house servant; I know. We’re taking you to the chief. Tonga will know what to do.”
    Leonard McDunn’s enthusiasm at the prospect of being introduced to the high chief was tepid at best. Though he did not think his life was in danger, he knew that he could kiss his wares good-bye if he steered the wagon into the rebels’ camp—probably the wagon and horses too.
    “Follow me!” commanded the former house servant, stepping forward. McDunn cast an appraising glance at the landscape. It was predominantly flat. A few hundred yards back, the road had forked, and they had probably set off in the wrong direction. This was obviously a private path, and the Maori were in the midst of a feud with its owner. The fact that the approach to Kiward Station was better constructed than the public road had led Leonard to make a wrong turn. If he could break out straight through the bush to the left, he would have to intersect with the official road to Haldon…unfortunately, the Maori warrior was still standing before him, now posing with a brassiere on his head—with one leg on the box, and the other inside the wagon.
    “It’s your own fault if you get hurt,” Leonard muttered as he set the wagon in motion. It took a while for the heavy shire horses to get going, but once they did, Leonard knew, they would fly. After the horses had taken their first steps, he cracked his whip at them and steered sharply to the left. The sudden trotting caused the warrior dancing with the underwear to lose his balance. He did not even have a chance to swing his spear before Leonard pushed him from the wagon. Laurie and Mary screamed. Leonard hoped the wagon did not run the man over.
    “Duck, girls! And hold on tight!” he called back just as a hail of spears rained down on the cases of corsets. Well, the whaleboning would survive that. Both of the shires were now galloping, and their hooves made the earth tremble. On a riding horse, the Maori would easily have been able to overtake the wagon, but to Leonard’s relief no one came after them.
    “Are you all right, girls?” he called back to Mary and Laurie as he spurred the horses on to further exertion, praying that the land would not suddenly become uneven. These workhorses could not stopquickly, and a broken axle was the last thing he needed now. But the terrain remained flat, and another path soon came into view. Leonard did not know whether it was the road to Haldon; it looked too narrow and winding. But it was clearly navigable and showed traces of horse-drawn vehicles—though it looked more like the ruts of light buggies than covered wagons, whose drivers were not in danger of breaking an axle by riding on uneven ground. Regardless, he took it. Leonard urged his horses on further. Only when he thought he had left the Maori camp at least a mile behind them did he slow the team to an easy pace.
    Laurie and Mary crawled to the front, sighing with relief.
    “What was that, Mr.