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Title: In the grip of the Hawk: A story of the Maori wars

Author: Reginald Horsley

Illustrator: W. Herbert Holloway

Release date: June 24, 2022 [eBook #68389]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: T.C. & E.C. Jack Ltd, 1920

Credits: Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE GRIP OF THE HAWK: A STORY OF THE MAORI WARS ***

There lay Winata Pakaro, famous fighting Chief, lips set in a grin of hate. (page 53).
There lay Winata Pakaro, famous fighting Chief,
lips set in a grin of hate. (page 93).

IN THE GRIP OF
THE HAWK

A Story of the Maori Wars

BY REGINALD HORSLEY

AUTHOR OF
'STONEWALL'S SCOUT,' 'THE YELLOW GOD,' 'THE BLUE
BALLOON,' 'HUNTED THROUGH FIJI,' ETC.

LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK, LTD.
35 & 36 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
AND EDINBURGH

TO

SIR JAMES BALFOUR PAUL, F.S.A. (SCOT.)

Lyon King of Arms
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
IN MEMORY OF MANY YEARS
OF FRIENDSHIP

PREFATORY NOTE

As the long struggle between Maori and Pakeha dragged to a close, a new interest was given to it by the perversion of numbers of Maoris of various tribes to a singular religion, styled by its founders Pai Marire—that is, 'good and peaceful.'

There was nothing good or peaceful about the new religion, which was a fantastic blend of very elementary Christianity, Judaism and Paganism. Deadly hostility to the Pakeha, or white man, was an all-important item in this curious creed, whose votaries were known as Hau-haus, and prominent amongst its prophets was the rebel chief, Te Kooti, one of the best generals and one of the worst men of his day.

Brave, ferocious and animated by an almost oriental fatalism, the Hau-haus were formidable antagonists and, moreover, shocked even their compatriots by their ruthless savagery. At the very outset they defeated a mixed contingent of the 57th Regiment and Colonials at Taranaki, and cut off the head of Captain Lloyd, who had been killed in action. Lloyd's head, preserved after the Maori fashion, was then carried round from tribe to tribe by two Hau-hau missionaries, who strove to make converts to the new faith. When they succeeded, the head was spiked upon the summit of the niu, or sacred pole, round which the fanatics leaped and danced until they grew frenzied, uttering at frequent intervals their characteristic barking howl, 'Hau-hau! Hau-hau!' which has been described as the most frightful of noises, and a trial to the nerves of the bravest.

While in no sense a history of a particular period of the war, the story is built upon a historical basis. Thus, the imprisonment of Te Kooti on Chatham Island—according to some upon a fabricated charge—his escape thence in a brig, the sacrifice of his aged uncle in order to propitiate the wind-god, his landing near Poverty Bay, the massacre there, the fight at Paparatu and the final storming of a strong pah in which he had taken refuge, are all matters of history. Te Kooti, however, did not massacre the crew of the brig, nor was he slain in battle. Like the yet more infamous Nana Sahib, he escaped to be no more heard of. It is interesting to note that a nephew of Te Kooti appeared a few months ago in New Zealand, threatening to preach a new religion and to bring about the downfall of the Pakeha.

The mere[1] (pronounced almost as 'merry') or war-club of the Maoris was in shape something like an old-fashioned soda-water bottle, flattened, and was made of wood, bone, a very hard gray stone, whalebone, jade, or of the valuable mineral, nephrite, more commonly known as 'greenstone,' which is found in the Middle Island. The Maoris regarded the greenstone with superstitious veneration, and in times of danger would sacrifice their ornaments fashioned from it to the particular god whose aid it was desired to invoke. Greenstone clubs were the peculiar possessions of chiefs or very important tribesmen, inferior mortals contenting themselves with those of less costly materials.

[1] In Maori every letter is pronounced. Thus: whare, a house = 'wharry,' not 'whar.'

Regarding the particular greenstone club which figures so prominently in the story, it is, perhaps, only fair to admit that it will be useless for readers with archæological tastes to endeavour to verify the tradition of its origin or the sinister prophecy attached to it.

While I took no part in the struggle, I well remember, when a very little boy, adding my small voice to the enthusiastic cheers of the people as first one regiment and, later on, another, marched through the streets of Sydney on their way to embark for New Zealand. When several sizes larger, it was my fortune to see much of the native races of the southern seas—in Maori-land, Fiji, the Loyalty Islands, and elsewhere. Now if I can succeed in interesting my readers by picturing for them some of the scenes which filled my childhood with so much colour and interest and delight, I shall be satisfied.

REGINALD HORSLEY.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. FAMILY JARS
II. THE QUEEN'S SHILLING SUNDERS FRIENDS
III. THE PRICE OF SUCCESS
IV. TE KAREAREA
V. THE GRATITUDE OF TE KAIHUIA
VI. THE STORY OF THE GREENSTONE MERE
VII. STORM SIGNALS
VIII. THE STORM BURSTS
IX. JUST IN TIME
X. TOGETHER AGAIN
XI. ONE MYSTERY THE LESS
XII. VANISHED
XIII. DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN
XIV. MAGIC, BLACK AND WHITE
XV. POKEKE, THE SULLEN ONE
XVI. SPLENDIDE MENDAX
XVII. SAFE BIND, SAFE FIND
XVIII. PAEROA AT LAST
XIX. PAEROA'S VENGEANCE
XX. A BID FOR LIBERTY
XXI. IN THE FLAX SWAMP
XXII. THE DOOM OF THE HOUSE OF TE TURI

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

There lay Winata Pakaro, famous fighting chief, his lips set in a grin of hate ... Frontispiece

Captain Varsall was seen to flee at top speed towards the beach

George turned from the mate to find Te Karearea at his elbow

In another moment Terence's wrists were free and the rifle in his grasp

The tunnel took a turn, widening into a cave

Map of the Pah of Death and its surroundings

IN THE GRIP OF THE HAWK

CHAPTER I

FAMILY JARS

The long-drawn, melancholy wail of the curlew rose and fell thrice in the garden, and Terence Moore went to the window and looked out into the clear moonlight.

'Is that you, George?' he hailed.

'Yes. Come out quietly; I want to talk to you.'

Terence hung by his hands from the sill and dropped to the ground beside his visitor. 'What is the matter, George?' he inquired anxiously. 'Why won't you come in?'

'Because I wish to see you alone, and I don't want any one to know that I am here. You may as well hear it first as last, old fellow—I have left home.'

'I am not surprised. My only wonder is that you have stayed there so long,' Terence commented, lifting his tip-tilted nose still higher.

'Things have come to a head, you see,' explained George Haughton. 'The colonel struck me this evening, and though, of course, I don't mind that, yet I can't stand any longer the sort of life I have been forced to lead for the past year or two.'

'I am not surprised,' repeated Terence. 'Few fellows would have been as patient, I think. Wait a moment and I'll get my hat.'

He was back again almost immediately, and, linking arms with George, drew him round the house to the front gate.

These two had been friends from earliest childhood, though both in appearance and disposition they differed remarkably from one another. George Haughton, tall and commanding, finely made, with well-knit, muscular frame, fair, curling hair, and Saxon-blue eyes, was the very type of a healthy young Englishman. The other, Terence Moore, was blue-eyed also; but his shock of red hair, his densely freckled skin, the tilt of his nose, and his wide smiling mouth as plainly betrayed his Irish origin as did his name. He was much shorter than George, but his broad shoulders and extraordinary length of arm amply atoned for any deficiency in the matter of inches.

Terence was a bushman to his finger-tips, and once had been heir to a fine estate, but on the death of his father, two years before the opening of this story, he had been left penniless. Mrs. Moore had died when her boy was but an infant, and so it happened that the lad lost parent, money and home at one stroke, for the creditors seized his father's station, along with everything upon it which could be turned into cash.

Young Moore, then only eighteen, had not money enough to take up land and develop a new station, and though his dear friends, the Haughtons, would have helped him to any extent, he was too proud to become dependent, even upon them. So he started driving fat cattle from one part of the country to another, an occupation at once profitable and healthy. In the intervals of work he stayed in Sydney with his mother's sister; and thus securing the companionship of George Haughton, proceeded to make the latter still more discontented with his lot, by pouring into his ear all the moving incidents by flood and field which fall to the share of the gentleman-drover.

To this sympathetic friend did George now confide the tale of the crisis of his long dispute with his father, to which Terence, anxious to secure a congenial companion during his long rides through the bush, replied by an earnest appeal to George to throw in his lot with his own.

As a matter of fact, there had been a terrible scene at 'Sobraon.' For two years Colonel Haughton had fumed and fretted at his son's evident disinclination to follow the path marked out for him, and to-day a climax had been reached. The colonel, enraged at George's invincible opposition, had lost command of himself and struck his son; and the way in which it all came about was this:

After the famous battle of Sobraon, in which he was severely wounded, Colonel Haughton had retired from the army and bought a beautiful property on the wooded heights of one of the tiny bays which break the noble outline of Sydney Harbour. Here he had settled with his wife and his son, George, then a burly little fellow of three, whose obvious destiny was the army, in which his father had served with such distinction. But after the lad's tenth birthday the colonel's views underwent a change, and it was decided to send the youngster into the bush, so that he might grow familiar with station life, and in due course become capable of managing the fine run which his father intended to purchase for him.

This was much more to George's taste than school, and six months with his father's old friend, Major Moore, went far towards making a thorough little bushman of him. Terence and he were already chums, and the constant association which continued during their youth cemented a friendship which endured throughout their lives.

The colonel's 'system,' thus inaugurated, was further developed by a visit to New Zealand, where George's uncle, Captain Haughton, R.N., retired, had settled some years before. Thereafter Colonel Haughton divided each successive year into four parts, every three months of study alternating with a like period in the bush, either with Major Moore in New South Wales, or with Captain Haughton in New Zealand, as the turn of each came round.

Brain and body developed most satisfactorily under this system, and, as a natural consequence of so much healthy outdoor life, George at nineteen was as sturdy and well-developed a youngster as could be found, while in height he already over-topped his father, who stood five feet eleven outside his boots. The boy's future seemed splendidly assured, when a season of drought, common enough in Australia, frightened the colonel, and, after much deliberation, he astounded everybody by declaring his intention to launch his son in business.

But here he reckoned without George, for nothing less suited to the lad's disposition, tastes or early training could have been hit upon, and the one thing which kept him from open rebellion was his desire not to give pain to his mother. But when, quite suddenly, Mrs. Haughton died, George, who had been devoted to her—though he had a great admiration and love for his father, too—determined to resist the proposed change with all his might.

He said little, however, until his twentieth birthday was passed, though his attitude was always one of firm, respectful opposition; and then at last the crisis came, and the blow struck by the hasty-tempered father in support of his authority broke down the last lingering scruple on the part of his son. It is difficult, all facts considered, to blame George too severely, even if his conduct in taking the law into his own hands cannot be entirely excused.

'You can't do better than come with me, George,' urged the wily Terence, when George had told him of the tempestuous scene at 'Sobraon,' as Colonel Haughton had named his house. 'You can't do better,' he repeated; 'that is, if you have made up your mind not to return home.'

'That is decided,' said George. 'To go back would only mean further hopeless bickering with my father, and I don't want to run any risks.'

'Then that is settled. You will have to lie low for a week or so until I am on the move again; but you can write to your father and let him know that you are safe. I dare say he will come round as soon as he sees that you are really in earnest. He is a good sort, is the colonel,' wound up Terence, with a grin at the recollection of a sound thrashing his old friend had once given him.

'He is, I admit,' granted the colonel's wayward son. 'All the same, he won't come round easily. He would wear out my will by sheer persistence and get his own way if I remained in the house. My only safety lies in flight.'

'I believe you. And you will fly with me to the bush.'

'No, Terence; I have another plan.' And straightway George delivered himself of a statement which astonished his voluble friend into something like absolute silence. But this did not last very long. For a few moments Terence remained pensive, his thoughts evidently far away; then, as they turned to take the homeward road he astonished George in his turn by cutting a caper in the middle of the street.

'Hurroo!' he cried, relapsing into the rich brogue he could assume at pleasure, and poured out a torrent of strange sounds, which George declared to be gibberish, but which Terence insisted were 'the rale Oirish for unbounded deloight.'

'But what is the matter with you?' George asked helplessly at last. 'Why should you behave like a lunatic because I am going away?'

'Because we are going, if you please,' corrected Terence, suddenly serious.

George stared at him. 'You don't mean that you are coming, too?'

'An' why wouldn't I? Do you think I'll allow a great baby like you to go off alone among all those murtherin' ruffians? Yes,' he concluded, with a mock salute, 'with your leave, or without your leave, I'm going with you.'

'But—but——' began George in stammering protest.

'No buts, old fellow. I am going with you,' declared Terence; 'so there is no more to be said.'

'But your prospects?' objected George.

'Oh yes, my prospects. Fine, aren't they? I shall have quite as good a chance of getting on in the world—and a better—by going with you, as I shall by jogging peacefully behind a lot of fat cattle. Besides, we are not going away for ever, I hope; and I know plenty of people who will be only too glad to get me to drive their beasts, no matter how long I may stay away. So say no more about it; the thing is settled.'

'You are a good friend, Terence,' said George, with some emotion, and the two linked arms once more and set off in the direction of Woolloomooloo, where Terence resided when in town.

* * * * * *

Midnight! The solemn strokes of some big clock in the city boomed over the quiet waters of the bay, and the two soldierly old men who were standing on the little jetty at the foot of the garden at 'Sobraon' turned rather helplessly towards one another.

'We may as well go in, Charles,' said the elder, who was Colonel Haughton's brother-in-law, General Cantor. He will not return to-night, I feel sure.' To himself he added: 'I don't believe he means to return at all, poor lad.' For General Cantor had been to a large extent in his nephew's confidence, and had long ago made up his mind that George would one day end the constant friction by a sudden snapping of home ties.

'I dare say you are right, William,' the colonel answered, too depressed to argue; 'yet he often pulls home across the bay at night. Well, well; I have been a tyrant and a fool. I see that {missing words} pray God not too late.' There was a {missing words} voice, and he turned about to cast one more look over the shimmering sea. 'God bless the boy, wherever he is, whatever he does,' he murmured, and, leaning heavily upon his upright little brother-in-law, went back to the house.

There they wished one another good-night rather tremulously; but the colonel set the French-window of his son's room ajar, and with a prayer in his sorrowful heart for the absent lad went thoughtfully to bed.

The first streak of morning found him again in George's room, looking eagerly for some sign of his presence. George was not there, but the window had been shut, and a letter lay conspicuously upon a table. The colonel caught it up and tore it open with trembling fingers. A glance gave him a grasp of the contents, and with a bitter cry he flung himself upon his knees by the empty bed and poured out his heart in prayer that no harm might come to the son whom he loved so well and had used so hardly.

The letter ran:

'MY DEAR FATHER,—I think that it is wiser for me to leave home for a time and strike out a line for myself. It grieves me to oppose you, but, as I feel myself to be utterly unfitted for a commercial life, there is nothing else to be done. We used to be such (missing words} and we have neither of us been very happy since mother died. Don't imagine that I am going away because of our little breeze to-day. I have not thought of that again. Really, I have not. I shall write as soon as I have settled to the work I have chosen, and will keep you posted as to my movements. Good-bye, my dear old dad. My love to Uncle William; and you may both of you be sure that I shall try and remember your teaching and his and keep straight. I am afraid you will say that I am making a crooked beginning; but, father, in this matter I can't obey you. I can't indeed. Good-bye again. Try to remember me as your affectionate son,

GEORGE.'

And this was almost the last that Colonel Haughton heard of his son for many a day.

CHAPTER II

THE QUEEN'S SHILLING SUNDERS FRIENDS

Down the South Head Road, down the long, narrow length of George Street, headed by its splendid band, swept the famous regiment, a glittering streak of scarlet and steel; and all the way from Paddington Barracks to the great wharf at the Circular Quay, where lay the waiting transport, the people cheered themselves hoarse, waving banners and scattering flowers under the marching feet. For the gallant 600th were going to New Zealand—going to the war.

Everywhere was orderly bustle as the men embarked, and no one found time to heed the behaviour of two young civilians, who had managed to get on board, and who at once made a hurried descent into the darkest corner of the forehatch; nor did they emerge even when the noisy bell clanged out a warning to those who belonged to the shore to make all haste and get there.

The transport, led by a proud little tug, was passing Farm Cove, the beautiful anchorage for ships of the naval squadron, which fronts the ornamental grounds of Government House, when the disciplined quiet of the frigate was disturbed by an outcry in the neighbourhood of the fo'c'sle, and Sergeant-major Horn, hurrying to ascertain the cause, was met, to his great surprise, by a couple of his men, who haled between them a pair of dishevelled youths.

'Silence, you there!' commanded the sergeant-major sternly. Then to George and Terence—for they, indeed, were the stowaways: 'What's the meaning of this? Who are you? Where do you come from? What brought you here?' His quick eye at once discerned that the young men he addressed were not of the same class as those who detained them.

George had not reckoned upon being compelled to make a public declaration. He had looked for a quiet word with the sergeant-major, whom he hoped to win to his side. Consequently, he was for a moment at a loss; but, while he was framing a reply, Terence, with a comical glance at the men, struck in, employing his richest brogue.

'Aw! Sargint, darlin', listen to me, now. We're gintlemin out av work. We've come out of two dir-r-rty barr'ls in the forehatch. We wor brought here be the boys in rid. And as to the manin' av ut all, why, I'll tell ye that, too, so I will; but only in your own ear, me jool.'

'None of your impudence, now,' quoth Horn darkly, and scowled at the men, who were grinning broadly at Terence's absurd appearance. For his shock of red hair was more tousled than ever, and the assumed simplicity of his expression would, according to one of the men, have made a cat laugh.

'Luk at that, now!' cried Terence, deftly shifting the burden of reproof from his own shoulders. 'B'ys, I wonder at ye, so I do, laughin' at your shuparior offisher an' all'; which was too much for the men, who sent back a storm of chaff.

'Silence!' roared Horn, 'Now then, you two, give an account of yourselves, or over the side you go.'

Terence had no intention of allowing his sense of fun to spoil their chance, so he shot a look at George, who replied quietly: 'We came on board, hoping that you would see your way to enlist us in the regiment.'

'Oh! I thought you might be trying to snatch a passage to New Zealand,' returned Horn, inwardly admiring the splendid physique of the speaker, with whose features he was vaguely familiar. 'If to enlist is your game, why didn't you come up to the barracks yesterday, instead of sneaking on board like this?'

The pair flushed at this offensive way of putting it; but George could hardly admit that they had avoided the barracks for fear of being recognised, since many of the officers were personal friends of his father and himself, and all were on visiting terms at his home. So he replied simply: 'The truth is, it was quite impossible for us to enlist yesterday.'

Horn was puzzled. The couple in front of him were fine specimens of physical manhood, but what they asked for smacked strongly of irregularity. Besides, they might have been up to some mischief, and he did not wish to incur a responsibility which might get him into more or less serious trouble. But he wanted these two likely fellows; so he determined to speak to the adjutant about them.

But George read his thoughts, and, unobtrusively slipping a sovereign into his hand, said in a low voice: 'Don't report the matter just yet, Sergeant-major. We don't want to run any risk of being stopped.'

Horn took another good look at them as he deftly pouched the gold. 'No,' said he; 'I don't believe that either of you would play a dirty trick. I'll chance it, though I expect there'll be a row. Line up here.'

George was radiant. He shook Terence heartily by the hand, and in so doing shifted his position so as to bring his friend opposite to the sergeant-major, who very naturally addressed him first, putting several questions to him, all of which Terence answered in his own humorous fashion.

'I'll get even with you presently, my fine fellow,' said Horn dryly, and finally inquired: 'Do you join of your own free will, being sober, and not under compulsion?'

'Sober!' echoed Terence, to the huge delight of his audience. 'Why, I'm as dhry as a cow widout a calf; and as to compulsion—

'None of your lip,' cut in Horn, handing him a shilling with the verbal bonus: 'And now look here, young shaver, if I have any more of your cheek, you'll begin your military career in the punishment cells on bread and water. So now you know.'

The look which accompanied these harsh-sounding words was genial enough, and Terence had the wit to understand the hint conveyed, namely, that he now belonged to a disciplined body, whose dealings with their superiors were very nicely regulated.

'Now then, you,' said Horn to George. 'What's your name?'

Confident that before he had been many hours a soldier some of the officers would be sure to recognise him, George thought it useless to assume a nom de guerre. So he answered in a clear voice, 'George Haughton.'

'George Haughton!' sounded like an echo behind him. 'So it is! And what brings you here, George?'

And at the sound of that too-familiar voice, which he recognised as that of his father's old friend, Colonel Cranstoun, commanding the 600th, George realised with bitter disappointment that his chance of taking the Queen's shilling that day was as good as gone.

Colonel Cranstoun had watched the scene on the foredeck under the impression that the sergeant-major was interrogating a couple of stowaways, but when he saw the pair line up, he suspected some irregularity, and hastened to investigate the matter. He was short-sighted, so that it was not until he neared the group that he was struck by something familiar in the appearance of the two young men; but, as he came up behind them, it was only when he heard George's name that he realised, to his unbounded surprise, that the would-be recruit was the son of his old friend and sword-brother, Colonel Haughton.

'What on earth are you doing here, George?' repeated the amazed chief, as the men fell back respectfully.

'I was just going to enlist, sir,' George answered quietly, though inwardly he was raging.

'Oh! Were you indeed?' said Colonel Cranstoun dryly. 'And Mr. Moore? Does he, too, wish to enlist?'

'Begging your pardon, sir,' put in Horn, saluting, 'he has this moment enlisted.'

Colonel Cranstoun looked deeply annoyed. 'Who authorised you to turn the fore-deck into a recruiting depot?' he demanded sternly of Horn, who cast an imploring look at George.

'It was my fault, Colonel,' interposed George at once, adding naïvely, 'I was afraid that if you knew you would prevent us.'

Under pretence of giving his moustache a twist, Colonel Cranstoun hid a smile behind his hand. 'Follow me to my cabin, George,' he said, and, curtly returning the dejected Horn's salute, walked off, followed by George, who felt decidedly cheap.

Terence, left behind, looked after his friend with an air of comical resignation, and inquired of the sergeant-major in a dolorous whine: 'Aw, sergeant dear, can I offer you a guinea to take back the shilling I had of you just now?'

'Oh, dry up!' snapped the disgusted Horn. 'Why couldn't you say you knew the colonel? I'll get my head blown off. But how was I to know? You're booked anyhow,' he wound up, with a snarl.

'Faith, 'tis cooked as well as booked I am,' sighed Terence. 'He'll never let George enlist, and then what will I do at all, at all?'

'Take him out of this!' vociferated Horn. 'No; let him stay. The colonel may want him when he's done with that other lump of mischief.' He stalked off in high dudgeon.

Meantime Colonel Cranstoun had shut himself in his cabin with George. 'Tell me the meaning of all this, my boy,' he said kindly. 'Is it a case of bolt?'

George nodded gloomily; then burst out with impetuous pleading: 'Don't ask me to go back, Colonel Cranstoun, for I can't and I won't.'

'Let me hear your story,' said the colonel; and as briefly as possible George gave him the details of his difference with his father. When he had finished, Colonel Cranstoun laid a hand upon his shoulder.

'It must be clear to you, George, that I cannot countenance this escapade. What should I say to my old friend—if we ever meet again—were I to allow his son to do a foolish thing, and put forth no hand to save him from his folly?'

One glance at the fine, inflexible face told George that pleading would be thrown away; so he said as quietly as he could: 'Very good, sir. I would rather serve under you than under any one; but since you won't have me, I shall enlist as soon as we reach New Zealand.'

'You are not going there in this ship,' the colonel said curtly.

This was a facer, and George caught his breath. He had reckoned without his host. He had a sickening sense of what was coming.

'Now, George, you know your duty as well as I do,' went on the colonel. 'Make your father understand that you can't adopt the—er—profession he has in view for you—I don't blame you for that; quite the contrary—but don't try to persuade yourself that you are doing anything heroic in running away from home like a schoolboy.'

'Well, sir,' answered George in his quietest manner, 'if I can't go in this ship, I will in another.'

Colonel Cranstoun's gesture indicated impatience. 'I must inspect the men before we pass the Heads,' he said. 'Listen to me, George. I am going to send you back in the tug; but I want you to promise me that when you reach Sydney you will go straight home.'

'No, sir; I will make no such promise.'

The colonel's temper departed with startling suddenness. 'You obstinate young dog!' he roared. 'I don't wonder your father thrashed you. Give me your promise, or I'll have you clapped in irons and handed over to the master of the tug.'

'I shall make no promise, whatever you do,' retorted George.

'Then make none, and be hanged to you!' snapped the colonel. 'I shall know how to deal with you. Dash it, sir! don't imagine that you can play fast and loose with me.'

He flung out of the cabin in a royal rage; but George was at the door before he could close it. 'What about Terence, sir? He only enlisted because he believed that I should do so, too—as I most certainly should have done, had not you, unfortunately, put in an appearance when you were least wanted.'

The remark was unfortunate, at all events, and there was a wicked gleam in the colonel's eye as he said relentlessly: 'Your friend has taken the Queen's shilling, sir, and I shall make it my business to see that Her Majesty gets value for her money. I'll not interfere.'

He did not tell George that, owing to the irregularity of the whole proceeding, he could, as colonel, have quashed the enlistment with a word. 'Besides,' he went on, 'I suspect that young Moore has been leading you into mischief, and I dare say your father will thank me for taking him out of your way for a time. What, sir? Not a word! No; I'll not hear another word.'

'Yes; you shall hear just one,' cried George, now in a rage on his part. 'It is most unjust of you to revenge yourself upon my innocent friend, and to accuse him in this monstrous fashion because I won't give in to you. But whatever you do'—he laughed defiantly—'I'll get to New Zealand in spite of you.'

The colonel glared at him; but George met him eye to eye, and presently, age and experience gaining the upper hand, Colonel Cranstoun marched out of the cabin with a dignity which somehow made George feel small. In a quarter of an hour he was back again, saying, as if nothing had happened: 'The tug is ready, George. I take it that you will give me the promise I asked for.'

'No, sir; I can't do that,' George answered respectfully; 'but I beg your pardon for the manner in which I spoke to you just now.' Then he fell in behind the colonel and marched to the side, where he found that the old warrior had so far relented as to allow Terence to stand by to bid him adieu. Some of the men giggled, but most of them looked sorry for him, and his friends among the officers nodded sympathetically as he passed them.

Silently the friends clasped hands, and George said in low tones: 'Keep a bright look-out for me, Terence; I shall not be long in following you.'

Colonel Cranstoun overheard the remark as he came up with outstretched hand; but he merely smiled and said: 'Good-bye, George. Don't bear malice. I am only doing my duty, you know.'

George shook hands cordially enough with him, and with another grip of his chum's hard fist jumped aboard the tug, which immediately cast off. For some time young Haughton watched his friend, who had climbed into the rigging and was waving frantically; but when the frigate came up to the wind and Terence was no longer visible, he flung himself down upon a coil of rope and bitterly reviled his own hard lot.

Presently he rose again and gazed seawards over the heaving Pacific. The fine frigate, under a cloud of canvas, was already far distant. With longing eyes George looked after her, and, as she skimmed away upon the starboard tack, leaned over the taffrail and gave himself up to gloomy meditation.

The rough-and-tumble motion of the tug suited the turbulent thoughts which filled George's mind, but as the little vessel passed back through the Heads and came suddenly to an even keel, as suddenly did the unwilling passenger realise that, while every moment was bearing Terence nearer to the goal of their hopes, he himself, balked and trapped, was being sent ignominiously home like a bale of damaged goods.

He turned and began to pace the deck with quick, decided steps. He would not, he could not, go home. On that point he was determined. Right or wrong, he had made his choice and would abide by it. Besides, there was Terence to be thought of; Terence, who so willingly had sacrificed a paying occupation to follow the fortunes of his friend, and who now was left in the lurch by this unkind trick of fate. No; by hook or by crook he must get to New Zealand. But how? There was the rub.

'What ship is that?' he asked a sailor, pointing to a smart brig anchored about half a mile from the quay, and flying the 'Blue Peter.'

'The Stella, sir,' the man answered, 'and a handy craft she is. She sails at six o'clock to-morrow morning for Chatham Island, with stores for the prisoners there.'

George's heart gave a great leap, and the sailor, greatly to his surprise, received half a crown for this very trifling piece of information. But it was by no means trifling to George, whose despondency evaporated like dew in the sunshine, as he told himself that, come what might in the way of opposition, he would sail in that brig and somehow reach New Zealand. For in the Chatham Islands, some three hundred miles east of their coast, the New Zealand Government had established a penal settlement for Maoris, at which ships occasionally called with provisions and other necessaries. And of this fortunate circumstance George then and there made up his mind to take the fullest advantage.

The skipper of the tug had received a sovereign from Colonel Cranstoun as passage money for 'the young gentleman,' and fully expected to receive another from Colonel Haughton on delivering the said young gentleman in good order at his own front door. But this money was never earned, for it cost George but little effort to evade the clumsy seaman, and, as soon as the tug touched the quay, he leaped ashore and ran for his liberty.

Once out of sight he defied capture, though no attempt was made to take him, and, having written his father a letter, in which he described his adventure and stated his intentions, he returned to the quay after nightfall, hired a dingy, and pulled out to the brig, where he had a satisfactory interview with her skipper.

The outcome of this was an arrangement whereby George was to help as far as he could on the voyage to Chatham Island, to pay the cost of his food, and to give the skipper a bonus of two pounds. In return he was to receive a free passage to whatever New Zealand port the brig should first touch at on her return voyage. The agreement made, George and the skipper shook hands heartily with mutual esteem, each complimenting himself upon his shrewdness in driving an excellent bargain.

And so George fulfilled his promise to Terence that he would not be long in following him; though, little as he expected it, he was destined to meet with some strange adventures before he once again clasped hands with his friend.

CHAPTER III

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS

It was a lovely evening; lovely as evening can be in the isle-strewn, iridescent seas beneath the Southern Cross. The sun, setting behind the ship which came sailing out of the radiant west, threw his magic mantle over the rolling clouds which lay in inky masses where the ocean touched them in the distant east, filling their hollows with crimson, fringing their pinnacles and battlements with ruddy gold. Fronting the dreamy horizon, Wari-Kauri, Rangi-Haute, and Rangatira[1] slumbered peacefully in the rosy light, while great Te Wenga's gloomy bosom caught and kept the fire-tipped shafts. Northwards, the uprising cones of basalt reflected the flames in the sky. Southwards, green-black forest and fern-grown gully blazed for a moment ere they paled away in the dusk. Ahead, the surges, fearful of the night, curled and broke with ceaseless thunder upon the reefs, flinging high their snowy crests to snatch yet one more glory from the day, and falling back, a shower of jewels of ineffable hues. Astern, as if to guide the gliding ship, long paths of crimson light streamed from the sinking sun, and shot aslant in wavering lines from sky to sea, from sea to shore. And as the Stella slipped to her moorings, the rattle of the chain, the splash of the falling anchor, broke in upon the sweet peace; day, affrighted, fled with the sun, and night, fearing no terrors, brooded upon sea and land.

[1] The Chatham Islands, a group lying some 300 miles east of New Zealand. Wari-Kauri is Chatham Island proper.

As the Stella neared the shore, a boat, manned by Maori prisoners, put off to give what help might be required. In the stern sat a man who instantly attracted George's attention, and, curiously enough, the young Englishman seemed at the same moment to become the object of profound interest on the part of the Maori, who stared at him as if fascinated.

George had seen many Maoris and admired them; but this one attracted him strangely, and, certainly, no one looking at the man would have taken him for a convict. His face was handsome, notwithstanding the intricate designs carved upon it from brow to chin; his eyes bright, and so restless that they conveyed the impression of incessantly shooting points of light. His figure was strong, though not massive, and much more symmetrical than is usual among his countrymen, who are generally short legged and long-bodied.

Altogether he was a remarkable man, and he moved among his companions with a stateliness and an air of condescension which, but for his impressive appearance, would have seemed ludicrously incongruous. As his furtive brown eyes, glancing this way and that, encountered those of George, frankly full of interest and admiration, they fell for an instant, and then, seeing that the Englishman was about to advance and speak to him, he clambered hastily over the side and dropped back into the boat.

'That is an uncommonly fine-looking fellow,' thought George. 'I wonder what he has done to be cooped up along with those evil-faced rascals. Not that his own expression is particularly engaging; but he has not the cut of a convict. And what a figure! I should like to see more of him.'

It is sometimes unwise to express a wish without previous consideration, and had George dreamed that he was to be taken at his word, or even faintly imagined how much more he was to see of this splendid Maori before all was done, he would have borrowed the wishing-cap once more, and had himself carried back to Sydney without delay.

But George was troubled with no sinister anticipations, and he was up and on deck betimes next morning, for there was much to be done, and he was not one to shirk that part of his contract which included hard work. The men had quickly discovered this, and, in consequence, every one on board liked him, while George, on his side, liked every one. He gave himself no airs, being sure of his own position, but respected himself and others, and did loyally what he had agreed to do. As a natural result he gained the respect and goodwill of those with whom he was associated.

The day dawned in all the lovely colours of the tropics, and the scene upon which George gazed was but a more radiant rendering of the exquisite picture of the previous evening. Bustle already reigned upon deck, and the captain's gig floated gently upon the ingoing tide, ready to bear the skipper ashore. On the island all was quiet to the eye, and apparently the inhabitants had not yet risen, for not a soul was to be seen.

With a cheery 'Good-morning, Mr. Haughton. I'll be back in an hour,' Captain Varsall set off for the shore, and George went to work with a will, bending his strong back over the cases in the hold and arranging a number of iron rods for easier stowage in the boats.

So absorbed was he in what had to be done, that his thoughts were wholly diverted from the shore until, half an hour or so after the departure of the gig, he was startled to hear the sharp smack of a rifle, fired not far away. He left his work, and hurried to the side of the ship, an example which was followed by most of the crew.

A singular sight met their eyes. A boat-load of Maoris was being pulled with frantic haste towards the brig, while on the island men and women, brown and white, were running wildly and, it seemed, aimlessly in all directions. Shots, too, became frequent, though neither their source nor result could be distinguished, since they were fired somewhere behind the houses. Then, while the watchers wondered, Captain Varsall was seen to run headlong out of the Residency, turn and discharge his revolver thrice in quick succession, and flee at top speed towards the beach. All at once he stopped, threw his arms above his head, and, just as a puff of smoke curled lightly upwards from one of the windows, fell face down upon the sand, and lay still, with arms outstretched.

Captain Varsall was seen to flee at top speed towards the beach (page 28).
Captain Varsall was seen to flee at top speed towards the beach (page 28).

But there was scant time to lament the captain's fate, for a crowd of brown men clambered over the rail and dropped upon the deck before George could move from the spot whence he gazed, fascinated, at the vivid picture of life and death. Then, even as he turned, a deep musical voice at his side exclaimed: 'Move an inch, young Pakeha,[2] and you shall walk swiftly to Reinga.[3]

[2] White man.

[3] The abode of departed spirits.

George possessed a good working knowledge of the Maori tongue; but it needed no linguist to interpret the significance of a gun, held in powerful hands and presented at his head; nor was it less obvious that a rising of the convicts had taken place with complete success for the mutineers. Resistance was out of the question, for another lot of Maoris boarded the brig, and ere the bewildered remnant of the crew had fairly grasped the fact that they were attacked, they were roughly bundled into the hold and the hatches battened down.

George wondered why he had not been served similarly; but he was evidently reserved for more distinguished treatment, for his guard, motioning towards the deck-house, said: 'Let the young Pakeha go in there, into the little whare (house) that sits upon the bosom of the ship.'

'Ka pai!' (Good!) returned George, and the fierce brown face lightened for an instant at the sound of the Maori speech in the mouth of the handsome young Pakeha.

'Haere ra!'[4] exclaimed the Maori, grinning and using the native form of salutation to a departing guest; and 'Au haere!'[5] answered George, feeling pleasantly satisfied that no harm was intended him, in the first instance at all events.

[4] Literally, 'Go truly.'

[5] 'I go,' i.e. 'Good-bye.'

'This is a sudden change,' thought the young man, as he looked through a little window at the shore. 'The poor skipper is done for; he has not moved since he fell. There's that tall fellow who was aboard yesterday. He is making for the beach. Now for developments. I suspect that he is at the bottom of this wretched business.'

As he watched, boat-load after boat-load of Maoris put off from the shore, their embarkation being directed by the tall, dignified man with whom George had been so struck the day before. As each boat reached the brig, it emptied itself of its passengers and stores, and returned for more, so that in no very long time all the quondam prisoners, to the number of about two hundred, were transferred to the ship.

Presently the last of the boats left the beach, bringing the tall Maori and such of his associates as had been employed to guard the Residency and other houses, as well as the two sailors who had rowed the unfortunate skipper ashore. A short interval followed, and then, amid the most lively demonstrations of welcome and respect, the organiser of the revolt boarded the brig, and stood looking about him with the proud air of a conqueror.

With a few curt words he dismissed the fawning crowd, and after a thorough examination of the brig and her cargo, returned to the deck-house. A whisper sent the guard out of earshot, and a moment later George found himself in the presence of the man who was destined ere long to prove himself a mighty warrior, and to incur the bitter hatred and execration of every colonist in New Zealand.

CHAPTER IV

TE KAREAREA[1]

[1] The Sparrow-Hawk.

As Englishman and Maori faced one another, they afforded admirable examples of opposite types. The one tall and superbly moulded, fair-haired and blue-eyed, and with winning frankness and generous high-mindedness in every line of his well-cut features; the other not quite so tall, but equally well made, with coal-black hair, furtive brown eyes, and an expression indicative of courage and intelligence, but also of a high degree of cunning.

'Salutations to you, O friend!' began the Maori in his own language. 'How are you called? I am Te Karearea. It seems you speak with the tongue of the Maori.'

'To you also salutations, O chief!' returned George. 'I am called Hortoni.' He gave his name according to Maori pronunciation, adding: 'I would rather that you spoke the speech of the Pakeha, for it is long since I was in the land of the Maori, and I have forgotten much.'

Te Karearea took no notice of this appeal. 'There are some things it is wiser to forget,' he said sententiously, with a backward glance at the shore. 'Let us forget that I have been a—what I have been. It is better to remember only that I am Te Karearea, an Ariki.'[2]

[2] A chief of the highest class.

'I will remember, O swift-flying, quick-striking one!' replied George, with a slight inclination.

This allusion to the significance of his name pleased the chief, whose fierce features relaxed in a smile. 'It is good,' he said. 'Fear nought, Hortoni; I mean you no evil. No one shall suffer at my hands.'

'Yet the captain of the brig lies dead upon the sand,' observed George, with less than his usual tact.

'He was a fool,' answered Te Karearea, with darkening brow. 'He resisted, and my young men slew him.' He studied George intently for a moment, and resumed: 'They who are wise will not walk to Reinga. You, for instance, Hortoni, would rather that they should carry you there. Is it not so, my friend?'[3]

[3] By one familiar with Maori metaphor this would be understood to mean that a man would prefer to await death in the natural course of events, rather than anticipate it by resistance.

George gravely inclined his head.

'Then hear the word of Te Karearea,' pursued the chief. 'Can I not swallow the Pakehas on this ship as the inrushing tide swallows the beach? Can I not slay or spare, according to my will?' There was a deep, booming note in his voice, as of distant thunder, threatening a storm, and he paused, glaring at George, who held his respectful attitude, not being a fool, as Te Karearea had admitted.

'I hate the Pakehas, though there are some whom I am able to esteem,' went on the chief, accompanying the softening clause with a sly smile in the direction of the listener. 'Yet, though I hate, I can be merciful. I can spare as well as slay. Is it not so, O Hortoni?'

Still George only bowed acquiescence, wondering what the chief would be at. He knew perfectly well that all this circumlocution meant that the chief wanted something of him, but what it was he could not imagine. So he tried the effect of a direct question: 'What are you going to do with us?'

But the wily Maori was not to be caught. 'Time will show, Hortoni,' he replied. 'At present I say nought.'

'To what end all this talk then, O Chief? Are we not as rats in a trap? Why should the hawk converse with the rat, if not to devour him? Will you then spare the lives of the rats in the hold?'

'What is all this talk of taking life?' the Maori demanded. 'Behold, they who speak of Reinga are on the road to Reinga. You are young and strong. I set you over the Pakehas. It is the desire of Te Karearea to set them free, and to that end let them bring the ship to Turanga and go. Do they wish to be turned loose in the water?' he finished with a sinister grin, and stalked out.

It was out at last—the end of this roundabout parleying was in view. Not for nothing had Te Karearea spared the lives of the sailors. Without the crew the ship would have been of little use to him; but by sparing the men he would be enabled to reach New Zealand as speedily as the brig could sail thither. Otherwise, at the mercy of the winds and waves, he might be months in completing the voyage—if, indeed, it ever were completed.

'So that is his little game,' thought George. 'He offers us our lives to bring him and his brother rascals to New Zealand. I must see the mate and talk it over with him. I can't decide upon my own responsibility."

At this moment the door opened and the mate was ushered in.

'Well now, Mr. 'Aughton, this 'ere's a rummy go, and no mistake,' he began. 'And the poor skipper gone, too. I saw it all, Mr. 'Aughton, as you may say, and——'

But George had had too much experience of the mate's garrulity to scruple about cutting it short; so he briefly put before the sailor the proposal of the chief—for it amounted to a proposal—and wound up by asking his opinion as to the best course to pursue.

Mr. Bigham's opinion, tersely stated, was that he hated to give in to a nigger.

'I says, let us seem to agree, but round on the blankety niggers if we see a good chance,' he suggested joyously.

'If we promise, we must perform, Mr. Bigham,' said George gravely. 'Perhaps news of the rising will reach New Zealand before we do, and a cruiser may be sent to intercept us.'

'No chance of it. That smart chief has seen to that,' returned Bigham gloomily. 'The only vessel belonging to the island was a ketch, and the beggar sent her drifting out to sea.' Once again he expressed an extremely uncomplimentary opinion of 'niggers' and all their works and ways.

'Then there is nothing for it but to accept, if we wish to save our lives. But we must play fair,' said George.

'I can't see as we're bound to keep our word to a lot of darned niggers,' objected Mr. Bigham, with heat. 'If we get a chance to knock the brown brutes on the head, why shouldn't we take it?'

George answered the fool according to his folly.

'Can't you see, Bigham, that, as we are outnumbered by more than ten to one, we must submit?'

'But only till we get the chance to square the account,' persisted Bigham, who hailed from Bolton, and had all the native obstinacy of the Lancashire man. 'Well; I'll go and tell the men.' And he went.

The voice of the chief roused George from meditations of a somewhat mixed character. 'Have you decided, Hortoni?' he inquired, and there was a note of triumph in his tone which convinced George that he knew a great deal more English than he chose to admit.

After a moment's consideration George replied for himself. 'I give you my word that I will help to navigate the brig to Turanga, and that I will not attempt to embarrass you while I am on board. On your part, you undertake to set me free as soon as we touch land. That is our bargain; is it not?'

'And will Big Man promise, too? Will the sailors help?' asked the chief. 'Ha! here he comes. Let us hear what he has to say.'

'We agree,' the mate announced, but with a wink so portentous that George was made fully aware that the acceptance of the chief's terms covered some deep mental reservation. But he took no notice of the stupid fellow's side-hint, and, turning to their captor, said: 'It is well, O Hawk of the Mountain. We will bring the ship to land, if you will thereafter let us go free.'

'It is well,' echoed Te Karearea, flashing a glance at the mate. 'You have dealt fairly with me, Hortoni, and I am minded to be your friend. The eyes of the hawk are very keen, and he sees what is good and what is bad. So, too, I read the hearts of those upon whom my eyes are fastened.' Just then they were blazing upon Bigham with a malignity which even that dullard should have perceived. But as he regarded George, the chief's glance became milder.

'You have chosen wisely, O Hortoni!' he concluded. Then with a final ambiguity, 'I shall not forget what I have heard,' he folded his mat about his shoulders and stalked out of the deck-house.

'You also will do well to remember what you have heard, Mr. Bigham,' George said, translating Te Karearea's speech for him. 'I hope you were sincere in what you said just now,' he continued with some severity. 'We have to deal with a very clever man, and I earnestly advise you not to measure your wits against his.'

Bigham's grin widened, and he winked more portentously than before. Otherwise he made no reply.

CHAPTER V

THE GRATITUDE OF TE KAIHUIA

For the first few days the voyage was uneventful, and the Maoris, revelling in the freedom which the courage and skill of their leader had won for them, behaved like a parcel of children unexpectedly let loose from school. Te Karearea himself devoted a good deal of time to the conciliation of the young Englishman, with whom he would often engage in conversation with a charm of manner which was hard to resist. Invariably, too, he bewailed his inability to converse in the Pakeha tongue, though he admitted that he had mastered a few words which served him well enough upon unimportant occasions.

Nevertheless, one night when Bigham—who was for ever whispering among the men after dark—dismissed three of his cronies after a muttered colloquy, the dark form of the chief rose from the lifeboat, beneath which the meeting had taken place. He looked cautiously about him, and then, seeing no one but his own guards, who patrolled the deck night and day, leaped lightly down and stole away.

But George had observed him, and deliberated whether he should warn Bigham. Finally, however, he decided to wait, feeling confident that the mate would not take any important step without consulting him, in which case he would be in a better position to protest against any foolhardy venture.

The days wore on, the light winds growing lighter and lighter, until at length there fell a dead calm; the Stella floated idly upon the vast bosom of the sea, and the lively chatter of the Maoris gave way to gloomy silence, while their scarred faces scowled, and their fierce brown eyes flashed wrath at the white sailors, as if they alone were responsible for the vagaries of the weather.

One afternoon—it was the third day of the calm—as George swung drowsily in his hammock, he was aroused by a shrill scream and the patter of feet along the deck. Again the scream rang out, high and quavering, and presently was drowned by a deep-toned chant, chorussed by a hundred rich male voices which rose and fell in unison.

'They are propitiating the wind-god, I suppose,' mused George, feeling too lazy to get up and find out. 'Yesterday they threw their greenstone ornaments overboard; but it did no good. What children they are for all their strength and—Hullo! Good heavens!'

He sat suddenly upright, with the result that he pitched out of his hammock with a nasty bump; but he was up in a second, and as he raced up the forehatch, the words of the chant came clearly to his horrified ears:

'... Come, then, Te Kaihuia, old friend!
Come, O thou ancient and venerable Palm Tree!
Come, beloved uncle, and be sacrificed straightway!
        The deep sea waits for thee;
        For us wait the gentle, favouring winds
        To bear us home. So come....'

The Maoris were grouped in a double crescent, the horns touching the starboard gangway, beside which stood Te Karearea, wearing the complacent expression of a man who generously sacrifices a most cherished possession for the good of the public. Opposite to him two big Maoris bent over a very old and withered creature, whom, with many expressions of endearment, they were encouraging to take a header into the sea.

The old man—the 'ancient Palm Tree' of the chant—was Te Kaihuia, an uncle of Te Karearea, and since the sacrifice of the greenstone ornaments had not availed to propitiate the god of winds and storms, the chief had graciously given permission for his aged relative to be thrown into the sea. Meanwhile the singers, at the top of their lusty voices, asserted the cheerful acquiescence of the victim.

But the poor old man was not willing, and his heartrending appeal for mercy so moved George that he roughly pushed his way through a group of grinning seamen, sharply chiding them for their cruel indifference, and walked straight up to the chief.

'What is this, O Te Karearea?' he demanded haughtily. 'Why do you allow your young men to maltreat old Te Kaihuia? Whatever your followers may believe, you know well enough that to murder an old man for the sake of getting a breeze is a piece of stupid cruelty.'

In his excitement he had spoken in English; but the amused gleam in the chief's eyes assured him that he had been understood, so without a pause he went on in Maori: 'Let him live, my friend, and I promise you the wind before evening.'

Te Karearea started and stared hard at George, who had, of course, spoken impulsively, and looked rather foolish when pressed for an explanation; whereupon the chief's lips curled in a cynical smile, and he made a covert sign to the men who were holding his ancient relative.

Alert to catch the signal, they swung up the old fellow and, before George could turn, flung him far out into the sea, where, with that curious instinct which seems to attract them whenever death is in the air, several sharks were already gathered, their triangular dorsal fins moving ceaselessly to and fro as they waited, expectant, for their prey.

But, even as the old man vanished over the side, George burst through the crescent and took a running jump into the sea. So swift was his action that the noise of the two bodies striking the water came to the ears of those on board as one great splash, and as the crew of the brig, now thoroughly ashamed of themselves, cheered enthusiastically, George appeared above the surface, holding the old Maori in the loop of one arm, while with the other he struck out vigorously.

Quick as thought, Te Karearea seized a rifle from the nearest armed guard and fired at a black fin which drove swiftly in the wake of the swimmer. The ball went home, and in an instant the sea was dyed red, as the rapacious sharks tore in pieces the body of their late ally.

But for this timely intervention a frightful tragedy must have been enacted; but, as it was, while the guards at a word from their chief directed a terrific fusillade at the sharks, Bigham cast a rope to George, who was hauled up not much the worse for his dive, while the air rang with the hurrahs of the crew.

The ancient gentleman was handed over the side in a very limp condition, and borne away to be dried and ironed, as it were, while George, with an ugly scowl at Te Karearea, who came up all smiles and compliments, hurried below to change his clothes.

Singularly enough, shortly after this exciting episode the smiling azure of the sea began to darken, and as the shadow crept nearer, and Neptune's white horses left their stables in the deep and galloped upon the crests of the waves, a light breeze began to tickle the cheeks of the sails and to hum among the cordage; so that presently the bo'sun's cheerful pipe shrilled along the deck, and the sailors, bounding aloft or hauling upon the sheets, soon made all snug for the run.

The amazement of the Maoris, who had overheard and jeered at George's promise to their chief, may be imagined, and the venturesome prophet's reputation was then and there established among them. Whatever he thought of the matter, Te Karearea kept his opinion to himself, and, waving aside those who would have babbled of it, wrapped himself in his mat and paced the deck in grave meditation.

When George had changed into a blue pilot-cloth suit, which had belonged to Captain Varsall, he hurried on deck to look for old Te Kaihuia, whom he found reclining upon a mat in a sunny corner.

'A narrow escape, O venerable friend!' began the young man, smiling down upon the shrivelled figure. 'You have looked through the gates of Reinga.'

The old Maori smiled back into the frank, good-tempered face, and motioning George to a mat beside him, intimated his desire to perform the hongi, or pressing together of noses, to which George submitted with a good grace and, when the ceremony was over, prepared to withdraw. But the old man begged him to remain, as he had something further to say.

With the greatest gravity Te Kaihuia drew a parcel from beneath his mat, and with trembling fingers unrolled the half-dozen layers of native cloth which formed the wrapping. Then with an air of reverence almost amounting to awe, he drew out a greenstone mere,[1] or club, of most perfect shape and colour, which he held up to the admiring gaze of the Englishman.

[1] Pronounced almost as the English word 'merry.'

'What a beautiful—what a magnificent piece of greenstone!' exclaimed George in genuine delight. Then, as Te Kaihuia regarded the weapon with a look of mingled veneration and affection: 'Is it an heirloom—the mere of your ancestors?'

'You are right, Hortoni,' replied the veteran. 'Far back in the misty past, approaching the time when the Maori first set foot in Te Ika A Maui,[2] this mere belonged, according to tradition, to my ancestor, Te Turi.[3] After him, it was handed down from father to son through many generations.'

[2] The north island of New Zealand. Literally, 'The Fish of Maui.'

[3] Maori names were frequently bestowed on account of physical or mental peculiarities, or of real or fancied resemblance to natural objects. Te Turi means The Obstinate, or Stubborn, One.

'Then your ancestor, Te Turi, was one of the earliest settlers in New Zealand?'

'He was, Hortoni, having come with Ngahue from Hawaiki.'[4]

[4] According to tradition, Ngahue was the Maori discoverer of New Zealand, arriving from a mythical island, Hawaiki.

George took up the club and examined it. He had seen many a piece of greenstone before, both in the rough and fashioned into ornaments and weapons; but never had he seen anything so beautiful as this mere. Its shape was perfect, and not only was the rich green mineral nearly as transparent as glass, but all through its substance ran the most exquisite veining and traceries, resembling fern-fronds, flowers, miniature trees, and even birds and fishes. 'It is a most beautiful object,' he said, handing it back. 'Your ancestor must have had wonderful pride in his workmanship.'

Te Kaihuia cast an apprehensive glance around; then whispered almost inaudibly: 'The mere was bestowed upon Te Turi. He did not make it.'

'Well, who gave it to him?' inquired George, amused at the goblin-like aspect of the old creature.

With another timid look above and around, Te Kaihuia whispered again with thrilling emphasis: 'It was made by Tumatauenga, the god of war, and he bestowed it upon Te Turi.'

'Ah! then I am not surprised you set such store by it,' said George, careful to suppress the smile which would have hurt the old man's feelings. 'Such a beautiful piece of work deserves to have a romantic history.'

But he was destined to be surprised after all, for the aged Maori, balancing the club in his worn hands, said impressively: 'You, too, must set great store by it, Hortoni, for it is the gift of a god, and has marvellous powers. O brave young friend, who thought the remnant of an old man's life worth the risk of your own, stretch forth your hand and receive this gift from me. Treasure it, my son, for it is yours.'

'Mine!' echoed George, supremely astonished. 'Mine! Oh no, Te Kaihuia, this must not be. I will not take so valuable an heirloom from you.'

'It is mine to give,' persisted the hoary chief. 'Descendants I have none. There is but my sister's son, Te Karearea, and rather than that he should inherit it, I would fling it into the sea. And this I swear I will do, Hortoni, if you take not the mere as a gift.' He gently pressed the club upon George, who took it with the greatest reluctance.

'Hearken, Hortoni,' the old man went on. 'There is much virtue in this mere, and some day, perhaps ere long, you shall rejoice that it is yours. Take it, my son, and with it an old man's blessing for that your stout heart and strong arm succoured him in his extremity.'

The superstitious veneration in which the Maoris held the greenstone, and their devotion to family relics, were well known to George; but when he realised that the old chief was sincere in his intention to destroy the heirloom rather than allow it to pass into other hands than his own, he made suitable acknowledgments, and thrust the beautiful weapon into that division of his belt which had once contained his revolver.

His point gained, old Te Kaihuia seemed highly delighted, and rubbed his lean hands together, grinning and chattering to himself. Finally he calmed down, and with a sly glance at George, said coaxingly: 'If you are not tired of an old man's tale, Hortoni, perhaps you would like to hear the history of the mere which has now become your own.'

'I should, indeed,' answered George, who had been wondering whether he might ask this very favour without giving offence or intruding upon family secrets.

Te Kaihuia looked pleased, settled himself upon his mats, coughed once or twice after the manner of an orator about to address an audience, and then, after a false start or two, unfolded to the interested listener the following singular history.

CHAPTER VI

THE STORY OF THE GREENSTONE MERE

Te Turi, my ancestor, one day called to him his two friends, Te Weri, the Centipede, and Te Waerau, the Crab, whom he loved best after Ngahue, and taking a sailing canoe, with three men to row upon windless days, set out from Te Ika A Maui on a course to the south.

And when they had sailed for many days, they came to the mouth of a river, and there they ate food and landed.

And as they stepped ashore, Te Turi chanted a prayer of propitiation to the Spirit of the Land, and they six prayed together and humiliated themselves. And afterwards, looking about them, they saw that the land was very fair; for the pohutukaua trees[1] and the ratas[1] were ablaze with red blossoms, and the white flowers of the puawananga[2] were shining like stars in the deep green of lofty boughs. And the blue sky smiled down upon them, and the warm sun of morning stirred their blood, and the sweet scents of the forest beguiled their senses, so that with one accord they cried aloud, 'Behold! The new land which the gods have given us is very good.'

[1] The pohutukaua and rata trees belong to the myrtle order.

[2] The puawananga is a variety of clematis with large, star-like white blossoms. In the flowering season the effect of these white stars amid the dark metallic green of the overhead foliage is most beautiful.

But of a sudden the forest grew denser, till at last they saw neither sun nor moon, nor could they find food to eat or water to drink—not even fern-roots or kanini berries, which might have stayed the terrible pangs of hunger.

So then the five began to blame Te Turi that he had brought them out of a land of plenty into this wilderness, and Te Turi, being sorry for them, bade them rest while he went on to seek deliverance.

So Te Turi walked alone, and, as he walked, it grew so cold that he drew his mat of kiwi[3] feathers close about him. Yet still was he cold as death, and at last, crying to the gods to show him a way whereby his friends and the three men might be saved, he fell prone upon the ground.

[3] The apteryx, a curious, small, wingless bird.

Now the blackness of night was around him, though it was yet full day; but, though he feared the darkness, he feared more for his companions lest they should die of cold and hunger and thirst. 'For then,' said he, 'the blame shall be mine, for I it was who brought them to this pass.' Wherefore he prayed for his friends more than for himself.

But presently he rose and made a fire of sticks to warm his blood. But, though the fire burned, neither did it warm him nor give any light beyond itself. Wherefore Te Turi was sure that the gods were angry, and he prayed that he might propitiate them by the sacrifice of the best thing he had, though he himself should die for want of it.

So he laid his beautiful mat of feathers upon the fire, which greedily devoured it, and then he scattered the ashes to the four quarters of the earth and chanted a prayer to ATUA.[4]

[4] The gods collectively, or Fate.

Then lo, a marvel! For of a sudden Te Turi grew warm and the dark forest fell away, and before him opened a glade, rich in flowers and fruit, and in the midst of it a stream of water, crystal pure.

Then, filled with joy, Te Turi stretched out his hand, for he was very hungry. Yet even in that moment he remembered his friends and the men, and, having first gathered fruit and filled a gourd with water for them, he ate and drank his fill.

And now, being strengthened in spirit and in body, Te Turi bowed his head and gave thanks to ATUA and prayed to his ancestors.

And, as he lifted his head, lo, before him was a mat of kiwi feathers, larger and more beautiful than he had ever seen, and very soft and perfect, as a mat sent from the gods ought to be. For Te Turi knew that the gods had sent him the mat because he had thought of his friends before himself. So, marvelling, he put it on and turned to rejoin his companions.

But a voice cried 'Stay!' and Te Turi, seeing no one, feared, and turned again.

And the voice was dull and muffled, as though it came from the bowels of the earth, and it said: 'O Te Turi, I am HAUMIATIKITIKI, god and father of men and of the foods which men gather and eat. For all thy life abundance of such food shall be thine. Behold, I have spoken!'

Then Te Turi gave thanks and turned to go. But another voice cried 'Stay!' and he remained.

And the voice came from the surface of the ground and from the tree-tops, and it said: 'O Te Turi, I am RONGOMATANE, god and father of men and of the foods which men prepare for themselves. For all thy life abundance of such food shall be thine. Behold, I have spoken!'

And again Te Turi gave thanks and turned to go. But a third voice cried 'Stay!' and, marvelling, he stayed.

And the voice was like to the murmur of waving boughs, the humming of bees, and the sweet singing of birds, and it said: 'O Te Turi, I am TANE MAHUTA, god of the forests and the birds. The trees shall be thine for thy dwellings, and the hardest trees for canoes and spears and clubs; and the birds shall be thine for food and dress as long as thou livest. Behold, I have spoken!'

And once more Te Turi gave thanks and turned to go. But a fourth voice cried 'Stay!' and with wonder in his heart he stood still.

And the voice was like the leaping of fish and the croaking of frogs, and it said: 'O Te Turi, I am TANGAROA, god of fish and reptiles. All through thy life thou shalt have fish to eat and sharks' teeth for ornament, and whalebone and whales' ribs for thy weapons. And the little lizards shall not affright thee, nor the great Taniwha[5] harm thee. Behold, I have spoken!'

[5] A mythical monster, presumed to be a saurian, inhabiting the sea or vast forests, and regarded with deepest awe by Maoris.

And again Te Turi gave thanks and essayed to go. But a fifth voice cried 'Stay!' and, filled with awe, he halted where he was.

And the voice was like the roaring of a mighty wind, and the sound of trees falling in the bush, of rain and hail beating upon the hard ground, and thunder rolling among the caverns of the clouds upon the mountains. And it said: 'O Te Turi, I am TAWHIRI-MA-TEA, god of the winds and storms, and whether thou walkest upon dry land or sailest upon the bosom of the deep waters, harm shall be far from thee. Behold, I have spoken!'

Then Te Turi gave thanks and turned to go. But a sixth voice shouted 'Stay!' and he stayed, his heart melting within him for fear.

For of a sudden there arose a mighty noise, and such a clashing and clanging and screaming and shouting and shaking of the earth, as though all the warriors of all the world ran to and fro over it, contending in battle. And then, also of a sudden, there fell a great silence, and Te Turi waited with bowed head for the sixth god to speak.

But, when at last he heard no voice, he lifted his eyes, and lo, a rat which sat upon a bough and fished in the river with a line. Whereat Te Turi was amazed, fearing magic. But, when the rat drew in the line, behold, not a fish, but a piece of greenstone of the best and purest was on the end of it. And the rat swung the line so that the stone came near to Te Turi, who put forth his hand and caught it.

And then the sixth voice spake and said: 'Hold fast that which thou hast gotten, O Te Turi, for never weapon like it was given to mortal. I am TUMATAUENGA, god and father of men and war. In the fight I will guard thee, and in battle thou shalt prevail so long as the Mere of TUMATAUJENGA remains thine. And so shall it be with thy seed after thee, until the mere shall pass to one of a strange race, and then there shall be an end. Behold, I have spoken!'

And Te Turi looked, and lo, in his hand was a most perfect mere of greenstone, with flaxen wrist-loop, and on the narrow end the print of two fingers and a thumb, where TUMATAUENGA had held it. Whereat Te Turi marvelled exceedingly, thinking not of the prophecy which went with the gift, and, bowing his head, he gave thanks to the six great brethren.

And now once more he turned to go; but, even as he turned, lo, a Thing, a great and horrible Thing, stood in his way.

The Thing was as a bird, but bigger than any bird of the forest, for it stood thrice the height of a man. Its neck was the length of a tall man, its legs the thickness of a man's trunk, and on its feet were claws the length of a whale's rib and sharp as the teeth of a shark. Its wings were little, but its beak was as long as two spears, and the gape of its mouth was as wide as the cavern through which men pass to enter Te Reinga.[6]

[6] Probably Te Turi encountered a Moa (Dinornis Moa), the gigantic wingless bird, believed now to be extinct in New Zealand. His imagination, excited by danger, doubtless added to its already enormous proportions.

Now Te Turi was a very brave, strong man, but his legs shook under him as he saw this ugly, fearful Thing. And the Thing, noting his fear, gaped and rushed to swallow him, and out of its mouth came a vast roaring, as of the sea breaking upon a pebbly shore.

Then Te Turi dropped his greenstone club and fled for his life, crying aloud to TANE MAHUTA: 'Where is now the dominion thou gavest me over the birds? If indeed this monster be a bird, and not a taipo (devil), which much I doubt.'

But it seemed as if the gods were angry with Te Turi; for, when he would have hidden in the forest, lo, in a moment there grew up a tall hedge of thorns and supple-jacks, through which neither man nor beast could pierce. So then Te Turi gave himself up for lost.

And, as he sped round and round the glade, the roaring of the evil Thing shaped to a voice which cried after him: 'Malign now thy gods, Te Turi, and I will cease from pursuing thee, and will make thee great; but if thou worship not me thou shalt perish.'

Then Te Turi knew that the Thing was indeed a taipo; but he would not revile the gods, but only called more loudly upon ATUA for aid.

And, as he called, his foot caught in a root and he fell headlong, and the spear-bill of the Thing sped at him, coming so near that it grazed his skin, and the blood flowed. And the point of the bill drave into the ground for the half of its length, and there stuck fast.

Now when Te Turi saw this, he flung himself upon the long neck of the Thing and strove to snap the bone, but his hands were not large enough to encircle it, and meanwhile the Thing had freed half of the buried part of its bill, and the earth flew this way and that, as it scratched and tore and twisted, striving to loosen itself and finish Te Turi.

Then Te Turi went blind with rage, forgetting his danger, and, just as the Thing won free, he rushed upon it once more and smote it so mighty a blow that its head was crushed like the shell of an egg, and the Thing fell to the ground with a dreadful crash, and sprawled there in the agonies of death.

Then did Te Turi swell out his chest and roll up his eyes and poke out his tongue at the Thing, and because he was very glad, he chanted: 'Behold, I have slain the evil Thing which sought to devour me. Ha! With one blow of my naked fist I have slain it, for the gods have made me very strong.' And he looked at the fist which had done this wonderful deed.

But lo, a marvel! For the greenstone club, which had dropped from his hand, was now firmly clasped therein, and with the mere of TUMATAUENGA, and not with his naked fist, had he slain the Thing.

Now when Te Turi knew that TUMATAUENGA, seeing his extremity, had brought the mere to his hand, he left off boasting, and chanted: 'Lo now the kindness of ATUA! Behold the goodness of TUMATAUENGA! When I forget the debt I owe to TUMATAUENGA, then may ATUA forget me!'

So he gave thanks for his great deliverance, and took the skin and the tail-feathers of the dead Thing to make mats for a memory of the marvel, and with a glad heart set off to rejoin his friends and the three men.

Yet, even as he thought of them, lo, he heard their voices, and was back at the spot where he had left them. And they ate and drank and were merry, knowing nought, for they had neither seen nor heard anything, so that Te Turi might have thought that he had fallen asleep and dreamed, but for the mat of kiwi feathers and the greenstone club and the parts of the great Thing.

And so they six returned to Te Ika A Maui, taking with them many pieces of greenstone and other good things, and so they came home. And Te Turi made mats out of the skin of the Thing; and one he gave to Ngahue, and one to Te Weri, and one to Te Waerau, and one to his wife, and one he made for himself. Yet was there enough left to make mats for all his children who came afterwards, of whom there were ten.

But the greenstone mere with the finger-prints of TUMATAUENGA Te Turi kept for himself, and as often as he looked at it, so often did he wonder at the prophecy which the god had spoken with the gift. But at last, remembering that the mere was to pass to his children's children, he ceased from troubling upon a matter which he could not mend.

And Te Turi lived long and fought many good fights, being worsted in none. And in the fulness of time this mighty chief passed to join his ancestors, and the mere of TUMATAUENGA and the prophecy he bequeathed to his son and to his son's son after him through all time, until at last they came down to me who tell the tale of them.

CHAPTER VII

STORM SIGNALS

Valuable as he knew the greenstone mere to be, both intrinsically and on account of its romantic history, it was with a new and deeper interest that George regarded it at the conclusion of Te Kaihuia's legend of its origin. Of course the story of its supernatural appearance and manufacture was a fairy-tale which—he gave an unmistakable start, and a grim smile curled the thin lips of the old Maori, who was watching him intently.

There, on the narrow end, or handle, of the club were three deeply set impressions, which exactly resembled the imprint of two fingers and a thumb.

The mineral nephrite, or greenstone, is singularly hard and unyielding, and how these peculiar marks came to be made upon the club George concluded to leave to the antiquaries to solve; for, needless to say, the old chief's version of their cause counted for nothing with him. But he was far too courteous to allow his incredulity to appear before the venerable narrator, whom he warmly thanked as he rose to take his leave.

Te Kaihuia took the young fellow's strong hand in both his own.

'I have yet a word for you, Hortoni,' he said gravely. 'Never allow the mere to be far from your hand. Danger lurks we know not where. Hear now my word.'

Wondering whether the old man's mysteriously given advice held a covert warning of impending trouble, George went below and locked the greenstone club in a sea-chest which the dead captain had lent him. Moreover, he determined to wear the weapon during his night-watches on deck, in case of treachery such as his aged friend had seemed vaguely to hint at.

Trouble, indeed, was nearer than he thought; but it was not to come—in the first instance, at all events—from Te Karearea and his Maoris.

Late that night as George swung in his hammock, he was awakened by something jolting against his body, and, peering drowsily over the edge, saw a line of dark figures stealing cautiously up the ladder. In a flash he leaped lightly to the floor and collared the hindmost of the procession.

'You, Bigham!' he exclaimed as the fo'c'sle lamp illumined the face of his captive. 'How comes the leader of the mutiny to bring up the rear?'

Bigham gave himself away at once. 'We knew you wouldn't approve,' he whispered, 'so we thought we'd surprise you when the thing was done.'

George flew into one of his rare rages. 'You ass! It will be a mercy if one of us is left alive when the thing is done. Call back the men. Quick! There is no time to lose.'

But Bigham's Lancashire obstinacy resented this interference, and with a sudden twist he darted on deck, saying huskily, 'Let them laugh as win.'

Slipping on his trousers, George made all haste after him, but the night was so dark that he could not make out the stations of the conspirators. Neither could he hear the soft pad, pad of the bare-footed sentries.

'Curious if the guards have been withdrawn on this night of all others,' he mused. 'If I don't encounter our men in another minute, I'll shout and rouse the ship. Better Bigham's wrath than the slaughter which is sure to follow this senseless provocation of a friendly foe.'

Fearful of delay and its bitter consequences, he drew in his breath for a shout, when, sudden as a lightning flash, a column of fire shot into the air, illumining the black recesses of the brig. And, as it flared, the quiet night was shaken by an appalling yell, shouts and oaths, the tramp and shuffle of naked feet, the sound of shots and heavy blows, all horribly mixed with screams of rage and hate.

'It is all up!' muttered George, filled with resentment against the stupid mate. 'The rising is none of my doing; but parole or no parole, I can't stand by and see white men done to death by Maori criminals.' He raised his voice to a shout. 'Bigham! Call to me!'

No answer! Then out of the gloom a tall figure leaped at him with uplifted arm and smote strongly downwards.

George had neither heard nor seen the Maori's approach, though he actually turned at that moment as if to face the threatening danger. The first thing of which he was really conscious was the sound of a blow and the jarring shock which ran from his fingers to his shoulder. Then to his amazement a stalwart Maori fell with a thud and lay dead or badly wounded at his feet.

Experience has shown that, during the excitement bred of extreme peril, one may perform many actions by instinct, or, at least, that one's conscious intelligence does not appear to be fully at work. And now so stupefied was George at the sequence of events, that he stood staring down at the body of the Maori without the slightest comprehension of what had happened.

The light of the fire flared towards him, illumining the thing he held in his hand. It was a greenstone club—his own; for he could distinctly see the odd markings upon it.

How was this? he asked himself. Was it possible that Te Kaihuia's story—Oh, nonsense! ... Still, how came the mere to his hand? He had locked it away in his sea-chest.... He had never thought of it when he rushed on deck at the heels of Bigham.... What could it mean?

Thoughts are lightning quick, and but little time passed, as George stood fixed and immovable beside the prostrate Maori, before another tall form loomed suddenly out of the dark, and a familiar voice said in Maori: 'Salutations, O friend! The fight is begun. Let the wise look on while the fools strive with one another.'

'Come and help me stop the conflict,' began George, when Te Karearea, catching sight of the still form, interrupted sternly: 'What is this, Hortoni? Had I not your promise? Wherefore have you slain my young man?'

'I—I hope he is not dead,' stammered George. 'I suppose I struck him, but—oh, I dare say you won't believe me, Chief; but I knew nothing of this foolish affair until a few minutes ago, and I did my best to stop it.'

Te Karearea drew a lantern from the folds of his mat, held it up, and looked keenly into George's eyes. Then all at once his haughty glare gave place to a look of abject terror. 'W-w-what is that in your hand, Hortoni?' he asked, in a voice vibrating with intense feeling.

'The club? It is a present which Te Kaihuia gave me after I pulled him out of the water. He—why, what's the matter?'

For Te Karearea, in what appeared to be mortal affright, reeled backwards to the bulwarks, and only saved himself from a heavy fall by clinging to the rail. 'The mere! The mere of TUMATAUENGA!' he shrieked, in a voice so shrill that it rose above the lessening din of conflict.

George was growing confused amid the maze of events through which he was threading his way, but the incongruity of the position struck him even then. Only a few yards distant strife was raging, bullets actually sang over their heads, and yet there they stood, discussing other matters, as if nothing out of the common were happening. There was, however, an explanation of Te Karearea's unconcern with the fight, which George did not receive till later.

All that had occurred since he came on deck occupied far less time than has been required to write of it; nevertheless, he was growing anxious about the fate of Bigham and the crew. So, pointing aft, where the struggle waned to a close, he said: 'While we talk here, O Chief, blood is flowing over there. It is time to stop the mischief.'

'The blood of the Pakehas is upon their own heads, Hortoni,' retorted Te Karearea, who had recovered his equanimity, and now slowly sauntered after George towards the scene of the fray.

As they came up, Bigham, who was unhurt, greeted George with words of scorn. 'There you are, Mr. Haughton, with your brown friend, safe enough, I dare say. I hope you like your position. Had you joined us, things might have been different.'

'They would, indeed!' A voice close to George just breathed the words.

'Did you speak, Chief?' he asked sharply.

'Nay; I said nought, Hortoni,' was the smooth answer.

'Of course he would deny it,' thought George. 'What was his meaning, I wonder.' He turned to Bigham. 'I gave you fair warning that I would take no part in your wild schemes. However, we can discuss later your grievance against me. How many of your men are hurt?'

Another surprise, but this time an agreeable one. It was Te Karearea who replied: 'None, Hortoni. I had knowledge of Big Man's plot—it matters not how.' George thought that he knew. 'I gave orders, therefore, that at a certain moment every Pakeha on deck should be secured—save only yourself,' with a courteous bow. 'So Big Man and those with him walked into my trap which I had set, and my young men have done as I bade them—all save the stupid Paeroa, who blundered up against you, and—and—the mere of TUMATAUENGA smote him.'

There was a tremulous note in his voice, and he glanced furtively over his shoulder, while his lips moved as he muttered something beneath his breath.

At their chief's last words the Maoris huddled together in awed surprise, and some of them followed his example and murmured a karakia, or charm, to keep off invisible powers.

Again George was puzzled. What was the matter with every one to-night? At the same time he was greatly relieved; but, not wishing to show his satisfaction too plainly, rallied the chief upon his manifest trepidation.

'Since there are no dead men, why do you mutter a karakia, O Hawk of the Mountain?' he said. 'Are you afraid that Taniwha will come out of the sea and——'

He broke off in amazement, for Te Karearea's teeth were chattering and his eyes rolling wildly. Evidently he was under the dominion of some fearful emotion. Thrice he essayed to speak and thrice failed, while the Maoris, comprehending nothing but the one awesome word, and perceiving, as they thought, its effect upon their leader, shrank away, quaking with dread and muttering, 'Taniwha! Taniwha!' in terror of what might happen even now.

In the light of the dying flare Bigham caught George's eye. His look plainly said: 'You have thrown these fellows into such a mortal funk by something you have said, that, at a sign from you, the crew will take heart and sweep the whole lot into the sea before they know where they are.'

Something like this George read in the mate's expression, and for one instant he hesitated. Was he indeed bound to keep a parole given under such circumstances? And then the deeply rooted principles, early implanted, asserted themselves. The word of a gentleman, once passed, even to a 'darned nigger,' must be sacred. With an almost imperceptible shake of the head at Bigham, he turned again to Te Karearea, whose composure was by this time restored, and demanded his intentions with regard to the twice-taken prisoners.

Te Karearea, with his head turned aside, laughed shortly and waved his hand with a gesture implying that the behaviour of a few foolish Pakehas was unworthy of his serious consideration, and his men, quick to understand him, released their hold of the dejected sailors and allowed them to make their way below.

Truly no great harm had been done in the scuffle, save for a broken head or two; for the mate and his men, unarmed as they were—even their jack-knives had been taken from them—had relied upon the shock of surprise to drive the Maori guards below and batten them under hatches, among the mass of sleepers.

Even chance could hardly have favoured so stupid a plan, and, had it not been for Te Karearea's foreknowledge of the time of the attack, the white men must have fared ill in the struggle. As it was, the Maoris had obeyed orders, and contented themselves with overpowering their prisoners, while for greater moral effect they discharged their guns in the air—to the infinite danger of George and Te Karearea, past whom the leaden missiles sang spitefully during their conversation in the waist.

Feeling that he could do no less, George now sought a fitting compliment upon the generous clemency of the chief; but, as the latter faced him, there was something so sinister in the whole aspect of the man, so basilisk-like was the stare of the stony and, for once, unwinking eyes, that the young Englishman thrilled with the conviction that beneath this seeming forbearance lurked an unsatisfied hate, which would presently demand a sterner, because belated, vengeance.

He now felt sure that Te Karearea had only held his hand from a general massacre from interested motives, and knew that he would not be able to breathe freely until the Maoris had been set on shore and gone their way into the interior.

Determined to warn Bigham, George sought out the mate next morning, and to his annoyance found him already engaged in entertaining the chief with the few words of Maori he had at command. These he eked out by the free use of English, which he seemed to think was certain to be understood, provided that each word was delivered in a stentorian bellow.

Te Karearea greeted George very civilly, and smilingly claimed his services as interpreter. Presently he inquired, carelessly enough, what the mate intended to do after setting him and his Maoris ashore. George put this question with the greatest reluctance to the thick-skulled Bigham, who replied with genial truculence that not only would he raise the countryside in pursuit, but would take a hand in it himself, just for the pleasure of having a smack at the 'brown beast,' as he styled the dignified chief.

George toned down this senseless bombast as far as he could, but the ill-suppressed sneer upon Te Karearea's thin lips convinced him that the latter perfectly understood all that the mate had so absurdly threatened. However, the chief laughed heartily, and, when George at last got Bigham away from him, the mate would listen to no suggestion of a disguised ill-will. But he promised to abstain from further plotting, and from this George extracted such comfort as he could.

Towards evening George paid a visit to the man whom he had so mysteriously felled the night before, and who was reported to be doing well. He still carried the greenstone club in his belt, and when he entered the deck-house—which had been converted into a sick-bay—found Paeroa with a bandaged head and looking ill and weary, but with a fire in his eye which argued deep resentment.

But to the Englishman's amazement, no sooner had he crossed the threshold, than Paeroa clasped his hand in both his own, sank upon one knee, and poured out a torrent of musically sounding words.

'Hortoni, beloved of the gods, master of the mere of TUMATAUENGA,' he said, 'Te Kaihuia has spoken with me and has given me a word. O great one, who callest up the wind at will, I thank thee for my life; for surely hadst thou struck to slay, I had been slain.'

'Stop! What are you saying?' interjected George, but Paeroa's speech flowed on.

'Behold now, Hortoni, because thou heldest back the strong arm of TUMATAUENGA, I will follow thee. Whithersoever thou goest, be it over the mountain or along the plain, through the deep forest or in the green meadows, over the land or across the sea, whether there be peace, or whether there be war, I am thy man, and I will follow thee. Hear now the word which Paeroa has spoken.'

George was wonderstruck, and, though far from understanding the motives which moved the Maori to this extraordinary act of self-abasement, was touched by the poor fellow's sincerity and by his devotion to one who, however unwittingly, had done him serious injury. He knew that it would be utterly useless to try to disabuse the man of the belief that he had held back some potent force from destroying him, so, smiling in his peculiarly engaging way upon the young Maori, he replied:

'O Paeroa, I thank you. When you get ashore, you must leave the rascals by whom you are surrounded, rejoin your tribe, and try to keep out of trouble for the future.'

This speech sounded like bathos after the high-sounding periods in which the Maori had addressed him, but Paeroa's sole reply was: 'I have spoken, Hortoni'; whereupon George, a good deal embarrassed, wished him a speedy recovery and rather hurriedly took his leave.

Young Haughton was by no means too credulous, and with regard to the incident of the previous night had come to the matter-of-fact conclusion that he must have unlocked his chest and withdrawn the greenstone club without, in his excitement, noticing what he was about. Yet he very clearly recognised the powerful influence which the tradition of its origin would exert upon the superstitious Maoris, and he determined to wear it continually during the short remainder of his association with them.

As he was pacing the deck after his interview with Paeroa, Te Karearea approached him, and with a grave salute requested permission to speak with him upon a matter of importance.

The chief lost no time in coming to the point. For an instant, as his eyes fell upon the greenstone club, the same extraordinary change passed over his face as on the previous day; but he speedily recovered himself, and in tense, vibrating tones began:

'I have a word for you, O Hortoni!'

'Say it, friend,' answered George laconically.

'There are no lies under my tongue, and my heart is clean,' pursued the chief. 'Ha! I am not as the Pakehas, in whom is nought but guile. I except you, my friend.'

George bowed.

'I will swallow the Pakehas as the sea swallows the little pebbles upon the shore,' went on the chief. 'War shall there be round about the land until the last of the accursed race be driven into Moana (ocean); for God is with me and with them whose priest I am, and His strength shall dwell in our arms until we make an end of slaying because there is no longer a Pakeha to be slain.'

His voice rolled and swelled into a chant as the soft gutturals poured out, an impetuous flood, and as he paused, glaring at George, his deep-set eyes flashed, and the expression upon his scarred face was very grim.

'To what end do you speak thus to me, O Chief?' inquired George.

'To this end, Hortoni,' cried the Maori. 'Cast off the accursed race to whom you have belonged till now, and come in among us! Be my Pakeha and the Pakeha of my hapu (tribe). So shall we be honoured, and we will honour you and give you a Maori wahine (woman) to wife. Land without measure shall be yours, and you shall dwell among us as a great chief in power and peace, until they come to carry you to Reinga. This is my word to you, O Hortoni!'

'And hear you my word, O insulter of a strong race!' cried George indignantly. 'Who you are I know not, nor whose priest you claim to be. But this I know, O fool! The Pakeha is an eagle upon a mountain peak, and the eagle shall swoop upon the hawk and clutch it in his mighty talons and rend it into little pieces, which shall be scattered to the north and to the south and to the east and to the west. So shall there be an end of the stupid hawk. This is my word to you, O Te Karearea!'

The rage which laid hold of Te Karearea at this uncompromising rejection of his singular proposal was so clearly exhibited, that George stepped back a pace and suggestively dropped his hand upon his greenstone club. The chief shrank back at once, controlled his wrath by a mighty effort, and stalked away, sending over his shoulder a Parthian shaft in the words:

'You may yet dwell many days in my hapu, Hortoni, before you call the eagle to rend the hawk.'

He had no sooner disappeared than George took himself severely to task for having so completely lost his temper. He knew that not a few Maori chiefs had induced white men—not of the best sort—to attach themselves to their respective tribes and to become Maoris in all but colour. Of such degenerate whites—Pakeha Maoris they were called[1]—the possessors were egregiously proud, and great were the airs they assumed over their less fortunate brethren. A proposal of this sort to a man of George Haughton's type was so utterly absurd, that it might well have been passed over with contempt, instead of having been met with windy words of wrath. As for Te Karearea's own anger, that did not trouble George in the least.

[1] Their influence was not always wholly bad.

His meditations were cut short by the arrival of a Maori, who informed him in picturesque language, that the feet of those who waited to carry Te Kaihuia to Reinga were without the old man's door, and that the aged chief had sent to beg Hortoni to come to him at once, as he had a word for him before he himself departed for the abode of the shades.

Greatly shocked at this totally unexpected news, George hastened to the spot where lay the withered form of the venerable chief, who was travelling fast towards the valley of the great shadow.

'O my poor old friend, I am grieved to see you like this!' cried George. 'What is the matter? You were not ill this morning.'

The dying chief gasped once or twice and by an effort raised his hand and pointed, while he mumbled half-articulate words which smote the listener with sudden, sickening horror. For they made it plain that the old man had been done to death, partly because his age and weakness would have rendered him a burden to the rest of the band on their march through the bush.

'Ah, who has done this dastardly thing?' raged George, angered out of himself at the cruel indifference to suffering which could so coldly rid itself of probable embarrassment.

Te Kaihuia's attenuated body writhed under the agony of the poison, and he stared, glassy-eyed, at George.

'Be-ware,' he gasped. 'Be-ware—Te ... Beware—the—Hau——'

The quivering jaw dropped, the palsied head fell back. Old Te Kaihuia had gone down to Reinga with his warning word unspoken.

'Thank heaven, we shall make land, and all this horror will be over by to-morrow night at latest,' George said gloomily to himself, as he crawled into his hammock an hour or so after poor old Te Kaihuia's remains had been dropped overboard. 'The loathsome cruelty of poisoning the harmless old creature because he was likely to be in their way! I can't believe that Te Karearea had any hand in the shameful business. The chief is high-minded in his way. Yet—oh, what devils men can be! ... What was it, I wonder, against which the poor old fellow wished to warn me?' He fell asleep still wondering.

He awoke with a start. Midnight was just past, and upon everything lay a great silence, faintly broken by the soft lap of the sea against the timbers of the brig as she sped on towards the land and—safety? No other sound was audible in the profound peace of the night, and yet George was certain that something had startled his sleep and awakened him. He sat up cautiously and listened, holding his breath. Nothing!

Then with frightful suddenness the solemn stillness was stirred by a sound—a sound discordant, shrill, horrible; a sound which pierced the heart of the watcher in the night, chilling his blood, so that, for all his strength and hardihood, he shook and shivered as he heard the hideous tones, inhuman yet resonant of human sadness and hate and fury; appalling in their horror. And as George sat quaking in his hammock, the weird noises, only half articulate, crashed again through the stillness, stunning his affrighted ears.

What was that strange, revolting, heart-sickening noise? What was it? Like the howling of a pack of wild dogs, where no dogs could be. Like the shrieking and sobbing of men in dire agony—yet what human throat ever emitted such sounds? Like the hoots and jeers of gibbering maniacs. Like none of these alone. Like all of them together. What human ear was ever forced to listen to such inhuman sounds? And at such an hour, too! What were they?

By an immense effort George got to the floor. Bigham was muttering fearfully in his hammock, two of the men were sobbing with fright, and one prayed brokenly, his scattered wits recalling fragments of the simple petitions of his childhood. Over all there hung the shadow of the same awful terror.

Once more that horrible wailing swept down from above.

'Bigham, I can't stand this,' said George in a harsh whisper. 'I am going on deck to find out what it means.'

The mate only groaned. Then manhood reasserting its grip, 'Don't go, Mr. Haughton,' he implored. 'The devil, I think, is let loose up there. Come back, sir, for God's sake!'

But George was already half-way up the ladder. Unless he took this thing on the rush, he felt that he would have no nerve to face it at all. He reached the companion, held back an instant while he fetched a deep breath, and then sprang into the open.

Not a soul was to be seen. A lantern or two shed a faint glimmering light, the helm was lashed, the deck empty of life.

With a gasp of horror George turned and raced back to the shelter of the fo'c'sle.

CHAPTER VIII

THE STORM BURSTS

The gloom which hung over the fo'c'sle when day at length dawned was in no wise lightened by the futility of all efforts to discover the cause of the weird sounds of the night. George was, perhaps, the only one who had not actually attributed the discordant din to a supernatural source; but since more than one uncommonly odd happening had chanced of late, even he would have found it a relief to be assured upon one point, no matter what.

As the day wore towards evening and the Stella neared the coast, the Maoris crowded into the bows, laughing and singing, as the deep blue line of hills gradually took on natural colours, and showed as forest-clad slopes, fronted by bare, frowning cliffs. Nor were the whites less elated at the approach of the hour of parting, for they were anxious to be relieved of an enforced service, not only irksome in itself, but grown to be fraught with positive danger.

Te Karearea intended to disembark shortly before sunset at Whareongaonga, a point some fifteen miles south of the Bay of Turanga, or Poverty Bay, as Captain Cook had named it, and thence to march inland and disappear in the dense bush which stretched for miles towards the north. As if to forestall any tricks on the part of the white sailors, the brig was kept swinging from one tack to the other all through the afternoon, keeping always a couple of miles off shore, and George, who was using his eyes, liked the look of things less and less; for all the men of the chief's company, fully armed, kept the deck during the whole of the day. Seizing an opportunity, he communicated his fears to Bigham.

'Pooh! You're always looking for bogies, Mr. 'Aughton,' was the mate's sneering reply. 'You don't see me grizzling.'

'You were not very far from grizzling, as you call it, last night,' George was stung to retort.

'That was very different,' protested the mate, flushing through his weather-beaten skin. You weren't too keen yourself about going on deck.'

'You are right,' George admitted frankly. 'I don't think that I ever was so frightened in my life—and by a mere sound, too.'

This conquered Bigham. 'Well, you didn't act so,' he said; 'and that sound was worse than any flesh-and-blood thing, however terrifying. Yet you faced it, whatever it was. No,' affirmed Bigham; 'I never meant to hint as you was wanting in pluck, sir. All I meant was as I don't think the niggers will try on any games, for I judge they'll be only too glad to get rid of us.

George assented, but without conviction.

'Any way, sir, you'll admit they haven't treated us as bad as might have been expected.' He made a wry face, recollecting his recent failure.

'True; but even at the eleventh hour they could hardly have got on without us, had the weather changed, or—— However, let that go. One thing I will ask of you. Should any of them offer provocation, take no notice. All we want is to be well rid of them.'

'You are right, sir,' assented Bigham; 'and you have been right all along. I'll warn the men.' Which, for a Lancashire man, was a very notable surrender.

Greatly relieved, George turned from the mate to find Te Karearea at his elbow, all smiles and courtesy. 'We part soon, Hortoni,' he began, 'and the Maori will again set foot in his own land, whence the Pakeha unjustly drove him.'

George turned from the mate to find Te Karearea at his elbow. (page 79).
George turned from the mate to find Te Karearea at his elbow. (page 79).

Resentment still smouldered in George at the insolent proposal made to him, but, mindful of his own advice to Bigham, he answered lightly: 'Possibly the Pakeha may endeavour to repeat his performance.'

'When a bird has screamed to the eagle the whereabouts of the hawk?' queried the chief, grinning.

'Oh, let us have peace for the short time we are to be together,' pleaded George. 'You have not treated us badly. We will remember that and forget the rest.'

'So be it,' agreed the chief, and took himself off as he had come, smiling.

The hour arrived at last, and the brig, after a final tack, stood in close to the shore and dropped her anchor. The boats were got away and the women rowed ashore, but George noticed with misgiving that the men were distributed in scattered groups among the sailors, six or seven to each white man. He himself was separated by some ten feet or so from the nearest man of his own colour, and between them were as many Maoris. Bigham was leaning on the starboard rail, endeavouring to chat with those about him; but the brown men paid little heed to what he said, for their eyes were ever screwing this way and that, and their faces wore the strained, expectant look of those who await an assured crisis.

Staring hard at Bigham, George managed to flash an eye-signal, 'Be on your guard!' and the mate stiffened from his lounging attitude and laid his hand carelessly upon a belaying pin. Nearer and nearer drew the returning boats, and at last, as they grated against the side, Te Karearea, who had been leaning contemplatively against the mainmast, raised his right hand.

For one instant there was tense silence. Then this was shattered by a wild and deafening yell, which the hills gave back in a hundred diminishing echoes, and, as the Maoris rushed towards the side, a young chief, Te Pouri—the Melancholy One—stumbled heavily against one of the sailors. The man retaliated with a sweep of his arm which sent Te Pouri reeling backwards into collision with a second seaman. This one, taking his cue from his messmate, shoved the Maori forward with such violence that he must have fallen, but for the support of the crowd into which he dived.

The incident passed in a flash, but as Te Pouri recovered his balance, another yell arose—this time a howl of hate, charged with the lust of vengeance long deferred—and in a moment sharp spears stabbed this way and that, piercing the shrinking flesh, while club and axe, whirled aloft by sinewy arms, fell with sickening thud upon the yielding bone.

The man who had heedlessly begun the trouble was the first to go down, split from crown to chin by a terrible stroke of Te Pouri's long-handled tomahawk. Then George, who for a second had stood in frozen horror at the awful suddenness of the change, leaped into the press, striking right and left with his fists.

Even in the hot excitement of the fight, he noticed with dull surprise that the Maoris merely ducked to avoid, or warded off his blows as best they could, without attempting to harm him. Ahead of him he could see Bigham, belaying-pin in hand, smashing a path through the packed brown forms, while, ringing high above the din of conflict, he heard the voice of Te Karearea shrieking to his men to hold their hands.

But George had scant time for observation, or for thought over the inexplicable attitude of Te Karearea, whom he had certainly credited with engineering this massacre; for scarcely had he rushed into the thick of the fray, than he was pulled down upon his back and pinned to the deck by sheer weight of numbers.

The next thing he saw was his greenstone club in the hands of Te Karearea, who grinned at him, crying: 'Fear nought, Hortoni. I will stop these dogs in their worrying.' With which he bounded into the fight, aiming a blow at one of his own men which would certainly have left the fellow few brains to think with, had he not ducked at the critical moment, with the result that Te Karearea's mere, cleaving the air downwards, met with terrific shock the upward sweep of Bigham's belaying-pin.

So severe was the jar, that the club, unsecured by its wrist-loop, flew out of Te Karearea's hand over the side, and fell into the water, just as Bigham, last survivor of the miserable crew, leaped through the open gangway into the sea. There was an instant swirl of lithe black bodies below the surface, and with a shrill yell the mate sank beneath the waves and was seen no more.

With a loud cry of wrath and despair Te Karearea rushed to the gangway, and at his word a dozen tall fellows sprang upon the rail and made ready to dive after the mere. But a number of dark, triangular fins rose slowly to the surface, and the men instantly jumped to the deck, nor could all Te Karearea's prayers and threats avail to induce them to risk entering Reinga through such dreadful portals. Whereupon, the chief sullenly ordered half a dozen of them into a boat with instructions to drag the sea-bottom until the greenstone club should be recovered. First, however, the dead bodies of the sailors, along with the corpse of an old Maori, who had been somehow crushed to death in the fight, were hove overboard, and shortly afterwards guns were fired into the water, the surface flogged with oars, and hideous noises raised to scare away the watchful sharks, which was now less difficult to do. But, though dredgers and divers did their best, the whereabouts of the mere remained undiscovered.

The whole terrible scene had been enacted with frightful swiftness, and, notwithstanding Te Karearea's apparent efforts to restrain his men, and his solicitude for his captive's welfare—which the latter was far from understanding—George felt convinced that the crafty Maori was at the bottom of this and the other tragedies which had marked the ill-omened voyage of the Stella.

While the interest of all was centred upon those who were searching for the greenstone mere, George became conscious of a lightening of the top-weights, and instantly put all his strength into an upward heave, which sent the fellow who was sitting upon him rolling on the deck, while, at the same moment, he jerked himself free from the others, sprang up, and made a dash for the gangway.

With loud yells the Maoris closed in upon him from all sides, but, though the odds were all against him, the Englishman's fighting blood was up; he struck hard and fast, and Te Pouri received such a tremendous blow in the eye, that he danced and howled with the agony of it. An instant later, with a look of fiendish malignity, he swept through the press and came upon George from behind.

Within striking distance he stopped, swung up and poised the cruel tomahawk, ready for the smashing downstroke which would have crashed through scalp and skull and brain, when a piercing yell was heard, and George, glancing in the direction of the sound, saw Te Karearea bounding towards him, spear in rest.

Instinctively the young man swerved to one side as far as the close-packed throng would allow, and the movement saved his life. For just then the tomahawk smashed downwards, missing his head by a bare inch, while the flat of it, fortunately, struck his shoulder with such force as to send his arm numb to his side, and bring him to his knees.

He was confusedly aware of swiftly parting brown bodies before the onrush of the chief; he heard the soft thud of impact between spear and flesh, a loud scream of mortal agony, and then the sky was blotted out from his dazed eyes as a heavy body toppled upon him, crushing him down, and forcing his head with fearful violence against the deck. Then for a space he knew no more.

No one ventured to protest against this summary execution; for their chief's word was law, and they knew it. All were aware that Te Pouri had disobeyed Te Karearea's order that, at whatever cost, Hortoni should be spared, and, as death was the penalty of disobedience, death, swift and inexorable, had been meted out to him.

When George came to his senses some hours later, he was in a litter, being carried he knew not whither; but, though it was too dark to make out details, it was clear that the coast had been left behind, and that Te Karearea had set out for his destination—wherever that might be—under the friendly cover of night.

As the dreadful scenes of the past afternoon came vividly back to him, the ghastly memories so distressed George that presently he became feverish, moving restlessly upon his litter, and reviewing in mild delirium the varied events of the voyage and its horrible conclusion. But ere long the tangled skein of thought knotted suddenly, and, soothed by the pure, fragrant air of the bush, the gentle, swinging motion, and the soft, monotonous chant of the bearers, he fell into a sound, refreshing sleep.

Morning at length shot up over the tall pines which rose erect and towering without a branch for a hundred feet and more, and the litter was set down at the base of a gigantic tree-fern, whose bright green fronds spread tent-wise over the invalid, who still slept, unaware of the gentle hands which now, as at intervals during the march, renewed the cool dressings which had soothed his pain and calmed his shaken brain.

But when George at last opened his eyes, a pretty Maori girl came running up, and with great solicitude inquired after his welfare. The young man thanked her and tried to rise, but fell back, giddy and confused, whereupon the girl renewed the dressings and warned him to lie still until breakfast was ready. He followed her sound advice, and, when he had eaten what he could of the food she presently served upon wooden platters, felt decidedly better.

The Maoris had marched throughout the greater part of the night, and now they sprawled upon the soft green grass in restful attitudes, some of them asleep, others busily oiling the locks of the rifles and revolvers they had looted from the brig, while others again were breakfasting and chatting with a light-hearted gaiety which gave little suggestion of the bloody drama of the previous day.

As his mind cleared George began to review his position. His weakness made it imperative that he should rest for the present, but he determined to escape as soon as possible, and, after communicating with his father—whose anxiety, he felt, must by this time be very great—hunt up Terence's regiment and enlist without attracting the notice of Colonel Cranstoun. Failing this last, he would join the Rangers—but first of all he must get away.

Suddenly the maze of thought into which he had wandered took a new turn, for he remembered to have seen Te Karearea charging down upon him with levelled spear. Why, then, had the chief turned the point of the weapon aside? He was sorely puzzled to discover the reason. Of course he had no knowledge of the death of Te Pouri at the hands of the chief; but, even had he known of it, the mystery would only have deepened.

His reflections were cut short by the arrival of Te Karearea himself, who saluted his prisoner in his customary courteous and dignified way, and sincerely hoped that none but the most trifling consequences would ensue from the injuries he had received.

Notwithstanding the disgust with which the chief inspired him, for he believed him to be a wholesale murderer, George had too much tact to show his feelings, and so, perhaps, ruin his chances. So he replied politely to the chief's greeting.

'But I am not very clear about it all,' he added; 'for the last thing I recall is the sight of you rushing at me with a levelled spear. So how—how——' he shook his head, bewildered.

Te Karearea grinned at this, and hailing one of his lieutenants who was passing, said:

'Speak, O Winata Pakaro, and tell Hortoni what befell as the light went out of his eyes. I tell not the tale, Hortoni, for I know that you distrust me—not without reason, perhaps, from your point of view.' He nodded to his subordinate, who drew for George a vivid word-picture of the events which had accompanied his downfall.

George had no choice but to believe the story, and he felt completely mystified. Why should the possession of him be accounted so precious that even the life of a valuable fighting-man was not allowed to weigh down the scale against it?

But Te Karearea dismissed Winata Pakaro and broke in upon his thoughts with a question which sent flying what little power of comprehension was left to him. 'Have you yet recovered your mere, Hortoni?' the chief inquired blandly.

George stared up at him. 'Are my wits wandering again?' he said. 'Do you seriously ask that question? You know as well as I do that the greenstone club went to the bottom of the sea.'

'Nevertheless, I ask you whether you have yet recovered it,' persisted the chief; whereat George, weakened by his accident, grew peevish. 'Am I then a magician, O Te Karearea?' he snapped back.

Te Karearea's rich brown skin turned curiously sallow, and he recoiled a step. 'Far be it from me to offend you, Hortoni,' he said submissively. 'You are not a wizard if you say you are not. I do but ask if you have got back your mere?'

'Why, you are saying it again!' roared George, whose head was aching with the strain of so much excitement. 'Are you mad that you bother me with such stupid questions? Do you think that I have the thing about me? Wizard be hanged! I know your supersti—— Eh! What! Well, I never! Here! Hi! Come back, Chief!' For Te Karearea, offended, or scared, by this unusual outburst, was stalking off.

At George's hail he turned again, hesitated, and then hastened eagerly to his captive's side.

As for George, his face was a study. The most unbounded astonishment expressed itself in every line as he half-sat, half-reclined, with the mere of TUMATAUENGA laid loosely across his open palms.

'I know no more than you do where it came from,' he said, looking up helplessly at the chief.

'Oh, of course not,' sneered Te Karearea. 'May be RANGI cast it into your lap, or perchance TUMATAUENGA came and gave it you just now when my back was turned. Anything is possible, for there it lies.'

Te Karearea'a face had grown hideous to behold. He rolled his eyes until they appeared to be turned inside out, he poked out his tongue until it nearly touched his chest, while bitter words came in labouring grunts, as he shook his crooked hands impotently in the air. At last by a mighty effort he controlled himself. 'But I knew that it would return,' he muttered. 'Yes; I was sure of it.'

George, though utterly bewildered, was quick to see the advantage which the recovery of the club carried with it, and now rather regretted that he had so openly shown his astonishment. However, he was quite safe in that regard, for, not to put too fine a point upon it, Te Karearea regarded his disclaimer as a lie told for some personal reason, and the appearance of the mere itself as evidence of strong magical powers on the part of Hortoni.

He was intensely annoyed that, once having gained possession of the beautiful, mystic weapon, he should have lost it; but he had his game to play, and it was no part of it to quarrel with his prisoner. So he changed the subject, and, reverting to the question of parole, said:

'Give me your word again, Hortoni, and you shall go out and come in among us as though you were really one of ourselves.'

'I am obliged to you,' George returned sourly, not overpleased with the compliment, which smacked rather too strongly of the Pakeha-Maori. But he concluded to agree, since he could not hope to escape until he had regained his strength, and so replied:

'I give you my parole for one week. At the end of that time we will talk again.'

And Te Karearea, perforce content with this, withdrew.

Quite exhausted by all the excitement he had gone through, and knowing that his coveted greenstone was safe while the aroma of present magic clung to it, George lay down once more, and, after vainly trying to explain how that which he had seen falling into the sea should be found beneath his mats, once more forgot his puzzles and his troubles in sleep.

He slept almost all round the clock, awaking next morning considerably later than the sun. The march had evidently been resumed during his long unconsciousness, and the litter was now set behind a boulder on the top of a small hill, below which dense bush spread out over a succession of smaller mounds to the valley. Food and water had been placed near him, but not a Maori could be seen.

George, having breakfasted, felt much better, though still stiff and sore, and presently the unusual silence and absence of all signs of life struck him oddly, and he began to look about him.

'What can have become of all my rascals?' he wondered, and just then the silence was stirred by a long wailing cry, which rose and fell plaintively on the still air. 'A weka[1] calling to its mate,' thought George, as the melancholy note sounded again in the depths of the valley.

[1] Ocydromus australis, the wood-hen.

He began somewhat stiffly to descend the hill, when he was startled by a harsh, imperative whisper close beside him: 'Lie down, Hortoni! Quick, lie down!'

Then, as he stared this way and that, seeing no one, a lithe brown form rose from the other side of the rock beside which he stood, compelled him with heavy hand to the ground, and sank out of sight as swiftly and noiselessly as it had arisen.

And as George, obedient to the pressure upon his shoulder, crouched under the rock, a bullet flattened itself with sulky smack upon the face of the boulder behind him, while, even as it dropped to the ground, the crack of a rifle floated up from the valley.

CHAPTER IX

JUST IN TIME

'A clever marksman,' thought George, as he snuggled behind his rock. 'If I hadn't been pulled down, I should have handed in my parole for good and all.'

He drew a deep breath. He had courage enough to admit that he had been scared.

Smack! Another bullet lodged close by; but this time there was an abrupt, dull thud, followed by a heavy groan, while a commotion further up the hill told all too plainly of a human form writhing in agony.

'Habet!' muttered George. 'Whatever is all the rumpus about? Some settlers, perhaps, have heard of our arrival and come out to stop us. What clever beggars these Maoris are at taking cover! I could not see a sign of one when I was up.' He twisted his head and stared down into the valley; but, seeing nothing for his pains, peered round the back of his sheltering rock.

There lay Winata Pakaro, famous fighting chief, his lips set in a grin of hate, his eyes glittering with the light of battle, his long hair stirred by the breeze as the locks of the Furies by their writhing snakes. Suddenly his rifle sprang to his shoulder, and George, forgetful of his own danger, lifted his head by ever so little over the rock to watch the effect of the shot.

In a moment the explosion roared in his ear; but there was no one to be seen in the valley. Only, almost simultaneously with the report of Winata's rifle, the gloom of the distant scrub was rent by a vivid flash, and George ducked again as the bullet came singing up to smash the stock of the Maori's gun and glance off up the hill.

'Na!' grunted the disgusted Winata Pakaro, and called softly to a comrade, who glided out of the bushes, not three feet from George, who, till then, had not the slightest idea that any one lay there. Winata explained his wants, and the other, whose business it was to keep in touch with the firing-line, crawled off as a fourth bullet grazed Pakaro's shoulder.

The hardy savage merely grunted, took another rifle from the hand of his comrade, and stretched himself out as before.

A crash, a groan, and, as the report of a fifth shot came from the valley, the powder-monkey, so to call him, fell upon his face, and lay still with a hole in his head. He had imitated George in peering over the rock, and now there he was—dead.

'I know only one man who can shoot like this,' thought George,' and he must be a good bit east of here.' Another bullet knocked fragments from the top of the rock. 'He has got our range to a nicety. I wish he would turn his polite attention to some other part of the hill. Ah! I thought so. It is getting too hot here.' For with the sound of the last shot Winata Pakaro glided away, giving a quick call to George to follow cautiously.

Ten minutes later a couple of Maoris stood as if by magic at his side, wound each an arm through his own, and, with their rifles at the trail, set off with him at a terrific pace down the hill.

Difficult as it was, George managed to snatch a fleeting glance or two as he tore along between his guards. On this side the Maoris were running at top speed, their objective being another hill, a natural fortress, which rose out of the valley a mile or so away. On that side, a mob of whites and friendly Maoris, far inferior in number to Te Karearea's force, were racing desperately towards the same hill, but wasting their breath in shouts and yells. But so far it was anybody's race.

'Let go!' panted George. 'I can run faster alone.'

'No tricks then, Hortoni,' growled one of the guards. 'Try to escape and we will brain you.'

Stimulated by the occasional shots which followed them, they swept along in fine style. As they neared the coveted hill, Te Karearea's Maoris converged upon it from all sides, and simply over-ran a score or so of whites who opposed them, braining one and wounding half a dozen others.

The hill gained, George flung himself upon his back, too blown to heed the bullets which whistled over him; but, as one of them passed uncomfortably close to his head, he crawled behind a rock to watch the progress of operations.

But the sharp excitement was over for the time, and the long day wore to an end with nothing but desultory fire upon either side, for the whites refused to cross a ravine, over which it would have been death to charge. The fine marksman of the morning was now conspicuous by his absence, and George wondered regretfully whether he was the man who had been carried feet first towards the camp of the whites after their one ineffectual charge upon the hill.

But towards evening the captain of the white force was startled by the sound of a Maori bugle in his rear, and, caught thus between two fires, resolved upon a desperate charge. He encountered no resistance as he led his men across the dangerous ravine; but, as he ran on, a stream of fire belched from the heart of a bush, and he had, literally, a close shave, for one of his whiskers was singed completely off. So he retired a sadder and less hirsute man, only to find that the astute Te Karearea had raided his camp and annexed his reserve of ammunition, along with all his horses, accoutrements, stores, and baggage.

This calamity finished the gallant officer, who retreated throughout the night over terrible country, with his weary and dispirited column at his heels, ammunitionless and supperless.

They were not pursued; for the Maoris themselves were tired and hungry, and preferred to set about the preparation of a well-earned meal. For even though a man fight in a bad cause, he yet gets up appetite enough to enjoy his dinner.

Wrath and disappointment at the result of the fight had made George unusually sullen, but when the pretty maid who had so deftly bandaged him, and whose musical name was Kawainga, or Star of the Dawn, brought him supper, his sufferings, less poignant than his appetite, did not compel him to refuse.

A hungry man is an angry man, and certainly when George had eaten all the good things set before him, and smoked a looted cigar—Te Karearea with generous irony had sent him a handful—his temporary irritation vanished, and his usual cool temper reasserted itself. He had plenty of common-sense, and recognising that there was nothing to be gained by quarrelling with the chief, presently accepted the latter's invitation to stroll round the camp and visit the pickets. For Te Karearea observed all proper military precautions, and maintained an iron discipline in camp and field.

'It would be no easy matter for a Pakeha to break through my lines, Hortoni,' he remarked, as they turned again towards the bivouac.

'If you are hinting at me, I have no intention of trying,' was George's reply to this suggestive remark. 'But why are you so anxious to detain me?'

'Why are you so anxious to leave me, my friend?' countered the Maori, and, as George burst out laughing, 'I have not treated you ill, Hortoni,' he added rather wistfully.

'True. Still, you talk as a fool. Home, friends, duty, inclination, all call me away from you. You are in arms against the men of my race. Is it any wonder that I fret in the toils?'

'Yet there are chiefs who have their Pakehas,' urged Te Karearea.

'That is not much to the credit of those Pakehas,' George said loftily; and to change the subject went on: 'Where is Paeroa?'

'Be wise in time, Hortoni,' the chief urged earnestly. 'You possess, though you do not realise it, a certain means of attaining greatness. Ascend the ladder which I am holding for you, and you will be great. Refuse, and you are doomed, even as your race is doomed. You ask for Paeroa. He is gone to carry the message of my coming.'

'And who will listen to it?' George asked dryly.

'Say rather, who will not hear my word?' Te Karearea drew himself up proudly. 'Waikato and Ngatiawa shall hear and flock to my standard. Taranaki and Wanganui shall lift the spear and shake the tomahawk. Taupo and Ngaiterangi, Whakatoea and Ngatiporou, Ngatiapa and Ngatihau[1]—all these and more shall hear and come with club and gun. But Arawa, the accursed, shall be deaf, and them and the Pakehas shall my legions smite and slay until the land which has been ours since Maui drew it forth from the sea, is ours once again. Behold! I, Te Karearea, have sworn it.'

[1] All the Maori tribes named above were in arms against the British at one time or another during the wars. The Arawas were friendly.

The sonorous cadence of vowels rolled out into the night, and George, to his surprise, felt a passing throb of sympathy for this uncrowned king. After all, the land had originally—and not so long ago—belonged to the Maori; nor could the Pakeha be said to be altogether clean-handed in the matter. It was a fleeting mood; but it sufficed to induce George to let the chief down gently, and to refrain from further argument.

Just then the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs was heard, and Te Karearea, with a word of excuse to George, ran back to the sentry they had just passed, whispered an order, and at once rejoined his guest, as he was pleased to style his paroled prisoner.

'During the afternoon I learned that the captain of the force opposed to me sent to Turanga for reinforcements,' he began, smiling. 'This, in all probability, is the messenger returning. I am going to catch him.'

'But,' objected George, 'if the messenger recognise that the sentry is not a "friendly," he will bolt, and then your man will certainly shoot him.'

'It takes some education for a Pakeha to distinguish, let us say, Arawa from Ngatiawa,' said Te Karearea reassuringly. 'No; there will be no difficulty—of that sort.' He paused to whisper instructions to a sentry on the inner ring, and George, glancing back, saw that the messenger was slowly walking his tired horse towards the picket.

'I must ask you to retire, Hortoni,' said Te Karearea courteously. 'I must examine this man, and——'

'Oh, quite so,' agreed George. 'The poor beggar little dreams what is in store for him. When your interrogation is at an end, turn him over to me, and I will do my best to console him.' He nodded to the chief and turned his back upon the bivouac, thinking as he went of the grim jest which Fate was about to play upon the unlucky messenger.

Hoping to get a bit of news on his own account, George strolled towards the outer picket, and in course of time was challenged by the sentry in the strictly orthodox manner: 'Halt! Who goes there?'

George explained, and handed the sentry a plug of tobacco, off which the Maori promptly bit a piece. But he was a surly fellow, and gave a gruff negative when asked if he happened to know anything of the Pakeha who had ridden into the camp.

'They will eat the oyster and throw away the shell; that's all I know,' he growled, his answer showing that he came from the coast.

'Meaning, I suppose, that they will turn him out of the camp when they have learned all that he has to tell,' commented George. 'I should like a word with him before he goes. I wonder if he will come this way.'

'Whakatore Atua!' (the gods forbid) ejaculated the sentry, with a nervous glance over his shoulder. 'Let him take another road to Reinga. I want no ghosts on my beat.'

'Ghosts? Reinga?' echoed George amazed. And then, as the full significance of the Maori's words came home to him, he turned and sped like the wind towards the bivouac, a prayer in his heart that he might reach it in time.

Meanwhile the messenger, a sturdy young fellow in the orthodox red coat of the service, had led his horse to the bivouac of the head chiefs.

'I have come to the wrong place, it seems,' he said cheerfully, little imagining how true were his words. 'It is Captain Westrupp's bivouac I'm after. Well, boys, I suppose you licked those rascals?'

'Yes; we licked them,' answered Winata Pakaro in fluent English, while his leader remained unobtrusively in the background. 'They are now in full retreat.'

'Hurrah! Well, I must hunt up the captain. Where is his bivouac?' He cast a longing eye upon the cold viands, scattered about.

'Nay; sit and eat,' invited Winata Pakaro. 'You need food after your long ride. The captain is not in the camp, nor is it likely that he will return to-night.'

'Oh, in that case, here goes'; and the young soldier sat down and ate with appetite, while Winata Pakaro pumped him dry of information as to the number and disposal of the British and Colonial troops. The meal and the interrogation ended together.

'Thank you, boys; you are the real old sort,' said the messenger gratefully. 'Now tell me where my mates are camped. It is odd that none of them are about; but I suppose they are all dog-tired.'

He turned to go, smiling at them; but at a sign from Winata his arms were pinioned, and while a couple of Maoris held him in a firm grip, a third lashed his ankles together.

He was very strong, that was evident; but he was intelligent too, and did not waste his strength in useless struggles. 'You crafty demons!' he snarled at them. 'You are Te Karearea's men.'

'Yes,' admitted Winata Pakaro,' and we are also brothers of the men who died to-day. So there is a blood-feud, and, as we have you, you must die.'

'You will not dare to kill a prisoner of war.'

'Oh, we will do all things as they ought to be done, and follow the rules of war. You come by night into our camp, pretending to take us for "friendlies," and endeavour to worm information out of us. Thus you are proved a spy. It is the custom of civilised nations at war to hang spies. Good! We will hang you, and so escape the vengeance of the Pakeha.' His saturnine chuckle was echoed by the chiefs who stood in a semi-circle about the prisoner.

The unhappy soldier looked round despairingly. What hope was there for him? Before him a crescent of stern-faced men, and all about him men of the same colour, with faces yet more fierce and horrid. For the rank and file had gathered to hear the last of the discussion—to see the last of the Pakeha.

At a sign from Winata Pakaro two grim-visaged warriors stepped forward with a rope, one end of which they cast over the stout limb of a great tree. The other end, which was noosed, they slipped over the head of the prisoner, who, pale as death, but erect and brave, gave them back glance for glance.

He was a soldier, and he would not show the despair he felt to these enemies of his flag. 'I warn you that a terrible vengeance will be taken if you murder me,' he said boldly.

A derisive yell arose among the bystanders, and at a covert sign one of the executioners drew the rope taut, handing the loose end to the other.

The miserable messenger gave up hope. He was brave, and he did not mean to go out of the world like a craven. But it was hard, for he was young and strong, and life glowed in his veins. He cast an agonised glance around, but only savage, grinning faces met his eyes. He closed them, murmuring a prayer, when a shout, not far off, struck his tense nerves with such a shock that they quivered, like harp-strings suddenly smitten, and for the first time he trembled—not with fear, but with hope.

Again that shout, loud and insistent, crying something in Maori which he could not understand. Yet when he heard it, he trembled all the more, for there was something in the voice which rang familiar in his ears. Yet how could that be?

Once more the frantic appeal: 'Kei whakamate ia koe!—Do not kill him! Do not kill him!'

Stamping footsteps, crushing down the rustling fern—nearer, louder, furious at the feeble opposition. And at last a man, panting, sobbing for breath, burst into the open space illumined by the bivouac fire, gasping as he came his ever-recurring 'Kei whakamate ia koe!'

For one instant the soldier stared, incredulous. He seemed paralysed. His eyes started from his head. His limbs shook under him. Suddenly he felt the tightening noose, stiffened, caught at a hasty breath, and spent it in a quavering shriek: 'George! Quick! They're murdering me!'

The two Maoris with the rope set off at a run. But ere the cord could press the swelling throat, George Haughton crashed through the encircling crowd, tumbling them this way and that; and, as he charged down upon them, whirling the mysterious mere over his head, the executioners dropped the rope and fled for their lives, howling.

In an instant George was at his friend, plucked the cruel rope from his neck, and flung it away. Then pushing Terence behind him against the tree, he stood on the defensive, eyes glaring, but keen; his chest heaving from his run; challenge and menace in every line of him.

CHAPTER X

TOGETHER AGAIN

When the Maoris recovered from the shock of his rush, they faced George as he stood covering his friend's body with his own. There was no noise, no shouting; but the stern Roman faces looked very grim and determined. Then Winata Pakaro with oily tongue began an argument, in the midst of which was heard the click of the hammer of a gun drawn back to full cock.

But while Winata's smooth periods flowed on, there was a sudden rush, a scuffle, a shout of wrathful surprise, and there was George back again under the tree with the rifle in his hand. He had wrested it from the astonished warrior who had so stealthily—as he imagined—made ready to use it.

In another moment Terence's wrists and ankles were free and the rifle in his grasp, while George once more flourished his famous club, rightly judging that its moral effect would be considerable, while as to its physical possibilities there was no doubt whatever.

in another moment Terence's wrists were free, and the rifle in his grasp (page 106).
In another moment Terence's wrists were free,
and the rifle in his grasp (page 106).

These things done in the space of a second or two, George began to harangue the Maoris, but Winata Pakaro cut into his first words with:

'Stand aside, Hortoni! We wish not to injure you; but this man must die.'

'Stand you back, O Winata Pakaro!' retorted George. 'This man is my brother in all but blood, and I say that he shall not die.'

There was a roar of incredulous laughter at what the chiefs took to be an expedient lie, and Winata muttered a hasty order over his shoulder.

'Look out!' cried George, suspecting his design. 'Fire as he jumps.'

But a long whistle shrilled from Winata's lips, and he flung himself flat on the ground as the Maoris made an ugly rush forward and Terence's rifle spoke.

Fortunately for the friends, the bullet merely startled an elderly chief into a most undignified caper as it hummed past his ear, and on the instant Winata leaped from the ground and hurled himself at Terence.

But the great fighter was handicapped by his fear of George, whose own weapon came more than once so dangerously near his head that he gave back in alarm; for there was no knowing when that magical piece of greenstone would spring out of its master's hand and begin a devil's dance upon its own account.

Still, it might have gone hardly with Terence, but that, as the Maoris surged about him, a deep voice cried angrily: 'Is the word of Te Karearea of no weight in this hapu? And you, Hortoni, why do you break faith with me?'

Where the chief had sprung from George had no idea, but he was uncommonly glad to see him, and, as the Maoris shrank back, he briefly explained who Terence was and what had taken place. Thereupon Te Karearea turned upon Winata Pakaro and rated him viciously, demanding how he had dared to take so much upon himself. To this verbal castigation Winata merely opposed a smile of cynical amusement as he walked away.

Then Te Karearea faced George once more and said graciously, 'I give you, O Hortoni, the life of the friend for whom you would have given your own. To-morrow you shall tell me the story of your friendship. But he must give up the rifle.'

At a nod from George, Terence surrendered the rifle, and Te Karearea then extended his hand, as if expecting to receive the greenstone club as well. But when this piece of impudent bluff—which was extremely well acted—met with the reception it deserved, he grinned good-humouredly and nodded to the pair to withdraw, which they did at once.

With his arm round Terence's shoulders, George piloted his chum towards the huge fallen tree, beneath which he designed to pass the night. 'You dear old fellow!' he said heartily, drawing Terence to him. 'Who would have thought of meeting here, and like this? What a mercy I came up in time!'

'Thank God you did!' replied Terence, unable to repress a shudder; for when a brave man has stared death in the face, and the grim Gatherer has passed on, leaving him untouched, he is not, as a rule, flippant about his experience.

'When I came rushing up, I hadn't the faintest idea that I was to meet you,' went on George. 'Indeed, I only recognised you when you screamed at me in that queer, cracked voice. In the first place, I had never seen you in uniform, and in the—— Hold up, old fellow!'

For Terence staggered and would have fallen, had not the strong arm around his shoulders slipped to his waist and supported him.

George laid him down and bent anxiously over him, seeing that he had fainted. The strain had been dreadful, and, brave though he was, his emotional nature had lent an added poignancy to the sufferings of that terrible half-hour.

In a few minutes he revived, and looking up at his friend with an apologetic smile, murmured: 'I'm all right now. I did not mean——'

'Lie still and don't talk, dear old fellow,' interrupted George; but Terence sat up with his back against the tree and drank a cup of water which George handed him. Then George, wishful to take his thoughts off his recent peril, began to chat about the sharpshooter of the early morning.

'What became of that crack shot of yours?' he inquired. 'He was wonderful. The Maoris lost two men, and I myself came within an ace of adding another bull's-eye to his score.'

At this Terence gasped in a queer way and collapsed flat upon his face; but when George, who thought that he had fainted again, was about to rise, he scrambled to his knees, and catching his friend in a bear's hug, exclaimed brokenly: 'Oh, thank God! O George, thank God I didn't hit you! Oh!'

He buried his face in his arms, while George patted his broad back, saying soothingly: 'So it was you after all! Curiously enough, I thought so at the time; but I did not see how such a thing could be. Cheer up, old fellow! There's no harm done.'

Terence wrung his friend's hand. There were traces of tears upon his cheeks, but he did not seem to mind. 'I took deliberate aim at you,' he said. 'We all thought that the white man on the hill must be one of those Pakeha-Maori rascals; so I let drive and——'

'Missed him! So that's all right,' finished George cheerfully. 'You must not let out to these people that you were the slayer of their comrades, or we shall hear a lot about a blood-feud and have endless trouble. By the way, was Te Karearea present at your court-martial?'

'I saw nothing of him until he stopped our little fight. Why?'

George did not explain. He had reason to know that the chief did not always choose to appear as the moving spirit in the programme of events. 'No matter,' he said. 'Now, I want to hear all your news. Are you hungry?'

'Oh no; your friends fed me well before turning me over to the hangman.'

'Don't call them my friends,' protested George. 'I would——'

'Oh! Then you are not a Pakeha-Maori?' put in Terence, with an air of great simplicity.

'You are yourself again, I see,' said George, laughing. 'Fill your pipe and let me hear your adventures.'

'I have had none until to-day,' began Terence. 'Colonel Cranstoun was very kind to me on board; but he and Horn kept me at it with never-ending drill. By the way, the colonel expressed his regret that he had packed you off in the tug.'

'No! Surely not?' George grinned.

'Yes. He pulled his long moustache, and observed: "I should have done better to keep the young scapegrace under my own eye."'

'You humbug!' laughed George. 'Go on.'

'He is a fine old fellow, George. On the third day out we met a Sydney-bound brig, which hove to, and the colonel sent a letter to your father. You saw it, no doubt.'

'No; but I am glad he wrote it. I started on your trail next morning.'

'What a fellow you are!' said Terence admiringly. 'I was sure that you would lose no time. But next morning!'

'Get on with your yarn,' ordered George.

'Right, sir! In due time we arrived at Auckland, where Colonel Cranstoun took me out of the ranks and made me useful as an orderly, or something of the kind. Since then I have been sent here, there, and everywhere. My last mission was to bring dispatches from our colonel in Wanganui to Major Biggs at Poverty Bay. There I found Biggs just starting after your beauties, so I got permission to join the expedition.'

'How did he hear of our arrival?' put in George.

'I can't say; and it is still a mystery to me how you come to be with these fellows at all. I am burning to hear your story. However, I will finish mine first. We have followed your trail for four days, and to-day, as you know, the fight began. I was sent back to Turanga for reinforcements; but as I heard on the way that Biggs was somewhere else, hurrying up the commissariat, I rode hither again. Of course I had not the least idea that the camp had meantime changed hands. That's my history, and a dull one it is. Now for yours.'

He listened, absorbed, to the recital of his chum's adventures. 'I do envy you,' he said, as George wound up his narrative. 'You certainly have not lacked incident. Let me see this wonderful—mere, do you call it?'

George handed over the club, which Terence examined with deep interest.

'It seems to me,' he said at last, 'that you will do well to take that old man's advice and hold fast to this club; for——'

'Oh, nonsense!' interjected George. 'How can there be any magic inherent in a piece of greenstone? The curious things which have occurred in connection with it are not inexplicable.'

'Explain, then, its return after your own eyes had seen it falling into the sea.'

'There must be an explanation,' said George doggedly.

'Say, rather, that, like all your unimaginative race, you refuse to believe in anything you cannot understand. If there is nothing exceptional about the club, why is Te Karearea so anxious to get it?'

'It is, of course, surrounded with traditions,' began George, and suddenly sprang up and darted round the tree in time to see a dark figure bounding away into the bush. Pursuit was useless, so George returned to their fire, expressing his conviction that the eavesdropper had been Te Karearea.

'As I said, he attaches importance to the club, if you don't,' was Terence's comment.

'More likely he came here to learn what he could about you,' George argued; 'for I don't believe in his protestation of ignorance of English.'

'All the same, you follow the old man's advice, and never let that club be far from you,' urged Terence.

'Well, it is a singular fact that the moment of my greatest peril was just after I had been deprived of the mere,' admitted George.

'Yet even that peril was averted.'

'Yes; and I do not understand why. From the moment of our meeting, Te Karearea has treated me with great consideration, and—though it may sound absurd—has sometimes seemed afraid of me. Not, of course, in a physical sense. There is something incomprehensible at work.'

'Perhaps he still hopes to convert you to his views.'

'He need not on that account fear me.'

'True. The great thing is the plain fact that association with the club has saved your life so far. I think——' He yawned widely.

'I think that you are more than half asleep,' finished George. 'Your bed is there, under the tree, and here is a blanket for you.'

Terence threw himself down at once, but almost immediately sprang up again. 'Give me your hand, George,' he said.

'What's the matter now?' asked George, obeying.

'Brute that I am, I have never even thanked you. But you know, old fellow—my dear old chum, you know——' He paused, blinking hard.

'I should think I did!' cried George, capering with the pain of that friendly squeeze. 'Brute! You are indeed. A grizzly isn't in it with you. Away with you to bed, and don't talk any more nonsense.'

'I won't,' said Terence seriously; 'but I will do at last what I ought to have done at first.' Without a word more he dropped upon his knees and buried his face in his hands. A few minutes later he rose quietly, and with a nod at George, lay down upon his fern-bed and prepared to sleep.

CHAPTER XI

ONE MYSTERY THE LESS

'The réveillé!' laughed Terence, as he awoke next morning to the cheerful notes of a bugle. 'For a moment I thought that I was back with the old regiment.'

'Oh, the soldier fashion in which we do things here would not disgrace the "old regiment," as you call it,' said George, smiling. 'Your own red coat, by the way, has a suspicious newness about it. Did you sleep well?'

'Never better. Ah, George, old fellow, I owe——'

'Here's breakfast,' broke in George hastily, giving him a mighty smack on the back, to the great delight of Kawainga, Star of the Dawn, who appeared with two satellites, bearing the materials for a substantial breakfast.

Soon they were again upon the march, and Te Karearea, who had taken every precaution against a surprise, jogged peacefully along, smoking a looted cigar, and listening with interest to the story of the youthful adventures of George and Terence, whom he addressed as Mura, or The Blazing One. The name had much the sound of Moore, but it was the appearance of the Irishman, with his red coat and flaming head of hair, which had really suggested the title.

'It is good to hear of such friendship,' the chief said, beaming upon the pair during a pause in their narration. 'Surely Mura will not wish to leave us now that he has found you, Hortoni. Persuade him to stay, my friend.'

George looked him in the eyes and laughed quietly. He translated to Terence, but made no reply to the chief, who did not pursue the subject.

'What did he mean by that remark, George?' inquired Terence as they lay in the shade during the midday halt.

'I can't say exactly, for one never knows what the crafty beggar is up to.' He looked cautiously round, but as no one was near, went on: 'He may even wish you to try and escape, in order to—to——'

'To find an excuse for knocking me on the head,' supplied Terence. 'Then he'll be disappointed, for I'll not leave you—unless escape meant a good chance of helping you out of the trap. In that case I'd go this minute.'

'I am sure you would, dear old fellow!' said George affectionately; 'but we will stick together as long as possible. Only, if the chief does not parole you, then——' He broke off short, staring up at Te Karearea, who had, as usual, approached unobserved.

'It looks as if the rascal possesses the power to render himself invisible at will,' said George disgustedly, when the chief had withdrawn after informing them that the march was about to be resumed. 'We shall have to go warily, Terence; for there is no knowing how much he may have heard.'

'Much good may it do him,' remarked Terence airily. 'And if it comes to knocking on the head——' He bent his arm. The great biceps contracted, bulging out the red sleeve. Let that enormous mass of muscle be extended with the weight of the body behind it, and the fist in front of it would surely trouble somebody's weak nerves.

George smiled. 'Oh, I know what you can do; but a couple of hundred to one is long odds. Meantime, you must not run the risk of offending him; for, remember, he is utterly unscrupulous. In some mysterious way I appear to be necessary to him; but were it otherwise, he would kill me without the slightest compunction. Of that I feel sure. Come! it is time we joined him.'

Four days later, towards sunset, they debouched from the forest through which for the last sixty hours they had toiled wearily along a narrow, difficult track. It had been a terrible journey for the Maoris, but far more so for the white men, and all alike rejoiced when at last the dreadful bush lay behind them, and they beheld the river which alone divided them from the pah which was their goal.

As was usual with the Maori fortresses, the position was one of immense strength. The island plain, at the back of which rose a considerable hill, was a swampy area overgrown with flax, and extended for nearly a mile on every side of the eminence but one, being itself enclosed by a forked ravine, at the bottom of which the river roared and swirled among giant boulders. No doubt, at some far-off day this roughly level plain had itself been covered with forest; but dead and gone generations of Maoris had cleared away the offending wood, so that no one could now approach the pah unobserved. The single side of the hill unflanked by the plain was simply a vast, precipitous rock-face, having for its vis-à-vis the equally precipitous opposing wall of the ravine, into whose depths it dropped a sheer two hundred feet, the twin cliffs forming a cañon through which the river raced on its way to unite again with the main stream.

The place was, indeed, almost inaccessible when once the only approach from the forest was barred. This was merely a rough bridge across the river on the side furthest from the hill, and when the tree-trunks forming this were withdrawn, a handful of men could easily hold the island against an army.

But even were the bridge to be rushed, the ascent of the hill was made difficult by carefully laid trenches and rifle-pits, and, finally, the pah was encircled by a double row of palisades of great height and immense strength, the chinks between the massive logs being filled with hard-baked mud and clay. The palisades were loopholed above, and a rude platform ran along the inner side of each row, where men might lie, secure themselves, and fire upon an advancing foe.

It would indeed be a desperate and determined foe who would venture to attack, much more succeed in taking, the Pah O Te Mate—the Pah of the Slain, the Fortress of Death.

As it happened, the weary travellers were not destined to enter the pah just yet; for as the vanguard swung out of the forest and prepared to cross the hundred yards or so of cleared ground between them and the bridge, they saw a sight which halted them as effectually as though some sudden stroke had robbed their limbs of all power.

But they could not stand still, for those in the rear pressed them on, and presently the little clearing became almost blocked with armed men vainly striving to preserve their customary proud and resolute bearing, and with trembling women who did not attempt to hide their extreme terror.

In the midst of the confusion the voice of Te Karearea was heard angrily demanding the cause of the block, but no sooner had the chief forced his way to the front than he, too, stopped as if compelled, all signs of anger faded from his face, and he stood meek and inoffensive, his hands crossed upon his broad chest, his plumed head bowed low.

And what was the cause of all this fear and commotion? Standing alone at the bridge-head was one old man. His figure was bent, his snow-white hair fell, a tangle of locks, below his shoulders, and the hand which grasped the staff upon which he leaned, trembled as it clutched the crook. Yet there was fire in his rolling eyes, and a hint of mastery, if not of menace, in the gesture with which he flung up his free hand, forbidding the advance; and his voice, far from piping in the thin treble of extreme old age, rang stern and sonorous, as the liquid Maori speech gushed from his venerable lips.

He was Kapua Mangu—the Black Cloud—the Tohunga, and most notable of all the Maori wizards.

At the old man's bidding, Te Karearea advanced and listened respectfully to some words spoken for his ear alone. Then, turning, he rapidly issued an order which sent the warriors tumbling back into the forest, while side by side with the great magician, the chief set off across the plain in the direction of the pah.

'So we are not to enter the fortress to-night,' George explained to Terence as they followed the Maoris. 'According to the old gentleman, a particularly malignant demon has taken up his quarters on the hill, and any attempt to pass him would be fraught with dire peril. To-morrow we are to make a kind of state entry.'

'Which means that the ancient rogue has reasons for keeping us off the hill to-night.'

'Very likely; but it won't hurt us, fortunately. What do you say to supper and early bed?'

'I'm with you there,' agreed Terence, 'for I'm dog tired.'

So they hunted about until they found pretty Miss Kawainga, who soon provided them with an excellent meal, after which they selected a comfortable spot for their bivouac, spread their blankets on the fern, and were quickly asleep.

An hour before midnight something awakened George, and he sat up and looked in all directions for the cause. Everything was profoundly still, and presently he made out that the camp was deserted, not a single Maori being visible anywhere. Wondering sleepily what the chief was about, he noticed that their fire had dwindled a good deal, and, knowing that the early hours of morning would be cold, crept out of his blanket-bag and rose, yawning, to replenish it. Hither and thither he moved, gathering sticks and fern, when suddenly the wood dropped through his hands, he turned cold, and his heart throbbed heavily under his creeping flesh. He drew in a deep breath, and his strong will and high courage fought desperately against the unnerving sensations of the moment. For once again the quiet night was rent by those weird, awful sounds which had so unmanned him during that dreary midnight hour aboard the brig a week ago.

'Hau-hau! Hau-hau! Pai marire, hau-hau! Hau-hau!'

From afar the horrid noises screamed through the shivering forest, mixed now and again with a singular gabble of words which somehow had the sound of English, though the distance made it difficult to judge.

George made a fierce effort to collect himself. Terence had suffered enough already, and for his sake he must not give way. But to his intense surprise he saw the object of his concern sitting up and listening with an expression of deep interest on his face.

'Queer row, isn't it?' said Terence. 'Do you see those lights on the hill behind there? That is where they are. Perhaps this explains the mysterious confab between the chief and the wizard. I vote we go and have a look at them; we may never get another chance.'

George could scarcely believe his ears. The noise which now, as before, so shocked him, was accepted by Terence as something merely interesting. Still, the sight of his friend's unconcern did much to steady his own jumping nerves.

Receiving no answer, Terence looked up. The dying fire added to the ghastliness of George's face. 'Hullo! What is it, old fellow?' he cried, rolling out of his bag. 'Are you ill?'

'I plead guilty to a bad fit of the horrors,' answered George, 'though your coolness is rapidly convincing me that my bogy is not so awful as I imagined it to be. I never was so frightened in my life as when I first heard those terrible sounds at dead of night aboard the brig. I did not speak of it to you when we met, because it had nothing to do with my story. If you know what the noise means, for heaven's sake tell me at once.'

'I thought you knew all about it,' replied Terence. 'The row is horrid, but simple enough in its origin. It is a part of the religious service, or incantation, perhaps I should say, of the Hau-haus.'

'Oh! And who may the Hau-haus be? Men or devils?'

'Men, distinctly; but with a strong dash of the devil in them, too.'

'Are they Maoris?'

'Very much so. The same among whom you have been adventuring this month past. Let us steal back to that hill and lay your ghost for once and all. I'll tell you what I know as we go.'

'I'm with you,' agreed George. 'I'm thankful to have fathomed this uncanny mystery. Hark! They are at it again.' Once more the unholy clamour swelled upon the quiet air.

Even the sentinels had left the camp and gone, presumably, to the hill, where, as they advanced, the friends could see great fires blazing and vomiting clouds of smoke into the blackness of the night. As they went, Terence discoursed in low tones of the rise and progress of the Hau-hau religion, and its effect upon those Maoris who had embraced it.

'I learned what I have told you from a friendly Arawa chief,' he said, as they drew near the ravine which formed the approach to the hill. 'He spun the yarn one night around the camp-fire, and by way of illustration gathered a few of his men and surprised us a little later with a very creditable imitation of the howling which so disturbed you. I must own that, until I knew what it was, I felt far from comfortable.'

'I don't blame you,' said George with a shudder. 'And there have been many converts to Hau-hauism, you say.'

'Plenty; and to-day the Hau-haus are the fiercest and most implacable of our foes. They have some very unpleasant customs, and that nasty yowling, with its blasphemous invocation of the Holy Trinity, is not the least atrocious of them.'

Their cautious march ceased now, and they began to crawl quietly up the side of the ravine, from the plateau above which came the hum of many voices.

'Te Karearea must have joined this sect before he was packed off to Chatham Island,' said George. 'I remember that he said something one day about being a priest among his own people.'

'Hush!' warned Terence. 'I hear them moving just above us.'

They flattened themselves against the side of the ravine and waited their opportunity. Suddenly a succession of yells burst from three hundred lusty throats, and the ground shook to the trampling of the mob as they hurled themselves this way and that in their fierce ecstasy.

'Now is our chance,' whispered Terence, and under cover of the tumult they dragged themselves up the bank and lay flat among the fern at the top.

What a sight met their astonished eyes!

CHAPTER XII

VANISHED

From where the friends lay they looked across a rude plateau, dotted with ti-tree, koromiko, and other bushes, and upon this, at intervals of a dozen yards, three huge fires blazed and roared and crackled under frequent additions of fuel. The ground swarmed with Maoris, many of whom Te Karearea had recruited on his march, and most of them were naked, save for their katikas, or short kilts of flax. As their bodies were splashed and streaked with red and white paint, it required but little imagination to conceive them an array of petticoated skeletons, gouted with blood, dancing round the wild fires of a witches' sabbath.

Between two of the fires there had been set up a long pole, upon whose spiked summit, pitiful to see, was a human head, wonderfully preserved after the Maori fashion. It was the head of a white man, too, as was plainly shown by the fair hair and whiskers which still covered the dried, stretched skin of scalp and cheeks.

'All that is left of poor Lloyd,' whispered Terence. 'Te Karearea must have sent for it. Look, here he comes with Winata Pakaro and another. Where is the old wizard?'

With stately tread the three chiefs approached, the Maoris forming in two long lines on opposite sides of the great fires, while every eye was bent upon the dignified figure of their commander.

For some moments Te Karearea stood still, gazing up at the impaled head. Then suddenly he began to dance. Slowly he moved at first; but with each succeeding minute his steps grew quicker, his gestures more frantic, his gyrations more wild. Round and round, up and down, from side to side he sprang and whirled and bounded, until it seemed a marvel how he kept his balance. All at once, after a figure of extraordinary swiftness and duration, he stopped.

With arms outstretched and head thrown back, so that his eyes stared up at that poor head upon the pole, he stood an instant, and then from his open mouth there issued a piercing voice, which screamed and gabbled the most appalling mixture of frenzied prayer and blasphemous incantation.

And the voice which possessed Te Karearea was so unlike his own, so compact of yell and howl and bark and screech and frenzied raving, that George, shuddering where he lay, muttered to Terence: 'This man hath a devil.'

The awful voice ceased, and Te Karearea, falling headlong, writhed in a convulsion. As if at a signal, the whole crowd, men and women, broke ranks and rushed to form a circle round the niu, or sacred pole.

And then began a dance indeed. No one there but was pourewarewa—half-mad—with religious ecstasy, and wholly consumed with hatred of the detested Pakeha. So round and round they circled, hands joined, at an ever increasing speed, till the lighter of them, dragged off their feet by their stronger, swifter comrades, seemed to fly like witches and warlocks through the air.

And all the time the infernal din went on—the barking scream of Hau-hau! Hau-hau! the blasphemous invocation, the senseless jumble of word and phrase.

It was a revolting scene, but so wildly exciting, that the watchers forgot their fatigue and, more, the danger they ran from discovery.

Slowly the mad orgies came to an end, and as one by one the dancers gave way under the tremendous physical and mental strain, they fell to the ground. And where they fell they lay, to be pounded and bruised under the naked feet of those who still leapt and whirled around the pole.

'We had better make off,' whispered George,' for, if they find us here, we shall neither of us see to-morrow.'

'Right!' With the word Terence half-turned to begin the descent. But at that very moment he became aware of an ominous sound, unheard before in the hideous din—the soft pad-pad of scores of naked feet, running swiftly through the forest.

In a flash George grabbed him by the wrist. 'Lie close! We are cut off. A number of them are coming up the hill.'

Still as mice they lay, while the noise of the onrush grew louder, and at last Te Karearea, raising himself wearily, shouted hoarsely, 'Awake, fools! Awake, and stand to your arms, unless ye desire to be slain as ye lie. Ha! Awake!'

Instantly a deep voice shouted from the ravine, 'All is well, O Far-darting Hawk! We come from afar to do thy will. Forward, brothers, to salute your chief!'

A loud yell responded to this exhortation, and the men coming up the hillside charged forward at a tremendous rate, while George and Terence, feeling that now, indeed, their lives were the sport of fate, threw themselves flat upon the ground and awaited the issue.

George's belt had worked round, so that his greenstone club was in front, the hard handle pressing painfully against his breast-bone. As he had no time to adjust the belt, he cautiously raised himself on his hands and knees, drew out the weapon, and laid it among the fern in front of him. Before he could sink to earth again, the vanguard of the new company crashed up the side of the ravine and broke, a wildly-rushing wave, on all sides of him.

Not daring to move, he held perfectly still, while the reinforcements poured by, the tramp and clatter of their bare feet upon dead wood and fern sounding a jarring undernote to their yell and song. The hindmost of them passed swiftly, avoiding almost miraculously the crouching figures in the fern, and George and Terence, half-suffocated, breathed again.

'Safe!' muttered George, hallooing, like many another, before he was out of the wood; for, ere he could move, two more Maoris, the whippers-in, perhaps, came racing up. The first sprang clear over Terence, who still lay flat, but the second was neatly 'rabbited' over George's broad, arched back and sent flying upon his face a dozen feet ahead.

In an instant the Maori was up and back with a panther-like bound at the spot at which the accident had occurred. He knew that his fall had been caused by a man, and his fears, actively working, assured him that the man must be an enemy.

With a loud, snorting 'Ha!' the Maori brought down his heavy wooden club with deadly accuracy of aim, and Terence, who had scrambled up, involuntarily closed his eyes, and would fain have closed his ears, too. But instead of the dull scrunch which his quivering nerves were expecting, he heard a sharp, rattling smack, an exclamation of wild surprise, and, as he looked again, saw the wooden mere sailing through the air, to be caught, as it descended, by the outstretched hand of the active Maori.

For a moment Terence was stupefied, and then enlightenment came. The greenstone club, which George had held in his upraised hands, had once more come between him and death, intercepting the murderous blow, and disarming his assailant.

The Maori still held George at a disadvantage, but made no effort to follow up his attack. Bending down until his lips were close to the Englishman's ear, he muttered in agitated tones, 'Hortoni! Master! Forgive! I knew thee not, and have brought danger upon thee. Fly swiftly. I will hold them back.'

The case was not one for argument, and as George and Terence raced down the hill, Paeroa—for it was indeed he—sprang out of the bushes with a yell and bounded after his comrade.

The latter, of course, had heard the commotion, and was coming back to inquire into its cause; but Paeroa met him with the frightful announcement, 'It was a lizard! A taipo! I have slain him.' Then screeching 'Taipo! Taipo!' at the top of his voice, he sped towards Te Karearea, closely followed by his friend, who had no desire to investigate further. For the mere mention of a lizard is horrible to a Maori, so ingrained is the superstition that evil spirits of most malignant type invariably assume this shape.

But Paeroa had reckoned without his over-lord. Te Karearea was by no means free from superstition, but he was a man of keen intelligence, and he instantly perceived that Paeroa's story did not square with the noise of fast-retreating footsteps. So he rapidly issued orders which sent a score of the newly-arrived Maoris hastening upon the track of the fugitives, while Paeroa, who attempted to lead them with a view of helping the Pakehas, was sternly ordered to remain where he was.

The Maoris, uncertain whether they were chasing men or demons, made a lusty noise to scare the latter and keep up their own courage, and with the roar of the pursuit thundering in their ears, George and Terence dashed down the hill at what was very nearly breakneck speed. For a fall among the boulders or a headlong crash against the trunk of a tree might easily serve to smash a skull or snap a spinal column.

But, fortunately for them, the nature of the ground soon became such as no man could pass through at a run.

Had they struck the rough path which Te Karearea's axe-men had hewn while they slept, or chanced on one of the numerous tracks which pierced the forest for miles around for the convenience of hunters, all would have been well; for all these roads led to the river or to the bivouac. Once there, ahead of the Hau-haus, they might have defied detection, since no one but Paeroa could certainly have said who were the intruders upon their grim rites.

But in the first mad rush of their flight they had plunged deeply into the maze of the forest, where, dark as it was, for the half-moon was low, they were almost at the mercy of the thorns, which rent their clothes and tore their bodies, and of the thousand-armed, clinging kawakawa, the supplejack, whose tough, all-embracing tendrils held them back with the power of ropes.

'We are trapped,' panted Terence. 'Let us turn and make a fight of it.'

For behind, alongside, and even ahead of them pealed the vengeful shouts of the Hau-haus.

'Range up alongside me,' George answered over his shoulder. 'I have a better plan than that.' His temper seemed to cool and his brain to grow clearer the greater the emergency.

'All right! Wait until I catch up to you,' said Terence. 'Then I will—Ah-h-h——'

Before he could finish what he was about to say, there broke from him that strange, solitary note of alarm, sharp at first, then long drawn and dying away in a curiously muffled shriek. Then silence, save for the occasional yell of a pursuer, and a faint rustling near by, as of branches coming gradually to rest after a puff of wind. But there was no wind.

'Terence!' George called softly. 'Terence! Where are you?' But he got no answer, and, full of terror, began to grope his way to the spot whence his comrade's voice had seemed to come.

'Terence!' he called again loudly, careless of his own safety, if only he might bring help to his friend. 'Terence! Speak to me. Oh, what has happened? Where can he be? There was no sound of a blow or—Ah-h-h——'

Just as with Terence, that one sharp, quavering cry—and then George's voice, too, died away, and a terrible silence fell upon the dark bush.

CHAPTER XIII

DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN

Crash! George's heavy body broke through the tangle upon which he had stepped, and down he went through impenetrable darkness to the bottom of the hole into which he had fallen.

Breathless and bruised he picked himself up, relieved to find his bones unbroken. The mystery was dispelled now, for Terence must have preceded him; but a spasm of fear gripped his heart as his foot struck against the body of his friend.

'Is that you, George? What a good fellow you are. I thought you wouldn't be long after me,' came from the ground, and in the fullness of his relief George laughed out.

'What a joker it is!' he said. 'One would have thought that a fall like this would have taken the sprightliness out of you, Terence.'

'I fell on my head,' the Irishman answered simply, 'and that, no doubt, saved my life. Strike a match and let us see where we are.' Then, as George obeyed, 'Why, you are covered with blood. Are you hurt, dear old fellow?'

'I fell upon my nose,' replied George dryly, 'and, as it is not so hard as your head, you see the result. But, thank God, we are no worse. We seem to be in a kind of tunnel. If the Maoris know of the place——'

'We shall be in a hole, indeed,' put in the irrepressible Terence.

But it was no tunnel into which they had fallen, but a vast, underground forest—a wonder of God's own working. Here and there in New Zealand these dead worlds exist, in which, when once you have found your way thither, you must believe yourself to be within the veritable home of the gnomes and elementals. The tops of dead trees, fixed in the earth above and cemented by the decay of ages, form the roof of your new world, while their great trunks, not so much decayed as changed by mineral deposit, stand like tall sentinels guarding the long gone past, the very emblems of the grandeur of repose.

Such a space as this may extend for miles, or may show as a comparatively small chamber, owing to subsidence from above; while from some such hole as that down which the friends had fallen, or from cracks in the upper earth, 'a dim, religious light' struggles through, which faintly illumines, while it does not dispel, the weird gloom of the subterranean forest.

Of course all this did not become clear in a moment to our adventurers; but one discovery George did make as he struck his third match, and he raised something from the ground as it flickered out.

'This looks as if the place was known and used,' he said, endeavouring to ignite the thing he had picked up. It was a torch, and a bundle of them lay at his feet. For some time he was unsuccessful, but at last the end caught, and the torch burned with a feeble light.

'These were not made yesterday,' went on George, lighting another from the one he held and handing it to Terence. 'Pick up a few and let us explore a bit.'

It was soon evident that they could not get out by the way they had come in, at least, not without the aid of a rope, and from this, and the condition of the torches, they argued that the place, though known at one time, had long ago fallen into disuse. But Terence was by no means disheartened, and was eager to go forward.

'Come on!' he cried. 'Our way lies in this direction as far as we know.'

'But, if we go forward among the mazes of these dead trees, we may discover no other outlet and be unable to find our way back to this one,' argued George.

'Never mind; let us chance it,' insisted Terence. 'There must be another entrance or outlet or these torches would not be here.'

George yielded against his better judgment, and for half an hour they wandered through what they now realised to be a dead forest, but no way out did they find. Suddenly the Irishman pulled up.

'Why, in all this new excitement I had quite forgotten that marvellous occurrence upon the hill,' he said. 'Of course I jumped to the conclusion that the Maori was Paeroa, of whom you told me; but what I want to know is—How came you to drag out your own club and hold it over your head just in time to guard his stroke?'

'My belt had got screwed round and the club was hurting my chest; so I took it out and laid it on the fern in front of me when first we "grassed" ourselves. But, if you will believe me, I have not the slightest recollection of picking it up again when I rolled over on my back as Paeroa struck at me.'

'Then you expected to be struck,' said Terence.

'I can hardly say. I know that I was mightily surprised when my mere broke the shock of the wooden club, for I did not see it in my hands as I stared up at Paeroa.'

'But you must have felt it,' persisted Terence.

'I did not,' returned George with equal earnestness. 'It seems to me that I had no knowledge of it whatever until Paeroa struck his blow.'

Terence rumpled his fiery curls. 'It is all very odd and uncanny. How do you account for it?' he asked.

'I can't account for it,' George answered. 'Perhaps the mystery, if there is one, will explain itself some day. Meantime, where are we?'

'One thing is certain,' said Terence, ignoring the change of subject. 'That greenstone club always seems to be interposed, or to interpose itself, between you and danger—if not death—in the nick of time. Well, it's no use speculating. Where are we? In goblin-land, I should say. The very place for them.'

They walked on for the best part of an hour and then found themselves at the bottom of a shallow gully, in the opposite steep of which gaped a large rent, which looked as if it might be the mouth of a cave.

The impulsive Terence dashed into the black opening, followed more sedately by George, and the cave turned out to be a short tunnel with a sloping floor, which descended to the level and then quickly sloped again upwards. Small rills of water trickled from the walls or splashed musically upon the floor, where, as from the roof, stalactites and stalagmites had formed during the slow march of centuries.

'I believe we have passed under the river,' said George, 'and that tunnel was made by the hand of man—though how long ago it is impossible to guess. Ah! Here is a poser.'

'Had we not passed through that tunnel, I should think that we had been walking in a circle all this time,' remarked Terence, rather hopelessly; for the scene upon which they issued was the counterpart of that which they had left behind them on the other side of the passage.

Still they walked on, always ascending now, as it seemed to them, and at last, just as they came to the base of a slope, between which and the opposite ridge a wide, shallow gully extended, Terence halted suddenly and gripped George's wrist with a warning 'Hush!'

He pointed to the left, where a number of Maoris sat in a circle; but none of them turned round or took the least notice of the intruders.

'Let us go nearer,' whispered Terence. 'You can speak to them if they seem inclined to be nasty.'

But the Maoris who faced them continued to stare unconcernedly, while the others neither turned their heads nor made any motion of inquiry towards their fellows. They were evidently men of distinction, for their mats were of the finest workmanship, while the hair of each, carefully dressed, was adorned with the coronet of huia[1] plumes, the invariable mark of a chief.

[1] Neomorpha Gouldii—A rare bird.

The two moved quietly forward until they were within six paces of the silent chiefs, who still neither moved nor spoke.

'Salutations, O friends!' began George. 'Far be it from us rudely to disturb your meditations; but——'

He broke off abruptly. Not a movement, not a change of expression upon the grim faces. Silent, motionless, rigid, the ten chiefs sat, and, suddenly, the truth flashed upon George.

'Terence!' He caught his breath. 'They are all dead men!'

'Dead men?'

'Yes. Where are their eyes?'

'Dead men without eyes!' The emotional Irishman shuddered, and, scarcely knowing what he was about, poked his bundle of torches into the back of the figure nearest to him. Instantly the uncanny thing fell over, and at the sight revealed Terence burst into wild, hysterical laughter.

But in an instant George's arm was round his neck, and George's strong hand was pressed firmly over his mouth.

'Control yourself,' was the stern order. 'These are dead, but the living may not be far away.'

Terence nodded, gasping, and, George having released him, the two bent over the fallen figure and pulled aside its mat. George held up a warning finger, for Terence again began to giggle at the extraordinary sight.

For the thing had no body! Not one in all that silent circle possessed aught but a head, stuck upon a pointed stick, with a crosspiece for shoulders, upon which the mat was hung. In the full glare of day the illusion would have been impossible; but here, in the gloom of the underworld, with only the smoke-veiled light of a couple of torches, it looked real enough, and horrible enough, too.

'We were a pair of jackasses to be taken in,' said Terence, politely including himself. 'It did not strike us that they were sitting here in the dark, and that, but for our torches, we should not have seen them at all.'

George was gazing thoughtfully at the heads. 'You know the established custom,' he said at last. 'When a Maori is killed in battle, or dies away from home, it is the duty of a friend to cut off his head and bring it to his relations, so that the family mana, or honour, may not be sullied. Then the head is preserved, and retains, as you see, a weirdly lifelike appearance.'

'I do see,' said Terence, whose lips were twitching.

'Now observe,' went on George. 'That is the head of Te Pouri, whom Te Karearea slew, and next to it is all that is left of old Te Kaihuia. Both of these were brought along by our contingent, so that they must have been placed here within the last few hours. It is reasonable to deduce from this that there must be an outlet not far away.'

'But why have these bodiless heads been set up here, do you suppose?' inquired Terence.

'This may be the storing ground for family relics, or, perhaps, there may be something peculiarly drying in the atmosphere. I really don't know; but——'

'Hush! Some one is coming,' in a fierce whisper from Terence, who instantly extinguished his torch upon the ground, George following his example.

'We must wait, for they will hear us if we run,' thought George, and then an idea came to him. He smiled grimly in the darkness, groping here and there with his hands. 'Do as I do,' he breathed into Terence's ear, rapidly whispering directions.

'Oh, lord, no; I can't,' sighed Terence.

'You must. We may be dead men else. Quick! There is no time to lose.'

Voices sounded now, not far away, and dancing flashes of light began to illumine the near distance. It was as well that a sharp rise of the ground intervened between the fugitives and the newcomers; for, otherwise, the glare from their own torches would long ago have betrayed the presence of the former.

Presently the light broadened, and, to the surprise of the watchers, Te Karearea, following the old tohunga, Kapua Mangu, appeared upon the crest of the ridge, some twenty paces away from the grim circle of heads, now once more complete.

Te Karearea, who had apparently shaken off the physical effects of his recent exertion, pulled up short as Kapua Mangu plunged his hand into a hole in the trunk of an enormous fallen tree, which formed a long, low arch across the ridge. Then, striving to hide his terror of some supernatural manifestation under a mask of cultured indifference, the chief advanced again with the evident intention of looking over the magician's shoulder.

But the old man swung suddenly round and, crying in a loud, clear voice the single word, 'Tapu!' flung a dark object at the feet of the chief.

With a howl of terror Te Karearea reeled away from the thing upon the ground. 'Ngara! Tuatara!' he screeched, and turned to flee from the spot.

CHAPTER XIV

MAGIC, BLACK AND WHITE

The gods of the old religion were good enough for Kapua Mangu, who detested the blasphemous absurdities of Hau-hauism, and he had brought Te Karearea, the backslider, to the underground haunt—known, he believed, only to himself—partly to convince him that the arms of these same old gods were still powerful, and partly for another reason.

Actuated by the first of these motives, he had produced his very strongest card at the outset of the interview, and flung at the chief the dried body of a tuatara, a large and harmless lizard, indigenous to New Zealand.

Yet this was quite enough to overthrow the nerve of a strong, clever man, and render him weak and impotent from actual fear. For in such terror do the Maoris hold all lizards, that the mere pronunciation of the word Ngara, a generic term for the whole race, makes the bravest warrior tremble.

The deep-voiced command of Kapua Mangu arrested the flight of the chief, and, as if the sight of the demon on the ground were not sufficient, the old man, with pointing finger, asked in a terrifying screech: 'Where, O Hawk of the Mountain, where is the mere of TUMATAUENGA?'

Te Karearea started, but before he could reply, the venerable mystic flung his arms above his head and chanted in his fine, sonorous voice the race-old prophecy of the greenstone club:—

'Behold! In the days to come a strange, strong race
        Shall contend with the Maori.
Ah! Then shall the days be full of evil and danger
        For the house of Te Turi.

'And behold! In those days of unrest and contention
One of the House of Te Turi shall give to one of the strong,
                strange race
        The mere of TUMATAUENGA.
        Aue! Aue! Alas for the House of Te Turi.

        Aue! Aue! Then shall the doom and the end
        Of the House of Te Turi be nigh!

'But behold! If the stranger cleave to the race of the Maori,
If he give back of his own free will to one of the House of
                Te Turi
        The mere of TUMATAUENGA,
Then shall the House of Te Turi arise again from the dust.
        Only thus shall the doom be averted!'

'All this thou knewest, O Hawk of the Mountain! All this I spake in thine ear, O son of the dead and gone White Mist!' declaimed the old wizard. 'Guile, not force, must win the mere of TUMATAUENGA from the Pakeha to whom Te Kaihuia gave it. Yet, if he resign the weapon of his own free will, even though he lay it aside but for a moment, and thou hast the wit to seize it, then it is thine.' His voice sank suddenly to an ordinary tone. 'But doubtless, so astute a man as Te Karearea, knowing all this, has already acted upon it. Say then, O friend,' he concluded mildly, 'where is the mere of TUMATAUENGA?'

Very slowly Te Karearea drew his greenstone club from his belt and stretched his sinewy arm across the tapu line. 'It is here,' he faltered, and almost as the lie dropped from his lips, leaped backwards with a wild yell of terror.

For the lizard, suddenly and mysteriously endowed with life, sprang straight at him, its scaly body colliding with his hand.

Te Karearea's club clattered to the ground, and his limbs, stiff with horror, held him rooted to the spot after that one backward impulse; while the lizard, its strange vitality extinguished as instantly as it had been kindled, tumbled back inertly upon the ridge.

'Liar!' shrieked the old man, shaking a warning finger in the face of the trembling chief. 'Fool! who thought to deceive the watchful TUMATAUENGA. Hear now, O stupid Hawk, the word which the gods have spoken to me.'

Te Karearea was badly stricken as it was, but his eyes bulged as Kapua Mangu poured out the whole history of the greenstone club from the moment when Te Kaihuia had handed it to George. He had spoken with none but the chief since the arrival of the Hau-haus, and yet the minutest details were known to him, and he lashed Te Karearea with his tongue until, compelled by exhaustion, he stopped and staggered back against the tree.

Now was Te Karearea's opportunity to escape, and he stooped swiftly to regain his club, keeping a wary eye upon the lizard, when suddenly he discerned around the body of the tuatara a thin cord of blackened flax, indistinguishable in the gloom, unless closely looked for. Te Karearea drew his mat across his face so that he might indulge in a quiet grin.

Presently Kapua Mangu, having got his second wind, advanced to complete the humiliation of the chief; but to his amazement, he detected a decided sneer on Te Karearea's thin lips.

'Beware, O stupid Hawk!' he yelled fiercely. 'Beware, lest I deliver you into the power of the tuatara.'

For answer Te Karearea snatched up the cord, wrenched the end from the magician's hand, and slung the lizard from him with a derisive laugh. It fell just within the circle of heads.

The chief was somewhat taken aback by this, which he certainly had not intended; but he preserved a bold front, poked out his tongue until it almost reached his chest, and rolled his eyes frightfully.

But Kapua Mangu, confronted thus by such an uncivil infidel, set up a howl of horror.

'Aue! Aue!' he wailed. 'Alas for the House of Te Turi.'

Tears ran from his aged eyes, and his gaunt body shook with a terror which was quite unfeigned.

'Hi! Hi!' exclaimed Te Karearea. 'What a fuss about nothing. I saw the cord with which you made him jump. He cannot hurt.'

'Nay, nay,' protested Kapua Mangu mournfully; 'you are a fool. It was for your sake I put the cord upon him. Had I not pulled him back when he jumped, he would have devoured you before my eyes.'

This was an entirely new view of the situation, and the self-satisfied grin faded from Te Karearea's face. The old superstitions were tugging at him once more. 'I will bring him back,' he said humbly, and took a hesitating step in the direction of the heads.

Kapua Mangu was genuinely frightened, but, being by no means certain that anything would happen, he felt compelled to regain his ascendency by thoroughly frightening the chief once more. So he drew largely upon a vivid imagination in order to restrain the foolhardy infidel.

'Stay, fool!' he shrieked. 'The spirits of the dead are angry. There is Te Pouri whom you slew, and Te Kaihuia whom you sped upon the road to Reinga. They are talking to one another. They are nodding their heads and saying: "Here comes the stupid Hawk. Let us seize him and——" Ah-h-h!'

It is impossible to describe the long-drawn, quavering scream which brought the poor wizard's ravings to a sudden close. Never was venerable sorcerer so completely taken aback, so utterly horrified at the success of his own magic.

For, as it happened, his last coherent words exactly described the behaviour of two of the heads. Incredible to relate, they were nodding at one another, and gruesome enough was the sight in that gloomy underworld. It was too much for the old tohunga, and with another yell of fear and horror, he fled from the awful scene which, as he fully believed, his own magic had evoked.

More scared by the wild talk of the wizard than he would have cared to admit, Te Karearea glanced over his shoulder at that first panic-stricken yell. Then he turned his head again, and his own blood froze.

For he, too, now saw the nodding heads and—oh, fearsome sight!—their voiceless conference at an end, the pair came rushing at him with a strange, bobbing motion, enough of itself to scare any wretched mortal. But, as if that were not sufficient, the two frolicsome heads stopped suddenly in their wild career, threw themselves back, and burst into peal upon peal of harsh, demoniac laughter.

It was the last straw. One horrified look Te Karearea cast behind him in frenzied appeal to the tohunga, and thus becoming aware of that ancient fraud, who with flapping mat and twinkling, skinny legs, raced along the back-track, he turned and rushed after the discomfited magician, who just then afforded an admirable example of an 'engineer hoist with his own petard.'

No sooner did the chief take to his heels, than a still more singular phenomenon was exhibited; for the two heads developed bodies, arms, and legs, not to speak of trousers and boots, materialising, the one into George, the other into Terence. The latter caught up the torch from the ridge, the former secured the two heads with whose personality they had made so free, and together they sped after the vanishing couple, who were much too scared to think of looking behind them.

As they passed an immense jumble of logs and broken boughs, George dropped the heads into the midst of it. 'This place may be useful to us by and by,' he said, 'and if those two return and find them lying about, they will smell a rat.'

Terence burst into a sputtering laugh. 'I thought I should have died when you squatted on your hocks and went hopping down on the chief. And the face of his mightiness! Oh, oh, oh! I shall never forget it.'

'Steady, old fellow!' cautioned George, with a responsive grin. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the chief's scare has proved our salvation.'

Closely following Te Karearea's line of flight, they soon passed through a hole into the midst of some thick bushes. Then the cool night air blew in their faces, and overhead blazed the myriad stars of the southern sky. They were in the upper world once more.

But what was their surprise when the black mass of the stockade surrounding the pah loomed in front of them, some forty rods away. There was no doubt of it; for far below them, across the river, they could see the twinkling fires of the bivouac in the forest, while in the intense stillness the splash and scurry of the leaping water in the cañon came plainly to their ears.

'It is clear that we were all kept off the hill to-night in order that our ancient friend might introduce the chief unobserved into the secret haunt we have just left,' said Terence.

'And little did they dream that they would have an audience,' put in George. 'I know a good deal more about things than I did an hour ago. Let us go down and camp on the flat. There are worse beds than the heart of a flax-bush, and we shall be well concealed in case they are hunting for us. We are sure to have been missed from the bivouac.'

'Let us take the bearings of this opening before we go,' suggested Terence. 'How are we facing? Ah! there's the Southern Cross.'

'This rock is a good guide,' said George. 'The bushes hide the opening very completely, and I dare say it can be further disguised. I wonder if many people know of it.'

'I should think not, and I am sure that the hole by which we entered is not commonly known,' replied Terence. 'We must do our best to find it again.'

They found the track and descended the hill to the plain, hiding themselves as quickly as possible among the flax-bushes near the river road. Then George said:

'I will tell you to-morrow all that passed between Te Karearea and Kapua Mangu, and why I am regarded as such a valuable asset. Why, the chief's very existence appears to depend upon his success in making a Pakeha-Maori of me.'

'Tell all about it,' pleaded Terence.

'You cormorant! Haven't you had excitement enough for one night? Not a word—oh, just one. If I lay the greenstone club aside, even for a moment, and you are by, call my attention to it at once, please. Otherwise things may happen.'

'You mean creature! How do you expect me to sleep in peace?' complained Terence. 'I shall dream all night of you and your magic club.'

George curled himself up in the heart of a flax-bush. 'Don't tread upon me if your dreams make you walk in your sleep,' he laughed. 'I'm for bed.'

'Me too,' said Terence. 'I'm looking for a soft spot.'

CHAPTER XV

POKEKE, THE SULLEN ONE

It was high day when George awoke, and the sweet, confused odours that stole from the forest on the breath of the morning filled him with a pleasant sense of well-being as he stretched his great limbs and rubbed the last mists of sleep out of his eyes. A few paces away Terence still slept; but George, without awaking him, set himself to study the lie of the land.

It was an exquisite scene, full of light and colour. The sombre green of the dense bush encircling the island was flecked with the glowing scarlet of rata blossoms and the beautiful white stars of the clematis which garlanded and festooned the tall trees, while with harsh scream and cackle occasional flocks of parrakeets swept by in glancing flight, the crimson and green of their gaudy wings flashing in the sunshine like fragments of a rainbow. It was difficult to realise that, a mile or less away, five or six hundred grim-faced warriors lurked in the peaceful forest glades.

But it was in no romantic mood that George took his bearings, for his dominant wish was to discover some way out of the trap in which they were set, and which he meant to leave as soon as possible after having withdrawn his parole.

The whole of the island plain was densely covered with New Zealand flax,[1] the ground being for the most part swampy, save close to the road, from hill to river. Once among these flax-clumps, George thought, a hard-pressed fugitive would have an excellent chance of escape; for the so-called flax-bush is a collection of broad, stiff, upstanding leaves, tough enough to stop a bullet, and dense enough to conceal a man, who might dodge from bush to bush and reach the river in safety.

[1] Phormiun tenax: not the true flax.

'That is the most satisfactory bit of landscape,' murmured unpoetic George, and had just turned to greet Terence, who had hailed him, when a voice close behind him said:

'Salutations, Hortoni, and to you, Mura, salutations. I have looked for you since the dawn. Where did you sleep last night?'

'Here,' replied George, determined not to give away the least advantage by overmuch speech.

'Why did you leave the bivouac?'

'I think the bivouac left us.' George smiled pleasantly. 'We woke to find it deserted, and such a dreadful racket arose that it was impossible to sleep through the din.' He interpreted to Terence, who nodded emphatically, preferring this method on account of his admitted tendency to 'open his mouth and put his foot in it.'

'And so you removed to this side?' pursued the chief.

'We had very little inducement to remain on the other,' said George truthfully. 'What was the cause of that terrific noise?'

'Night is the council-time of the Maori,' Te Karearea replied. 'I and my people were met together. Then Paeroa returned with men of Ngatiawa and Waikato, and reported that a band of Arawa dogs had followed at his heels. Thereafter arose a cry that spies were lurking in the scrub.'

The furtive brown eyes, steady for once, stared hard at George, whose expression was one of genuine surprise.

This was news indeed, if true. Nothing would more effectually divert suspicion from them than the supposed proximity of Arawa scouts. George had much ado to conceal his satisfaction; but all he said was, after interpreting to Terence: 'Can we still get breakfast at the camp, Chief? We have slept late.'

'Kawainga weeps for your absence,' returned the Maori, with an ironical grin. 'Go and see.' He was evidently puzzled, and, as he turned to go, informed them: 'At noon I enter the pah with my warriors. Be ready, Hortoni, for I desire that you and Mura should enter it with me as honoured guests.'

George bowed low, the corners of his mouth twitching, and, with a dignified gesture of farewell, the chief drew his mat about his shoulders and stalked away up the hill.

After breakfast Terence strolled off to take a look at the reinforcements, and, while George sat quietly on a log, smoking, Kawainga appeared and began to collect the wooden plates and tin cups. Once, as she passed him, she said almost in a whisper: 'Paeroa waits on the bush track where the river forks'; and again, as she repassed with her hands full: 'Hasten, Hortoni, for when the shadows shorten the Hawk will return.'

George made no sign that he heard, but as soon as the girl had withdrawn, looked at his watch and strolled carelessly along the track towards the river. There was not too much time, for it was nearly half-past eleven; but he felt that he must learn what Paeroa wanted with him, knowing that the man would not have sent him such a message and in such a way for nothing.

By the river bridge he stopped as if undecided which way to go, then turned to the left and followed the bank towards the fork. Half-way thither he stopped again, hands in pockets, and one foot idly kicking up the soil. He was the picture of a man with nothing to do. Note that he was standing now in the clearing between the bush and the river, about midway between the two.

While he loitered there, his greenstone club slipped from his belt to the ground, and without the loss of a moment he stooped to recover it. As he did so, a bullet hummed over his bending head, and he heard the sharp smack of a gun close by.

Once again the mere had been the means of saving his life; for, had he remained erect, he must have been shot through the head.

Confusion seized George's brain as he snatched up the club and bounded into the bush in search of the assassin. As he broke through the fringing trees, he saw Terence, fists up, waiting for a burly Maori to rise from the ground. No sooner had the fellow found his feet than the Irishman hit him a terrific blow on the point of the chin, and down he went again into the fern and lay senseless.

'Oh, it was you he was after then,' cried George. 'He nearly hit me, all the same.'

'Naturally,' Terence observed drily. 'He was taking careful aim at you when I spotted him. He pulled off before I could reach him, but next minute I knocked him down. It is a good thing you saw him and ducked in time.'

'But I didn't see him,' George said rather wearily. 'The instant before that shot was fired, the greenstone club slipped through my belt to the ground, though I had secured it ten minutes earlier. As I stooped to raise it, the bullet passed over my head.'

Terence's eyes grew round. 'What are we to make of this?' he said.

'This much. The fellow—who, I see, is one of the new contingent—was watching for me. When he saw me separated from the mere, he fired, supposing me vulnerable.'

'No.' Terence shook his head. 'He rested his gun in the fork of that sapling, and took careful aim at you as you stood. He could not possibly know that you would drop the club at that particular moment. I don't suppose he even knows you have it, as you say he is one of the new men.'

'But you don't mean to argue that the mere slipped out of my belt in order to open a way of escape for me?'

'That is exactly what happened, at all events.'

'And you had nothing to do with the matter?' Terence shook his head, and George, passing his hand in a dazed way across his brow, said: 'I can't think of anything just now. Besides, I must go. I'll tell you where later on. Can you manage to take that fellow back to the camp?'

'Rather,' affirmed Terence; 'but you may as well tell him, that, if he doesn't go quietly, I will lodge one of his own bullets in him.'

George gave the required hint to the Hau-hau, who scowled. Then he dashed out of the bush, almost upsetting Te Karearea, who was standing in the open.

'Can he be at the bottom of this latest outrage?' thought George. 'Confound him, I shall not be able to meet Paeroa. Well, it can't be helped.' No; but the missing of that interview meant more to George than he dreamed of at the time.

'Whither do you run so fast, Hortoni?' demanded the chief.

'Did you hear a shot just now?' returned George, eyeing him.

'I heard it. One of my fools was firing at a parrot, or, perhaps, a pig.'

'In the eyes of your "fool" I stood for one or the other,' said George, still staring at the chief. 'That shot was aimed at me; but, as the trigger was pulled, I stooped to pick up something I had dropped.'

'No one would dare,' Te Karearea cried stormily.

'The man fired to kill,' insisted George. 'Mura saw him and knocked him down, and is even now taking him to be judged by you.'

'Ha! Then Mura saved your life?'

George met him eye to eye. 'Nay, O Hawk,' he said quietly; 'I owe my life, under God's providence, to the mere of TUMATAUENGA.'

Te Karearea started violently. 'Again!' he muttered. 'Again!' Then: 'Come with me, Hortoni, and we will deal with this breaker of laws.'

'Mura's hand has already fallen heavily upon him,' said George, as they moved away. He did not notice Paeroa, who peered from behind a tree near the fork, and immediately darted into the bush. But Te Karearea's keen eyes saw him, though he said not a word to George.

They reached the camp just as Terence emerged from the bush with his prisoner. At once there was a rush of the new arrivals towards their comrade, whose appearance was deplorable, for his nose had bled freely, and his eyes were almost closed. The Maoris hung back for a moment as Terence levelled his rifle, and Te Karearea, taking advantage of the pause, sprang to meet them, crying: 'Back, dogs, or I will loose upon you the mere of TUMATAUENGA!'

At this dread threat the Hau-haus recoiled, and Te Karearea whispered a sharp aside to George: 'Quick! Give me the club. If the fools see it in my hand, they will know that I have not told them a tale.'

He was a great actor, this Te Karearea; but George was not taken in. 'I will show it to them, Chief,' he said, stepping to the front.

'Behold the mere of TUMATAUENGA!' he began, when there arose a great commotion, and Te Karearea uttered a cry of warning. The Maori whom Terence had battered, rendered reckless by rage and pain, wrenched a rifle from the nearest of his compatriots, rushed at George, and yelling, 'Die, accursed Pakeha!' pushed the muzzle within a few inches of his chest and pulled the trigger.

With a shout of horror, Terence sprang forward; but, to the utter amazement of all, George, who still stood erect, holding up the mere, reversed the weapon and with a quiet smile brought it down sharply upon the head of his would-be murderer, who for the third time that morning measured his length on the ground.

With a feeling that the world was turning upside down, Terence stared at his friend, while deep-toned exclamations expressed the bewilderment of the Maoris. There was the burn upon the Pakeha's coat, just over the heart. 'Na! The mere of TUMATAUENGA was strong indeed when it could turn a bullet like that. Na! Best let the Pakeha alone and save themselves, lest his magic make short work of them, even as it had done of Pokeke—the Sullen One—who had fired the shot.' With one accord they bolted out of reach of this dealer in magic and spells.

With Terence gazing, wonder-struck, and Te Karearea glancing fearfully at him, George still stood with rigid muscles and set smile, though he was deadly pale. He was, indeed, as much amazed as any of them at his marvellous escape. So many queer things had happened, that it never occurred to him then, any more than to the least intelligent among the Hau-haus, that in the hurry of loading an unfamiliar weapon, the Maori who owned the gun had probably forgotten to put in the wad over the ball, which had naturally rolled out of the barrel long before the gun was fired.[2]

[2] A fact.

For all his outward coolness, he was shaken and spent, and it was only by the supremest effort that he managed to control his quivering nerves and stand there, calm and smiling, as if he had anticipated this very result.

Te Karearea was almost as frightened as were his men, and the temptation he felt to run along with them warred hard against the necessity for keeping up his dignity in their presence. But his iron will conquered, and presently he turned to George and said with a forced smile: 'Teach me your magic, Hortoni, I pray you. We Hau-haus claim to be invulnerable in battle, but——'

But George, now that the strain was lifted, felt suddenly limp and intensely desirous of being left alone. So with a protesting wave of the hand he cut into the chief's speech. 'Another time, O Hawk of the Mountain, we will talk of this wonder. Now I go to give thanks to my God, who is stronger than TUMATAUENGA, and who twice within the hour has saved me from death.'

He was about to withdraw when a thought struck him, and, pointing to the prostrate Pokeke, he said: 'I claim that man to do with as I will.'

'He is yours,' Te Karearea assented laconically, and, closely followed by Terence, George entered the bush and disappeared.

CHAPTER XVI

SPLENDIDE MENDAX

George, as has been said, had never thought of the simple explanation of the amazing incident just related; but he readily accepted it when suggested by Terence, for his healthy mind revolted from the constant association with the apparently supernatural which circumstances forced upon him. It was better and wiser, he felt, to esteem these mysterious happenings capable of eventual solution, than to drift into the habit of regarding them as inexplicable by natural means.

'If it ever comes to a fight, you will have it all your own way,' laughed Terence, 'for none of them will have the nerve to tackle you.'

'When I left home, I had no idea that I should become a person of such importance,' George said, smiling. 'Come; let us get back to the chief.'

As they appeared at the edge of the clearing, Te Karearea came up all smiles and explanations; but the Hau-haus looked askance at them, those nearest to them hastening to increase their distance.

'I have postponed the march for two hours,' the chief informed them. 'I had no wish to disturb your devotions, Hortoni, and also, I did not wish to enter the pah without you. Meantime, Kawainga makes ready your meal.'

George acknowledged the courtesy, and, inquiring what had become of Pokeke, was informed that he had been sent ahead to the pah with Paeroa for his guard.

'Has anything been heard of the Arawa spies?' asked George.

'No,' replied the chief, with twinkling eyes. 'It was Paeroa who judged them to be Arawas; but we know better.'

'We!' echoed George. 'What can I know about them?' He spoke haughtily, while Terence, to whom he rapidly interpreted, assumed what he honestly believed to be an expression of most virtuous indignation.

'You can answer that best, Hortoni,' the chief said quickly; 'but, even for one so beloved of the gods as yourself, it is unwise to run too many risks.'

'You speak in riddles,' George began still more distantly, when he was interrupted by an outrageous noise at the outskirts of the camp, where two men were cutting chips from an immense log. In the twinkling of an eye this innocent occupation changed to a furious conflict; for six strange Maoris sprang from the fern behind the giant trunk and savagely attacked the hewers, whose roars for aid set the Hau-haus rushing towards them from all sides.

Realising that they could not fight a host, the six spies—for such they were—took to their heels; but one remained behind, cloven from shoulder to midriff by a mighty stroke from a hewer's axe. The others got clear away, for Te Karearea sternly checked pursuit, and, running up to the big log, hastily scrutinised the corpse.

'Arawa!' he shouted excitedly. 'Dogs of Arawa! They it was who spied upon us last night.'

He spurned the body with his foot, and the Hau-haus instantly flung themselves upon it, and with revolting accompaniments hacked it to pieces.

'Then that story was true after all,' George said in a low voice. 'We are safe; for I am sure the chief has no suspicion of our presence in the underground world.'

'No; and in my opinion——'

What Terence's opinion was, George was not to learn, for just then a spattering volley rattled in the bush, several bullets hummed past them, and they bolted for cover. In a moment the clearing was empty, and the Hau-haus, sheltered behind the great trunks, answered the challenge with a random fire.

Te Karearea had thrown aside his mats, and now, naked like his warriors, save for his waist-cloth and huia plumes, was dodging actively from tree to tree, firing with great coolness whenever he saw a chance. But, owing to the thick bush, little harm was done on either side, and to the interested onlookers the affair seemed very like a stale mate.

But Te Karearea had always to be reckoned with. No sooner had the spies fled, than he dispatched Winata Pakaro with fifty men to make a rapid flanking march and ascertain whether they had to do with a large force or a mere screen of scouts. In either case Winata had his orders, which he carried out to the letter, and in a few moments from the firing of the first shot, the clearing was filled with a mob of yelling combatants, and a hand-to-hand fight in the good old style began. The muskets, useless now, were flung away, or swung by the barrel, while tomahawk and club clashed and jarred and rattled in the shock of their meeting.

Presently the watchers heard Te Karearea's voice raised in a shout of savage triumph. 'Mataika! Mataika!' he yelled, and, grasping a young Arawa chief by the hair with his left hand, dashed out the man's brains with a single blow of the heavy club in his right. 'Mataika!' he yelled again. 'Ki au te Mataika!' and, brandishing the blood-stained mere, dashed into the midst of the foe.

'Is that his battle-cry?' called Terence from behind his tree.

'No. The first to be killed in a fight is called the Mataika,' explained George. '"I have the Mataika" is the cry of the successful slayer, and duels often arise after a battle, owing to disputes among the claimants to the honour.'

The Arawas, taken thus in the rear, and hopelessly outnumbered, had no chance, and the end of the skirmish came when some twenty of the brave, rash fellows—all that were left of fifty—broke through the packed masses of their enemies and fled, unpursued, through the bush.

'The Hawk has all the luck,' grumbled George. 'What a piece of folly for so small a force to attack five hundred!'

'Never mind,' Terence said cheerfully. 'It shows, at all events, that some one is on our trail, and that our sweet chief is not to be allowed to have everything his own way. Here he comes. Lo, what a swelling port!'

Te Karearea stalked up to them, his chest heaving, his eyes still aflame with the fierce light of battle. His scarred visage looked grimmer than ever as he grinned balefully at his 'guests.'

'Ha! Even without the mere of TUMATAUENGA, it seems that we can still win a fight,' he said truculently.

'You outnumbered the Arawas by ten to one,' began George, but added hastily, as the chief's brows knit in a frown: 'That flanking movement to take a probable foe in the rear was fine generalship.'

Te Karearea was never above nicely judged flattery. 'Praise from a soldier's son! That is good,' he said, nodding his plumed head. 'Had you been fighting by my side, Hortoni, not one of the dogs had escaped. Why not become my Pakeha?'

'One might really do worse,' returned George lightly. 'You have all the luck.' Whereat the chief looked mightily pleased.

'We will talk of this again, Hortoni,' he said. 'I remember that your parole expires to-night. Will you renew your promise?'

'Yes,' George answered at once.

A gleam of suspicion came into the chief's eyes at this ready concession. 'For how long, Hortoni? A week? A moon? What?'

'I promise; that is enough,' returned George carelessly. 'When I am tired of liberty I will tell you.'

Te Karearea's eyes burned into his own, but he met their stare unflinchingly, and presently the chief said: 'And you, O Mura—whom I had not forgotten—do you also give your word?'

'Oh yes,' replied Terence, when George had interpreted.

Once again Te Karearea stared at them as if he would read their inmost thoughts. Then with a curt 'It is good!' he stalked away, and they heard his voice ringing out as he issued orders with regard to the twice-interrupted march.

They stood on one side, watching the eager Maoris, fine men for the most part, and handsome too, despite the intricate patterns which scored their faces—records, each of them, of some deed of derring-do. For the Maori, not content with simple tattooing, cut and carved his history upon brow and breast and cheek and chin, the absence of such scars indicating either extreme youth, or a lack of courage very rare among the men of their race.

'He is beckoning to us. Come along,' said Terence. 'You first, please, by reason of your exalted position.'

Te Karearea, who had resumed his mat and kilt, cordially greeted them as they fell in on either side of him, and amid inexpressible uproar the march to the pah began.

But presently the men settled down, and, as they took the road across the island to the hill, broke into a roaring chorus of the days when all the land was their birthright, and again, of the time to come when the Pakeha should be swept into the sea, and Ao-Tea-Roa,[1] the Land of the Long-lingering Day, return to the Children of Maui once more.

[1] New Zealand was thus poetically named by the early Maori settlers there because of the twilight, to which they had been unaccustomed in 'Hawaiki.'

George, toiling up the steep and difficult ascent, and wondering how, when their parole was withdrawn, they should ever escape from such a stronghold as that upon the hill-top, was startled out of his reverie by the sound of a harsh, dry sob. He glanced round, to find Te Karearea, with bowed head and anguished face, stumbling almost blindly along the rough track.

'Aue! Aue!' wailed the chief, his low, tense tones scarcely reaching beyond the ear of him for whom they were intended. 'Aue! Oh, that the mere of TUMATAUENGA might be mine but for one short hour, that the god might see it in the hand of the last of the House of Te Turi! Oh, that I might bear it into the pah, and hold it while I pray to the gods and to my ancestors. Only for one little hour. Aue! Aue!'

He made no direct appeal, but his restless brown eyes dwelt wistfully on George, who felt distinctly uncomfortable.

They had reached a point some three hundred feet below the outer palisades of the pah, and now George saw for the first time, what had been invisible from the plain, that some convulsion of Nature had cloven the hill into two unequal parts. The gash ran clear across the face of the hill, forming a deep gulch with precipitous sides of jagged rock. The chasm, like the river, was bridged, but more securely, and provided with hand-rails of twisted flax which also served as draw-ropes.

Believing, as he did most firmly, that his own fate and the fate of his House depended upon his possession of the greenstone club, Te Karearea's emotion was not altogether feigned, and George, despite the knowledge that his own life would not be worth a day's purchase if he surrendered the mere, felt again that throb of sympathy for this man who pleaded for what meant to him his very existence.

Nevertheless, and though he grew more uncomfortable than ever, his resolution hardened not to yield the club while he had strength to retain it; so, to avoid the sight of Te Karearea's woebegone face, he moved a pace or two ahead of the chief.

They had come almost to the centre of the great tree which spanned the chasm, and the main body had halted at the bridge-head in order not to incommode the chief and his 'guests' during the crossing, which, if not actually dangerous, was a matter requiring caution. For, though wide enough to allow the three to walk abreast, the bridge was yet so narrow, that the right arm of George and the left arm of Terence brushed the ropes.

But Te Karearea was desperate. Ignoring the warning that guile, not force, must be employed to recover the mere, or that only by voluntary surrender or carelessness on the part of Hortoni could it become his own, he made a sudden snatch at the club, which hung rather in front of George's right hip. The natural consequence followed. George moved on with long, swinging stride just as Te Karearea stooped with eagerly extended hand, the chief missed the club, lost his balance, and, in full view of the horrified spectators, rolled over the bridge.

A howl of dismay went up from the Maoris, and George, turning sharply, saw with amazed eyes the unfortunate chief sliding head-downwards into the profound abyss.

Without a thought of his own danger, George flung himself down upon his face with hands outstretched, and succeeded, only just in time, in seizing the chief's left ankle, to which he clung with the tenacity of desperation.

For the position was now awful in the extreme. Head downwards over that frightful abyss the chief hung, held back from instant and dreadful death only by the strong clutch of his intrepid captive, who, with his own arms and face over the edge of the trunk, looked down into the horrid rift into which he was slowly being dragged.

But Terence was to the fore as well, and down he went on his knees and hung on to his friend's legs with all the strength of his mighty muscles. Then he shouted to Winata Pakaro, who ran lightly across the bridge, stooped over the edge, and caught Te Karearea's right ankle, thus allowing George to take a fresh grip of the left.

And so, in a somewhat undignified manner, the great chief was hauled slowly back from what a moment earlier had seemed, and a moment later would have been, certain death.

No loud expressions of delight greeted Te Karearea as he resumed the perpendicular; for every Maori there had seen his attempt to possess himself of the greenstone club, and noted, too, the swift and terrible retribution which, by the magic of the Pakeha, had overtaken him. Truly, the magician had chosen to arrest the fall of the victim, but not until he had given striking evidence of his power.

While the Maoris murmured together, Te Karearea addressed George in a voice a little less firm than usual: 'I thank you, Hortoni. There is a bond between us; for I owe you my life.'

'Not so, O Chief,' answered George coldly. 'You saved my life aboard the brig; so now we are quits.'

Te Karearea merely nodded his head and echoed George's remark: 'Very well, Hortoni; we are quits.'

'I wish you had let the rascal slip through your hands,' remarked Terence, as they ascended the slope. 'It would have been a good riddance of a particularly bad form of rubbish. No, no,' he went on, reddening as George looked at him; 'I don't mean that. You couldn't have done it. Original instincts too strong and all that. I—oh, you know.'

'You need not apologise.' George smiled. 'The thought actually crossed my mind as I held him up.'

'He is brave, George. He bore that ordeal as few could or would have done. Perhaps it is a pity that he is not on our side.'

'No, no,' said George, with a passionate gesture. 'If there be any excuse for his slyness, his lies, his murders, it is in the fact that he acts as he does in the sacred name of patriotism. Were he in arms against his own race, and still displayed his present characteristics, he would be intolerable.'

'Here he comes back,' exclaimed Terence; 'and beaming, by Jove! What a man!'

The wily Te Karearea had been quick to perceive the effect of his accident upon the emotional minds of his countrymen, and with characteristic effrontery set himself to efface the unfavourable impression. Standing between the friends, he began a stirring address to the warriors, who had now crossed the bridge and were waiting to enter the pah, by the outer gate of which were grouped the tohunga and his small garrison, ready to welcome the conquering chief.

With every trick of gesture and impassioned tone of the born orator, he spoke to them until their fierce eyes were fastened upon his own, and the sullen apathy dropped from their stern faces. Then, pausing, he stepped back a pace, and, pointing to George and Terence, cried: 'But here, my friends, are two Pakehas whose hearts are even as those of the Maori. You have seen for yourselves. For if Hortoni and Mura had not been my friends, they would have left me to perish. Here they stand, and'—his voice swelled to a triumphant shout—'friends, they are ours!'

George had listened with growing impatience to this splendid liar's talk, and at the final cunning assertion he took an angry step forward. But Te Karearea had anticipated this, and ere he could protest, turned about with a magnificent sweep of his arm and pointed to the open gate of the pah.

Not another word was needed. He had won. Six buglers blew prolonged, discordant blasts upon as many great teteres,[2] the garrison yelled shrilly, and with a thunderous roar of triumph the impatient Maoris surged forward, breasting the slope, and charged furiously into the courtyard of the pah.

[2] A huge wooden trumpet, about six feet long.

CHAPTER XVII

SAFE BIND, SAFE FIND

When George Haughton managed to corner the busy chief and wrathfully demand of him how he had dared to claim him as a Pakeha-Maori, Te Karearea met his remonstrances quietly, professing himself astonished at the other's indignation.

'You said you might do worse,' he protested. 'I took that for consent. Besides, Hortoni, if you had not been my friend, you would not have stood between me and death. It is absurd to argue about so simple a matter.' And he stalked off, leaving George raging at his own incautiousness in having ventured to bandy ironical chaff with such a master of tricks.

Terence laughed when George reported the conversation.

'We must remember,' said he, 'that, thanks to Te Karearea, the Hau-haus are inclined to be friendly; but if we contradict his highness too energetically, we shall find ourselves surrounded by malignant enemies, and probably be separated. I am for making the best of it.' And in this view George at length concurred.

Events proved Terence right; for as time went on they did what they liked, and no one attempted to interfere with them. Nevertheless, an uneasy feeling that they were closely shadowed withheld them from any exploration of the surrounding country, and they wandered about, watching the girls at work on the kumara[1] fields across the river, inspecting the bags of the hunters, and keenly interesting themselves in the active preparations for war.

[1] Potato.

'There is something in the wind,' George said one day a fortnight after their arrival. 'I am told that the war-dance was performed last night. Now, a big war-dance is a thing unknown except on the outbreak of war, or just before a battle; so perhaps word has come of the approach of our troops, or there may be friendlies in the neighbourhood.'

'I noticed no particular excitement to-day,' observed Terence.

'Perhaps not; but all the same some big military movement is imminent. If you could understand their talk, you would have heard them boasting that none of the dancers fainted or fell, which is always considered a good omen.'

On the following afternoon, attracted by bursts of laughter, the comrades turned into one of the long lanes between the whares, and came upon a dozen lads amusing themselves by casting clubs at a sort of Maori equivalent to the 'Aunt Sally' of English fairs. The 'uncle,' as it was here, was grim enough, being the dried head of one of the Arawas slain in the recent fight. On the crown of this dismal object was set an empty beer-bottle, and to bring this down without touching the head was the object of the throwers.

But the more they threw, the more they missed, which struck Terence as odd, and, at last, Te Karearea, who was leaning nonchalantly against a door-post, looking on, drew out his mere and stepped forward.

'Let us show these children what men can do,' he said, and shivered the bottle at the first throw. 'Can you better that, Hortoni?'

'Perhaps I can equal it,' returned George, taking his stand. Te Karearea's eyes gleamed and flashed a glance of intelligence at a lank youth who was lounging near the mark, apparently uninterested.

Back swung George's arm; but as his right foot was raised preparatory to the cast, his greenstone club was plucked from his fingers, and he turned sharply to find Terence smiling at him and holding the precious weapon.

Without a word or a look at Te Karearea, George thrust the club back into his belt and strode away. Terence, however, lingered an instant to grin triumphantly at the chief, in exchange for which attention he received a scowl so hateful and malignant that he thought it wise to follow his friend without delay.

The captives were greatly troubled by their inability to discover the whereabouts of Paeroa, Kawainga his betrothed, and Pokeke the Hau-hau, not one of whom had been seen since the day of their entrance into the pah. George was convinced that all three had been hidden away, if not killed out of hand, in order to prevent them from coming further under his influence; and concerning Paeroa and his sweetheart he was sincerely distressed.

'It is intolerable to think that our pretty Morning Star should be at the mercy of such an unscrupulous brute as the chief,' Terence exclaimed angrily, as they were discussing this question in their quarters one stormy night. 'We must search for her and Paeroa. We have been here nearly three weeks, and I think we might venture to begin.'

'Let us chance it,' agreed George. 'We will try the under——'

'Salutations, friends!' said Te Karearea, appearing in the doorway. 'I come to ask if you will renew your parole.'

'We cannot renew what we have not withdrawn,' George answered irritably. He was wondering how much the chief had heard. 'When we are tired of liberty we will tell you. There will be no need for you to come and ask us.'

'The Pakehas are abominably deceitful,' Te Karearea remarked absently. 'It is very difficult to know when they are telling the truth.'

'How dare you say such a thing to us?' George cried hotly; while Terence, when he understood, flushed and glared at the chief.

'There is a bad spirit in you to-night, Hortoni,' the Maori said smoothly. 'When you stopped me with angry words, I was about to say that neither you nor Mura would break your promises.'

'Oh, were you?' returned George, by no means appeased. 'Hear now my word, O Hawk of the Mountain, for it shall be the last. Until we tell you that we intend to take back our parole, we shall respect it.'

'Until you tell me—not Winata Pakaro or another?' queried the chief, darting glances at them.

'It is you to whom we are responsible,' answered George curtly.

'Then, until I hear with my own ears from your own mouths the words "We take back our parole," I may rest assured that you will make no attempt to escape?' went on Te Karearea, with curious persistence and a sharp anxiety of voice and manner which George noticed but did not understand.

'You may,' he replied loftily. 'And for the future do not come here with insults in your mouth.'

'It is well,' Te Karearea said suavely. 'Sleep soundly, my friends, and dream of peace.' After a grave inclination, he drew his mat around his shoulders and stalked out.

'What is at the back of all that, I wonder,' said Terence.

'It was like his impudence to talk as he did,' fumed George; 'but he does nothing without a reason. But I am too tired to solve conundrums. Let us go to bed.'

Once or twice during the night Terence awoke and sat up, listening to the extraordinary clamour of wind and rain, in which, it seemed to him, a multitude of tongues spoke softly, and the faint pad-pad of naked feet made itself manifest. But the noise of the elements confused him, and it was not until breakfast-time next morning that he mentioned his fancies to George, who looked uncommonly grave as he listened.

'Let us go and find out if anything did happen,' he suggested as they rose from their meal; for he was oppressed by an uncomfortable feeling that trouble was in store for them. His presentiment presently grew stronger, for, as they walked towards the marae, or open courtyard of the pah, the unusual quiet of the long lanes surprised them, for the inhabitants were early astir as a rule.

The court itself was deserted, save for two old men, who sat upon a seat opposite to the open gates. George looked down upon the plain, where a company of women and children could be seen returning from the bush across the river. In anxious haste he turned to one of the old men.

'Where is everybody, O my father?' he inquired. 'Where is Te Karearea?'

The old Maori shook his head and showed his toothless gums. 'Nay; he is not here, Hortoni. He is gone to fight the Pakeha.'

'Gone to fight the Pakeha!' echoed George. He looked down again. A band of armed Maoris had issued from the bush and were crossing the river bridge. 'Is that the Hawk returning?' he asked. 'Wake up, old man!' He gently shook the ancient. 'Is it the Hawk who flies hither?'

The old fellow blinked drowsily in the warm sun. 'Nay; Te Karearea is gone to drive the Pakeha into Moana. Who knows when he will return? Let me slumber, Hortoni.'

George wheeled round upon Terence. 'The crafty rascal!' he cried wrathfully. 'I see it all now. It was the noise of his departure that you heard in the night, Terence. Well might he scheme that we should bind ourselves fast with our own words. Oh, if you had but woke me! But now we have promised, and——' He shook his fist in the direction of the bush. 'Terence, we have been properly fooled. We are caught in a trap of our own making.'

'A parole extorted by such a piece of treachery can hardly be considered binding,' objected Terence.

'Oh, we will keep our word, if only to shame him, if that were possible. But let the subtle Hawk look out for himself when we do take back our parole.'

'And may I be there to see,' finished Terence, taking his friend's arm. 'Let us go to meet those people and learn the news.'

CHAPTER XVIII

PAEROA AT LAST

As the comrades encountered the returning warriors, who had been left as a garrison, their leader, a young chief named Rolling Thunder, called out: 'Salutations, Hortoni! The Pakeha Eagle takes an early flight; but he is too late to catch the Hawk, who has gone to flesh his beak and talons.'

'He will meet with a few more eagles who will make small account of his beak and talons,' answered George grimly. 'When does he wing his way back to his eyrie? I mean, if he ever gets the chance.'

'Not until he has scattered the fragments of the last Pakeha to the four winds,' replied Rolling Thunder proudly, and marched off in high dudgeon at their shouts of derisive laughter.

Just then Terence caught sight of a solitary figure disappearing into the bush. He recognised the man as a tutua, or common fellow, named Sounding Sea, one of the meanest and least considered Maoris in the pah, whose sly face, destitute of scars, showed him either a coward, or singularly to have lacked opportunity to gain the right to heraldic distinctions. Just then, however, there was nothing out of the way in the fellow's behaviour, so Terence thought no more about him.

'It is still very early, and I vote for exploration,' he said to George. Then he drummed idly on the rail of the bridge, gazed down into the rushing stream and sighed. Presently he looked up at his friend and smiled rather wistfully. 'I was thinking. Bad habit; isn't it, old fellow? Come; make up your mind what to do.'

'Exploration be it,' agreed George. 'Let us look for the hole into which you so gallantly dived. Like Quintus Curtius, it may yet prove that you took that plunge for the good of your country.'

He spoke lightly, knowing well what was passing in Terence's mind. By tacit consent they seldom referred to home or friends, finding the subject too painful. Terence had no near relations except his mother's sister, to whom he was devoted; but his affection for the Haughton circle was almost as deep as that of George, and the peppery colonel and his fine little brother-in-law held a very warm place in his heart. Many a silent prayer went up for their own preservation and for those they loved; for these two were brave and loyal lads, who had not learned to forget God, and were not ashamed to show that they maintained their trust in Him.

They easily found the hill upon which the Hau-hau rites had been celebrated, but though they over and over again made it their base of operations, failure met them at each attempt to discover the entrance to the underground world.

'We shall never find it,' said George; 'for even in this short time the undergrowth has covered the mouth of the hole. We must try from the other end; but if we lose ourselves——'

'We can't—with this,' interposed Terence, holding up a small, but perfect compass, made by one of England's foremost opticians. 'I stole this from the stealers, who were examining the contents of a looted saddle-bag. The compass had fallen to the ground unnoticed, and, as my feet are adapted to cover much bigger things, I calmly stood over it until I got a chance to annex it.'

'Your petty larceny is condoned by the court,' laughed George. 'I wish you could put your foot upon a couple of good revolvers.'

'Don't move,' Terence said quickly. 'Look to your right—three or four hundred yards away—without appearing to do so. There is a Maori watching us.'

George looked and laughed again. Apparently there were half a dozen Maoris, squatting upon the ground at irregular intervals, their long spears held erect, their mats hanging down so as to conceal their bodies.

'You are looking at a row of grass-trees,' George explained. 'You are not the first to mistake a grass-tree at a distance for a squatting native.'

'I did not say they were Maoris,' Terence replied coolly. 'There were six grass-trees when I first noticed them, and now there appear to be seven. Aha! Look, George. Number seven is crawling off. It is our friend Sounding Sea, who has been spying on us. I saw him dodging into the bush this morning, and now that I am sure of his game, I may tell you that I have suspected him for a week past.'

'What keen eyes you have to pick the fellow out,' said George admiringly. 'In certain lights, and at a distance, the illusion of the grass-tree is perfect. It is as well, perhaps, that we failed to find the hole, since that rascal is on our track.'

'Well, we know where we stand now,' observed Terence, 'and the gay Sounding Sea will find that two can play the game of spying. We will look for Paeroa to-morrow in spite of him.'

Late next night the friends crept out of their whare, which stood near the back of the stockade, and searched for four hours in the underground world; but they found no trace of the missing trio.

'We must get back before dawn,' said George; 'for Sounding Sea may take it into his head to pay us an earlier visit than usual. I don't think that Paeroa is hidden down here. The existence of the place is known only to the privileged few, so there would be no occasion to confine him far from the entrance.'

'Besides, I fancy that both the chief and the wizard would fight shy of the spot after their uncanny experience.' Terence chuckled at the recollection. 'Yes; come on. We can't afford to take risks.'

Thrice they unsuccessfully explored the underground reaches during the next fortnight; twice they tried, and failed, to find the forest opening; and then, suddenly, the face of the situation began to alter.

It was now three weeks since Te Karearea had set out for the front, and sick or wounded Maoris were constantly filtering into the pah, one and all with the same story to tell—the continued success of the chief, and the impending annihilation of the detested Pakeha. The worst news they brought was that of the death of old Kapua Mangu, who had been shot while weaving a spell for the destruction of the Arawas. His head had been brought back to the pah, and was now in the hands of the gentleman whose business it was to preserve the grisly relic.

One night George entered their hut in a state of great agitation. His face was pale and his eyes glittered; but for some time he sat silent, while Terence watched him anxiously.

'Anything wrong, old fellow?' he inquired at last.

'Wrong! wrong! Ay; it is all wrong together,' burst out George. 'A devil is loose upon the earth, and his name is Te Karearea. He—he——' His voice faltered, and he stopped for a moment. Then, ominously calm all at once, he resumed: 'News has come that Te Karearea and a company of his Hau-haus stole upon the settlement at Poverty Bay at night and massacred—there's no other word for it, for the poor people were quite unprepared—thirty-three people. And, Terence'—he covered his eyes with his hand—'there were women and little children among them. Your friend Major Biggs was killed, and——' He could say no more.

For a time the two sat without further speech. They felt sick with horror; for the picture of those helpless, anguished mothers and their babes would obtrude itself. But at last George sprang up and shook his great shoulders, as if throwing off some fearful oppression.

'Terence,' he said quietly, 'till now, in spite of what I knew him to be capable of, I have had a sneaking sympathy with this ruffian, with his misfortunes, with his aspirations. I knew that his point of view must be different from ours. I was inclined to make allowances. But now—now——'

'I know,' Terence said in a low voice. 'It is—it is those babies.'

George's strong teeth seemed to snap together. 'Yes; and he shall answer for them to me.' Then he went out into the night.

Next day, as they were sitting in the marae, a wounded Maori came up and said, grinning: 'Pokeke fights at the side of Te Karearea, and he constantly mutters "The great axe of Heora." He bade me tell you this, Hortoni.'

George laughed contemptuously. 'This Heora is, I believe, one of their mythical heroes,' he explained to Terence. 'When a Maori frequently repeats the words "The great axe of Heora," he means that he is keeping his mind fast set upon revenge. Well, this settles the locality of one of our trio.'

'Yes; and it shows the value of any statement made by Te Karearea,' put in Terence. 'Now I have a piece of news,' he went on. 'I have discovered something very queer about Sounding Sea.'

'What is it?' George asked, interested at once.

'About the same time every night he sneaks past our hut—his own is almost opposite—towards the back of the pah. I followed him last night, and he climbed the fence and dropped down on the narrow ledge between the palisades and the edge of the precipice.'

'Go on,' urged George.

'I was close behind him; yet, when I looked over, he had disappeared. The ledge runs about fifteen feet on each side of the point where he scaled the fence, which touches the edge of the cliff at the angles. So, as he could not have gone round, he must have gone over.'

'And what are you going to do?'

'We will both follow him to-night after his visit.'

Under pretence that he had been detailed by Te Karearea to see to their comfort, Sounding Sea came to their hut at bed-time every night. This night was no exception, for his sly face peered round the door, and he inquired, humbly enough, if the Pakeha lords desired his services.

To throw him off his guard, George ordered him to bring a basket of food, as they proposed to go for an early ramble in the bush on the morrow. When the Maori returned with this, the friends were snoring on their mats; so he placed it in a corner and withdrew, satisfied.

Five minutes later Terence stole across to Sounding Sea's whare, and returned almost immediately. 'There,' he said, with a gleeful chuckle, and thrust a revolver and a handful of cartridges upon his astonished friend.

'Kapua Mangu's mantle must have fallen on you, you magician,' cried George, overjoyed. 'Where—how——?'

'It occurred to me that Sounding Sea, not being very courageous, would have made provision for defending himself in case of a row with us,' explained Terence; 'so I went to see. The fellow has a regular arsenal there. I have brought away three revolvers and any number of cartridges.' He hid one of them under his mat, along with a reserve of ammunition. Then, having loaded their weapons, the friends stole out on the track of the spy.

In a few minutes they stood upon the three-foot ledge outside the pah, where a pale, watery moon gave them light enough to see what they were about. And this was as well; for movement, at the best, was dangerous, and a slip might have been fatal.

'I thought as much,' exclaimed Terence, after poking about in the grass. 'This explains our gentleman's nocturnal trips, and I shouldn't wonder if we were on the track of Paeroa.'

Lying on their faces, peering into the awful depths of the cañon, they could see a strong flax ladder, securely fastened to a couple of stout pegs, driven into the ground between them. By means of a gentle tug they ascertained that the lower end of the ladder was free, and, before George could anticipate him, Terence swung himself over.

'I'll jerk three times when I reach the bottom,' he said. 'Steady the thing for me.'

Presently the signal came, and George joined his friend, who was standing upon a narrow ledge about fifty feet below. 'Here we are,' said Terence in greeting. 'This ledge runs in both directions. Ah, this is the way. Look.'

A tangle of creepers, recently disturbed, guided them, and they moved cautiously along the ledge, which sloped very gradually downwards, until they stood some twenty feet above the river, in full view of a fine waterfall. Thereafter was nothing but sheer cliff to the broken water below. Then while they looked about, puzzled, Terence suddenly dragged George down behind a shrub, and they saw a wondrous sight.

From out of the waterfall itself, right through the veil of falling water, came Sounding Sea, shaking himself like a dog after a plunge. He climbed upon the ledge, took a step or two upon the back track, and then, with a gesture of annoyance, turned again and walked out of sight through, or under, the fall.

'He has forgotten something,' said Terence. 'After him!'

Careless of risk, they passed the falling curtain and hurried on the track of Sounding Sea, who was moving slowly through a natural tunnel, the mouth of which gaped blackly at his pursuers. Had the Maori not lit a torch the comrades could have done nothing but await his return.

Suddenly Terence swung back an arm and barred George's advance, for the tunnel took a turn, widening into a cave. Peering round the angle, they saw Sounding Sea, his torch set down, searching for something he appeared to have dropped.

The tunnel took a turn, widening into a cave (page 194).
The tunnel took a turn, widening into a cave (page 194).

But there was something else. Something which brought George's teeth together with a click, and caused Terence to clench his fists.

Stretched upon a mat, his wrists and ankles bound, and further secured by a rope round his middle, which was attached to an iron bar let into the floor of the cave, lay Paeroa, while a few feet from him was Kawainga, much in the same case, save that her feet were free.

Even in that light it could be seen that the unhappy pair looked miserably weak and ill, though scraps of food and a bowl of water showed that starvation had not been added to their other tortures.

Terence felt the arm he held quivering in his grip. Indeed, George restrained himself with difficulty; for the sight of the poor sufferers set his blood aflame, and another black mark was added to the long tally against Te Karearea.

Just then Sounding Sea spoke. 'Where is my mere, O Paeroa? It was in my belt when I fed you.' He made a dive and drew a wooden mere from the folds of the scanty mat upon which Paeroa lay. 'Pig!' he vociferated. 'Would you steal my club? Were it not that Te Karearea ordered me to keep you alive, I would dash out your traitor's brains. As it is—take this!'

He raised his heavy, sharp-angled club, dwelling upon his aim for the downstroke, which would have smashed the shoulder-girdle and left the arm useless for all time, when with a low growl of rage George leaped across the intervening space and flung himself upon the cowardly ruffian.

CHAPTER XIX

PAEROA'S VENGEANCE

So utterly unexpected was the attack, that Sounding Sea went down with a yell of terror; but, quickly recognising his adversary, he began to wriggle and twist, clawing and spitting like an angry cat. But he could do nothing against such a stalwart as George, and Terence, confident of this, busied himself in cutting the bonds of the captives and gently chafing their swollen joints, while he smiled into their wan faces, and spoke hopefully in a language they did not understand of the good time coming for them.

But hope is translatable into any tongue, and, as Terence chatted on, the dull eyes brightened and a responsive grin overspread Paeroa's drawn face, while Kawainga's lips quivered, and she burst into happy, soothing tears.

This was too much for Terence. His alluring smile vanished, and he rose and solemnly punched the head of Sounding Sea. 'I don't often hit a man when he is down,' he remarked, returning to his patients; 'but you deserve a taste of your own sauce.'

'Quite right,' agreed George. 'Wait here, Terence, while I get my flask. When I return, we can settle what to do.'

He was back in a very short time, and the flask, which he had not opened since he left Sydney, came in usefully now; for the strong spirit, dashed with water, soon restored Paeroa and Kawainga, who sat up and began to talk.

'I did what I could, Hortoni,' Paeroa said sadly. 'Had you met me by the fork that day all would have been well. As it is, I have still one word of the white-haired chief to you. Te Karearea took the other. Here it is.'

Like all the Hau-haus, he wore his hair long, and now he pulled from the tangled locks a soiled piece of paper, which he held out to George, who took it and read aloud:

'We ar~ on your t~ack. Try ~~~~~~scape ~nd meet us. Y~~rs—M. Cra~sto~n.'

Here and there the pencilled letters were obliterated; but the meaning was clear enough. The question was—had Te Karearea driven back, or annihilated the relief force? And this, of course, Paeroa could not tell.

'I wonder what was in the note which Te Karearea took,' said George.

'Paeroa has made a mistake,' commented Terence. 'Colonel Cranstoun is not white-haired, unless he has changed since I saw him.'

'Well, there is no use worrying over a mistake,' said George.

'Oh, of course not,' agreed Terence, looking curiously at his friend. He had his own idea as to the identity of the writer of the missing note, and thought that George's ignorance was bliss, in so far as it saved him from much anxiety.

Briefly, Paeroa's story was that, on the march to rejoin the main body, he had stolen away at the risk of his life, worked round to the rear of the Arawa contingent, and presented himself at the British camp, where he found Colonel Cranstoun and others, to whom he told the story of George's adventures as far as he knew them. He was ignorant of the capture of Terence, so he could not remove the impression which existed that the Irishman had been killed while endeavouring to deliver Captain Westrupp's note. Promising to do all he could for George, Paeroa departed with two short letters in his care. He failed, as we know, to communicate with George on the day of the fight with the Arawas; but, just before the skirmish, while plotting with Kawainga to deliver the letters unobserved, the two were suddenly overpowered by a strong guard of Hau-haus, and conveyed to the pah. There they were kept in close confinement, and eventually transferred to the cave under the waterfall, Sounding Sea being appointed their gaoler. The mean and vicious Hau-hau had amplified the chief's instructions, and gratified his own malevolent nature by inflicting upon the prisoners as many hardships as he dared, short of actually murdering them, so that their existence since the departure of Te Karearea had been wretched indeed.

'What is to be done now?' queried George, when Paeroa's story had come to an end.

Terence drew his revolver and turned to face Sounding Sea. 'Let him know, George,' he said grimly, 'that, unless he tells the whole truth, there will be a new arrival in Reinga within a minute.'

'Stop!' shrieked Sounding Sea in English. 'I will tell all. I was to keep these two here until Te Karearea's return. I have cared for them and fed them. Mercy, great lords!'

'We shall soon find out whether he has told the truth,' said George gravely. 'We must leave him here, of course—and you two must also be content to wait here a little longer.'

Paeroa stood up shakily, endeavouring to throw out his chest. 'Hope is a good medicine,' he said bravely. 'By the time Hortoni needs my arm it will be strong enough to strike a blow for him.'

As he spoke, Kawainga uttered a weak, wailing cry. George and Terence wheeled, but Paeroa, his hollow eyes gleaming, staggered past them, and hurled his wasted body full atop of Sounding Sea.

Unperceived by the men, the villain had wormed his way close to Kawainga, intending to finish her with one stroke of his club; but the girl's scream spoiled the murderous ruffian's scheme.

Sounding Sea, never a strong man, had grown weak and flabby in consequence of his idle, dissolute life; but, nevertheless, Paeroa had his work cut out for him, and the Englishmen, though anxious to let him have the credit of saving his sweetheart's life, were prepared to interfere should the contest go against him. They thought, of course, that Paeroa meant simply to secure the fellow, and hold him while they adjusted the slipped ropes.

But Paeroa had no such intention. Wrought up to a pitch of fury at the recollection of his wrongs at this coward's hands, and mad with rage at the attempt upon the life of his betrothed, his strength was unnatural. For one instant he came uppermost in the struggle; but it was enough. Glaring wildly about him, he saw and scooped the wooden club from the ground, and, without waiting to fasten his grip upon the handle, brought the triangular edge smashing down upon the upturned face of Sounding Sea. The force of the blow spent itself upon the temple, and with a deep groan the Hau-hau fell back, killed outright by that terrible stroke.

'Ha!' Paeroa gasped, floundering to his feet and shaking the bloodstained club. 'Ha! I have slain a taipo. The strength of ATUA was in me.' Then he lurched forward like a drunken man, and crashed down at Kawainga's feet.

Horrified, George and Terence gazed at the swift, awful scene. It is no light matter to see a man slain before your eyes. Moved by a common impulse, they reverently lifted the dead man and carried him to one side, while Kawainga fussed and crooned over Paeroa.

'If any one is aware of his visits here, and knows that he was employed to watch us——' began George; but Terence struck in:

'We are armed now, and with revolvers, not to speak of your greenstone club. By the way, why didn't you bring it with you?'

'I did,' answered George, clapping his hand to his side. But the loop in his belt was empty. The mere was gone.

Startled, George looked about the cave; but nowhere could he find the club.

'I fear it has dropped into the river as I came down the ladder,' he said. 'Wait here, if you don't mind, Terence, and I will go and see if I have left it in our hut. No; let me go, for if I meet any one, my knowledge of the language will get me past him, whereas you might be stopped.'

'Bring back the basket of food with you,' Terence called after him as he hurried away.

As he rapidly ascended the ladder, George became conscious of an extraordinary commotion in the pah. Shouts and cries, wailing of teteres, even gun-shots, disturbed the quiet night, and, wondering what had happened, he scaled the palisades and sped to his whare.

A glance all round told him that the club was not there, so, snatching up the basket of food, he was about to set off again, when from the confusion of sounds in the direction of the marae, one detached itself, clear and high:

'Rongo pai! Rongo pai!' (Good tidings! Good tidings!) 'Salutations, O Hawk of the Mountain! O Slayer of the Pakeha, hail!'

Without an instant's pause George turned and ran, scaling the stockade, and dashing down the flax-ladder at perilous speed.

'Come!' he shouted, when he had gained the entrance to the cave. 'Out of this for your lives. Te Karearea has returned!'

CHAPTER XX

A BID FOR LIBERTY

'Up with you!' said George, holding the swaying ladder. 'Wait on top till we join you. What a good thing I had my flask.'

It was. The strong spirit nerved the invalids to the effort they were obliged to make, and in a few minutes the four of them were standing on the ledge outside the pah, and by means of the ladder easily scaled the palisades.

The clamour still continued, and George and Terence swiftly piloted their exhausted friends to the fence behind their hut. Here the ladder came into play again, and they made for the underground world, George explaining its peculiarities to Paeroa as they sped along.

'You will be safe enough if you do not wander far from the entrance,' he assured the Maori. 'We will manage to visit you before long.'

They left the basket of food and the flask with the refugees, and, still hurrying, for every minute was precious now, reached the shelter of their whare without encountering any of the Hau-haus.

'Have you found your club?' Terence asked, carefully bestowing cartridges in his various pockets.

'No,' George answered gloomily. 'I must have dropped it last night between the fence and the underground world. The strange part of it is that I should not have missed it till just now.'

'The thing is always generating mysteries,' grumbled Terence. 'I hope we shall find it, though; for it may make all the difference between life and death to us.'

'You are right,' said George, who seemed much upset. 'Of course I do not agree with you that there is anything supernatural about the club; but still—but still——'

Terence's eyes grew round. 'You don't agree with me! Why, you old humbug, when did I say that the thing had any supernatural power?'

'You talked of the English lack of imagination,' George replied stiffly.

Terence laughed. 'The most wonderful thing about that blessed club is that it has twice brought you and me to the brink of a dispute. I really believe—— Hullo! Here he is.'

Unheard and unannounced, as usual, Te Karearea had entered. A grim smile, quickly suppressed, parted his thin lips for an instant, and he bent a frowning gaze upon George, who, angered out of himself at the loss of his mere and the memories which the sight of the chief recalled, had sprung to his feet and was glaring defiantly at the intruder.

'Salutations, friends!' said Te Karearea coldly. 'You did not meet me at the gate, so I have come to——' He interrupted himself, his furtive eyes gleaming. 'Where is the mere of TUMATATJENGA, Hortoni? It hangs not at your side.'

George made no answer; for it was important to ascertain whether the chief had come straight from the marae, or had already visited the hut and discovered their absence. Familiar with his friend's lightest change of expression, Terence knew that the storm was ready to break, and dropped his hand lightly upon the revolver in his coat pocket, through which he covered the chief. If treachery were intended, it was as well to be prepared.

'Speak, Hortoni!' Te Karearea's tone was imperative to the point of insolence. His scarred face looked terrible under his malignant scowl.

There was a steely glint in George's eyes, and his nostrils quivered; but his voice was fairly calm as he answered: 'A man may do as he likes with his own. If I have smashed the mere among the rocks, or thrown it into the river, what is it to you? You chatter like a parrot, and with as little sense. Leave us. We wish to sleep.'

But Te Karearea had sense enough, and whatever black design he had in his mind when he entered the hut, he put it away for the time, until he should discover the truth about the mere. So, to the surprise of his hearers, instead of flying into a rage, he grinned genially at them.

'You are right, Hortoni,' he said. 'It is only children who talk when they are tired, and quarrel till they fall asleep. I, too, am weary and would rest. Perhaps you will be in a better mind to-morrow, and will show me the mere of TUMATAUENGA. I will go, since you have nothing to say to me. Unless, indeed, you wish to renew your parole,' he finished with a sneer.

A sudden, inexplicable impulse swayed George.

'Stay, O Hawk of the Mountain,' he said, and all appearance of anger left him. 'For a moon past you have kept us here by means of a trick. You caught us in a trap of our own making. Now shall there be no more tricks, and, lest you go away again in the night, leaving us fast here, I tell you to your face—you yourself and none other—we take back our word.'

For once in his life Te Karearea had received a setback. His usual coolness deserted him, and his ready tongue tripped as he asked if he had heard aright.

'Does this mean that you will try to escape, Hortoni?' he inquired, when both George and Terence had repeated their decision. He moved backwards towards the door as if he feared an immediate attack.

'Why not?' George answered coolly. 'We have told you that we do not wish to stay here, yet you will not let us go. Now we will go whether you will allow us or not.'

But Te Karearea had recovered his equanimity. 'When?' he inquired, with an air of great simplicity.

George laughed. 'It is enough for you to know that we will go.'

'When the gates of Reinga are shut, why seek to open them, Hortoni? Take time to think,' suggested the chief.

'It is time to act,' retorted George, and Terence, informed of his friend's sudden resolution, nodded assent.

Te Karearea was puzzled. Sly and designing himself, he could appreciate straightforwardness in others; yet he could not believe that his captives would have taken such a stand unless there was something underlying their conduct of which he was ignorant. Meantime, confident of his ability to prevent their escape, he temporised.

'Nevertheless, I give you time for thought, my friends,' he said. Then, being a superb actor, he stopped on the threshold. 'If you will, I can set my young men to look for your mere in the morning, Hortoni,' he suggested graciously.

'Have I said that it was lost?' George countered quickly. 'But, if it were, did your young men find it when it dragged itself from your hand and flew into the sea? Have you yet to learn, O Te Karearea, that my God has given me the mere to stand between me and death?'

Te Karearea was silenced. Muttering a charm, he slid through the door, which presently was blocked outside. Terence put his ear to the wall and could hear the shuffling of naked feet, as if a number of men were dispersing. He turned to his friend.

'If the mere had been in your belt, George, I believe that the chief would have taken chances and attacked you to gain possession of it. He had a dozen men outside. But its absence puzzled him. Am I far wrong in saying that, either by its presence or its absence, the greenstone club is for ever coming between you and death?'

'Even as I said to Te Karearea,' agreed George. 'Yes; old Te Kaihuia's gift was nothing short of a providence. What are we to do now? I had no idea of taking back our parole so suddenly; but something seemed to force me to do it. You don't object?'

'I should say not. The sooner we are out of here the better. I didn't like the look in the Hawk's eyes.'

'I hope we shall be out of it before dawn,' said George. 'When the chief once realises that the mere is gone, things will happen quickly. You may be sure it was not simply for the pleasure of greeting us that he came here to-night. He was in a black mood, and I suspect, if the truth were known, he has been well hammered by our people.'

'More power to them!' cried Terence. 'You are right, George; it is time to quit. I am not sure whether the chief takes us seriously; but he has left a guard at the door.'

'Only one?' asked George, and Terence nodded. 'I have a plan in the rough,' he went on, looking at his watch. 'It is just eleven. The sentry will probably be changed at two or three o'clock. We will divide that time between watching and resting. If we are quiet, sentry number one will give a good account of us. Then, an hour or so later——'

'We must dispose of number two.' Terence filled in the pause.

'I am afraid so,' said George regretfully. 'Our lives hang in the balance, and the lives of many others as well. We will avoid extreme measures if possible. I wish I had my club. The very sight of it would frighten the fellow into submission.'

Terence looked up at the roof and grinned. 'I am waiting to see if your genii, taipos, taniwhas, or whoever are the slaves of the greenstone club, will bring it back to you the instant you express a wish,' he said. 'There is a smack of Aladdin and his lamp about the thing. Well, what next?'

'We must scale the fence behind the whare,' answered George, smiling. 'The sentries are stationed at intervals along the platform, and we must manage to dodge the nearest. We'll manage it—we must.'

'I'll take the first watch,' said Terence.

'No; I will, in case there is any talking to be done. I wish that we had another basket of food. It may go hard with us in the bush. Lie down and sleep while you may, old fellow.'

Terence drew his mat over him as he lay upon his bed of fern, and with the readiness of a bushman dropped asleep, while George sat with his knees drawn up to his chin, thinking out details and planning, as far as he could beforehand, to meet developments.

The hours passed, he heard the stealthy footsteps of the relief, and caught a word or two of the low-voiced colloquy as the guard made his report. And all the time Terence slept comfortably, though the time for his watch had come and gone.

All at once George started, raised his head and listened intently. What was that thin, scratching noise at the back of the hut? He lightly laid his hand upon Terence's shoulder, and the practised bushman was instantly awake, alert and vigilant.

'Some one is cutting through the thatch,' George breathed into his comrade's ear.

This was possible enough. The roof, which, after the Maori fashion of architecture, descended within a few feet of the earth, was thatched with raupo and other reeds which, though thick, were soft and might easily be ripped by a sharp knife. The only question was the motive of the intruder.

Presently a piece of raupo, detached from the thatch, fell upon the floor. The visitor, whoever he was, had penetrated the roof. George stole to the widening hole, Terence to the door, and so they waited, holding their revolvers by the barrel, ready for whatever might chance.

'Hortoni!' Just the whispered word; but George's heart leaped, for the voice was Paeroa's, and he knew that his faithful ally, and not an enemy, stood without.

'I am here, O Whispering Wind,' he breathed back. 'Why——'

'Hush! Speak not, Hortoni. Do you and Mura take these knives and widen the hole. I will return.'

Presently, as they ripped and cut, the Maori returned and whispered with his mouth at the hole: 'Te Taroa, whom the Hawk set to guard you, is asleep. Hasten, Hortoni, for there are evil spirits in the air, and Life and Death contend which shall have you.'

Hurriedly he told them how he had come back to the entrance of the underground world, vaguely suspecting mischief, and found it blocked. Alarmed, he had fetched Kawainga, wormed a way out, and sent the girl down the hill to the flax-patch on the west. Then he had crept under the stockade and learned from the chatter of the sentries that Te Karearea had suffered a crushing defeat and had fled to the pah to renew his supplies and ammunition. Further, he learned of the loss of the greenstone club, the withdrawal of the prisoners' parole, and, knowing well the consequences to Hortoni if the mere were really gone, had scaled the palisades in order to urge his friends to escape without loss of time.

The hole in the roof being now wide enough for them to pass through, Terence very unwillingly went first. George was half-out and half-in when a sneeze was heard in front of the hut, followed by a yawn and the comfortable grunt of a man stretching himself. Te Taroa was awake, and, more, was coming round the hut, as though to atone for his carelessness.

Suddenly he stopped, every keen sense alert, and sprang back, open-mouthed; but, before he could yell an alarm, the butt of Terence's revolver crashed down upon his head, and he fell back stunned.

George was now out, and by Paeroa's directions he and Terence removed their boots, lest they should clatter as they climbed the palisades. The Maori went first, then Terence passed down the boots and swung himself over, and, lastly, George jumped on to the platform and laid his hands on the top of the stockade.

Ten seconds more and he would have been over, but, as he straddled the fence, the roar of a gun at close-quarters and the 'wheep' of a bullet past his head so startled him that he lost his balance and fell headlong. But, instead of rolling into the ditch he banged against the fence and remained suspended there, unable for the moment to free himself. His sock had caught upon a projecting stake near the top of the stockade.

'Run!' he gasped. 'I'm after you.'

Not suspecting his plight, Paeroa and Terence sped towards the upper bridge, while a number of Hau-haus clambered over the fence, leaped, or floundered through, the ditch, and hurried away in blind pursuit. For the night was very dark.

George's peculiar position undoubtedly saved his life, for the Hau-haus deemed him far ahead; so, when the chase had swept by, he reversed his uncomfortable attitude and dropped into the ditch.

Not caring to run any more risks, he laid his revolver on the top of the bank before climbing out; but, he had scarcely begun to move when a Maori swung over the stockade and landed fairly on top of him.

The yell died in the man's throat as George grappled with him, forcing him back against the sloping side of the ditch with one hand, while he groped for his revolver with the other. But he had been dragged somewhat to one side in the short, sharp struggle, and the weapon eluded his grasp. The Hau-hau turned and twisted, striking ineffectual blows; but he had no chance against George, whose groping hand presently encountered a long, hard stone just below the edge of the ditch.

'This will do,' he thought, and laid the man out with a well-directed blow. Then down he went on his hands and knees to search for his revolver. Realising how important it was that he should find it, he drew a match from his pocket and, covering it with his hat, struck it against the stone which he still held in his hand.

For an instant it flickered, and then flared up. But George, careless of his exposed situation, knelt, staring with wide, almost frightened, eyes at the greenstone club, which he held once again in his hands.

CHAPTER XXI

IN THE FLAX SWAMP

Loth as George was to yield to the superstitious feeling which the coincidences in connection with the greenstone club invariably engendered, he was almost stupefied at its reappearance at the present juncture. Yet there was nothing supernatural about it. He had jumped into the ditch almost at the exact point at which the mere had dropped from his belt, and had naturally stumbled upon it. He was too well balanced to remain long under the spell of the occurrence, and with a sigh of thankfulness picked up the club, stripped the mat from the shoulders of the unconscious Maori, and ran, light-footed, in the direction of the upper bridge. Before he had gone twenty yards he bounced into a number of Maoris hurrying towards the same spot.

'Have you caught them?' he said thickly, congratulating himself that the darkness and the mat about his shoulders would prevent immediate recognition.

'No hea?' grumbled a Hau-hau. The words, meaning literally 'from whence?' imply in Maori phraseology that the thing inquired for is nowhere. It was an admission that the superstitious fellows did not expect to retake the fugitives.

'Hortoni, indeed, is under the protection of TUMATAUENGA,' growled another. 'Else would the Hawk have slain him ere now.'

'But Hortoni has lost the mere—so they say,' returned George, quickening his pace a little, so as to pass the talkative Maori.

'Na! the mere of TUMATAUENGA cannot be lost,' a third observed sententiously as George drew ahead of him. 'By this time Hortoni again wears it by his side. Ehara! It is extraordinary, and I do not know why ATUA should favour a Pakeha. But so it is. Ea!' he grunted disgustedly. 'In my opinion Hortoni is a god. Who can prevail against a god?'

The first part of this speech was so true that George felt once more that curious thrill which had so often affected him when the greenstone club was in question. The last part shocked him and, forgetful of his assumed character, he impetuously contradicted the astounded speaker.

'Fool! I am no god,' he cried. 'There is but one God, the God of the Pakehas, and He——'

The next moment he was flying for his life across the tree bridge and down the hill, while the Maoris, ignoring in their turn his presumed divinity, scampered after him, their yells blending with the shouts of those who had already reached the plain.

Stumbling and slipping, George dashed along the track, bruising himself badly against a hundred obstacles, but grimly silent lest by any outcry he should drag his friends back into danger. Far behind him he could hear the voice of the arch-liar Te Karearea calling to him that the greenstone club had been found, and that all would be well if he would return. Once he collided with a Hau-hau who rose suddenly from behind a boulder; but his ready wit saved him, and the two ran side by side to the bottom of the hill, where George branched off to the right.

'Go that way, my friend, and I will go this,' he cried. 'We will meet at the bridge and scoop in the Pakehas as with a net.'

He spoke loudly now, confident that his friends were safe, and hoping thus to convey to them the assurance of his own escape.

Just then the cry of the weka arose almost under his feet, and George thought for a moment that he had disturbed a real bird, so natural was the startled note. The next, he remembered the signal they had agreed upon in case of separation, answered it, and instantly felt his arm grasped by some one who rose apparently out of the ground beside him.

'He! He!' Paeroa's voice sounded the note of caution and alarm. 'This way, Hortoni. Into the flax. Quick!'

Hard upon his brown friend's heels followed George, treading cautiously upon the rough track of manuka[1] which ran more or less interruptedly across the swampy ground in which the flax-bushes flourished. More than once his foot encountered bubbling ooze and slime; but Paeroa's hand was ever ready to help him over these gaps, and for a hundred yards or so they went along without serious mishap. Then the shouts and cries which came from scattered points about the plain seemed to concentrate in one long yell of triumph, a noisy hubbub arose at the point where the manuka pathway began, and a spattering volley followed them as they stumbled forward.

[1] Leptospermum scoparium.

'They are after us,' panted George, swerving involuntarily as a bullet smacked into a flax-bush a few inches from him; but Paeroa whispered a hurried instruction and, even as another small hail of balls whimpered past, they leaped from the track into the heart of a flax-bush, thence into the midst of a second, out of that into a third, where George crouched, struggling fiercely to quiet his rough, laboured breathing, while Paeroa with a last encouraging word, slipped into a bush a little further on and squatted there.

With one hand grasping the stiff, upstanding leaves, and with the other fast closed about the handle of his club—the loop of which he had taken the precaution to secure round his wrist—George sat listening to the murmur of voices coming gradually nearer. As far as he could judge there were only two or three Maoris on the track, whence he argued that the commotion at the other end had been merely a ruse de guerre to induce the fugitives to believe that they were discovered. Still, it would not do to be too sure, for the Hau-haus were all over the place, and it might well be that while some advanced along the track, others were creeping through the swamp, searching each bush in turn.

Suddenly there fell a silence. The men on the manuka had either stopped to reconnoitre or given up the search and gone back, and George, feeling cramped and stiff, was about to change his position, when a low 'he! he!' from Paeroa warned him to remain still. A moment later a Maori leaped from the track into a flax-bush, searched it swiftly, and passed on to another.

The sound indicated that the man was coming in his direction, and George ardently wished that he had continued to hunt for his revolver, instead of gazing, moonstruck, at the greenstone club. Another leap and the man was in the clump next to him. One more and——

A stream of fire, the roar of a revolver, and with a loud, choking gasp the Hau-hau fell dead somewhere in the ooze, while from the adjoining bush came Terence's voice: 'Quick, George, after me! We are close to the spot where the river forks. Kawainga is already across. I came back for you.'

Amid the tumult of pursuit, crackling rifle fire and yells, as now and again an incautious Maori floundered into the swamp, they left their cover and leaped from bush to bush across the space between the broken end of the track and the small strip of hard ground by the river. Here Paeroa joined them and, guided by him, they crossed the stream and plunged into the bush.

Map of the 'Pah' of Death and its surroundings
Map of the 'Pah' of Death and its surroundings

'Safe!' muttered Terence. 'I had to shoot that fellow, George, for he landed almost on top of me. I don't think that they will find us now; but we had better get away as far as possible before we halt. We are not out of the wood yet.'

'Very much in it, I should say,' answered George, as a thorn-branch smacked him sharply across the cheek. 'Don't go too fast, Paeroa. It will not do for us to lose touch with one another. Besides, you must be almost worn out. Where is Kawainga?'

'Here I am, Hortoni,' said the girl. 'I waited for you on the flat with Paeroa, though you did not see me.' There was a note of pride in her voice.

'You are both good friends, I know,' replied George. 'Are you weary, Star of the Morning?'

'Nay; the Maori is never weary when a friend is in danger,' the girl answered simply. 'Press on, Hortoni. Day is very near.'

'Ay! It must be,' put in Terence. 'Hark, George, those fellows are still roaring under the impression we have been kind enough to wait for them in the swamp. I can't understand why that astute chief did not order torches to be lit.'

'Possibly because he found out that we had got possession of firearms, and did not wish to give us a good target. By the way, Terence, have you got the third revolver? I lost mine as I crossed the ditch. My club is all very well; but——'

'Your club!' Terence's tone expressed amazement. 'You don't mean to say that the thing has come back to you!'

'No; I don't.' George laughed a little. 'However, I have found it. It was on the bank of the ditch where we crossed after our last excursion.'

'Oh yes; that sounds quite commonplace,' said Terence. 'All the same I'll warrant that you were mightily surprised when you found it.'

'I was; and thankful too,' admitted George. 'But you see how easily everything in connection with the club may be explained when once we begin to sift matters.'

'I should like to know, then, how it found its way back to you from the bottom of the sea,' Terence said slyly.

'It was I who brought it back, O Mura.' Paeroa's voice came out of the gloom ahead of them. 'I found it the first time that I dived, and, as I had been too hurried to take off my waist-cloth, I hid the mere therein and waited till I could give it to Hortoni. But he was sleeping with his face towards the gates of Reinga, so I slipped it under his mats as he lay on his litter—and after that he got well,' he finished innocently.

Terence drew a long breath. 'Another illusion gone!' he commented. 'Before we are done we shall be forced to believe that the wonderful mere is only a piece of common greenstone after all. I think that we should halt. What do you say, Paeroa?'

'Let us rest. The poor fellow must be worn out,' put in George. 'I feel tired enough myself, now that the hot excitement has died down.'.

After crossing the stream they had turned sharply to the left and struck into the blazed track which Te Karearea's axe-men had made on the night of their arrival. Otherwise they would not have been able to get through the thick bush, and must have fled through the forest by the beaten track, along which the Hau-haus even now trailed like so many dogs on the scent of a fox. As it was, their progress had been difficult enough, for the undergrowth had renewed itself in the intervening weeks, and their low-voiced conversation came in disjointed sentences as they struggled through the tangle of fern and creeper which strove to hinder their steps.

'Now, listen to me, all of you,' George said earnestly, as they gratefully stretched themselves on the fern and divided the food which Kawainga had carried. 'As soon as it is dawn Te Karearea will organise a hunt for us. If any of us should be captured, those who escape must not think of the plight of their friends, but hurry on to the camp of the British or the Friendlies. It is important that this nest of rebels should be cleared out. Is that agreed, Terence? Do you understand, Paeroa?'

After some hesitation Terence muttered 'Agreed!' and Paeroa, who had waited for him to speak first, answered, 'I hear, Hortoni!' and George was satisfied, knowing that with him to hear was to obey.

As Terence had had most sleep at the beginning of the night, he now took the first watch and, as the grey dawn stole through the bush in ghostly, almost ghastly silence, he thought how different it all was from Australia, where the morning would have been heralded in by the beautiful matin-hymn of the magpie, so called, the cheerful hoot of the laughing-jackass, and the exquisite treble and alto of hundreds of smaller birds. Here was nought but solitude and stillness—a stillness so profound that it began to get upon Terence's nerves, and he more than once stretched out his hand towards George; for the sense of companionship was somehow greater if he only touched his friend's coat—or so he thought.

Presently the sky grew lighter, and the outlines of various objects began to appear. Right ahead of him, a quarter of a mile away, was the hill where George and he had lain and watched the Hau-haus at their weird and blasphemous rites. Down that hill and through this very bush they had run until pulled up by that tumble into the underground world. If he could only find that hole again! Why should he not try? The desire grew with the idea.

'I believe I could find it,' he said within himself, rising and stretching his arms above his head. Then in the midst of a satisfying yawn he dropped noiselessly out of sight behind the tree against which he had been sitting.

From a hundred different points, ahead and on each side of him, brown forms were dodging from tree to tree, and from as many different spots among the fern scarred, brown faces peered, as it seemed, malevolently at him.

CHAPTER XXII

THE DOOM OF THE HOUSE OF TE TURI

Terence opened his mouth to shout a warning to the sleepers to be up and away, but, his bush training coming to his aid, he shut it with a snap.

'I don't think that they have seen me,' he thought; 'but it is too late to run now, at all events.'

He wondered why the advancing Maoris should exercise such caution when, apparently, not a foe was near. 'It must be their way,' he concluded; 'and as one never knows when——'

The unspoken words jumbled in his brain and his eyes grew round. Two of the Maoris, crawling from point to point, had suddenly and instantaneously disappeared, heads down and heels up.

'They have found it!' Terence muttered grimly. 'What a nuisance.' He laid his hand on George's shoulders, who at once opened his eyes, but lay perfectly still, mutely questioning.

'Maoris!' whispered Terence. 'The fern is full of them, and two of them have tumbled into our underground world.'

'Bother take them!' murmured George. 'Let me have a look.'

He peered over the tall fern at a group of Maoris who were standing up beside the spot at which their comrades had so mysteriously vanished, and with grave gestures and puzzled frowns were discussing the new situation. Their faces cleared and they grinned at one another as muffled voices from below assured them that neither taipo nor taniwha had swallowed their friends. Then they bent down over the tangled mass of creepers and held a colloquy with the imprisoned ones.

'They evidently know nothing about the place,' whispered George. 'How unfortunate that they should succeed where we have so often failed. I think that we had better wake the others and creep away into the bush while they are still absorbed with their find; for—— Oh, good heavens! Look at Paeroa! He is going to his death.'

For the Maori, his alert senses stirred by their low-voiced talk, had awakened, risen to his knees, and peered over the fern at the newcomers.

Even as George spoke he bounded to his feet, threw his hands above his head and rushed towards the group of Maoris, shouting: 'Arawa! Arawa! E tika ana!—It's all right!—Ka kitea te wahi i kimihia mai ai e ratou!—They have found the place we were looking for!—Kapai Arawa! Kapai Arawa! Hurrah for the Arawas!'

His long hair, dressed Hau-hau fashion, streamed behind him and, before any one could intervene, he dashed into the midst of the Arawas.

With a gasp of horror George ran for all he was worth. If at this last moment Paeroa, the faithful Paeroa, should be—— The dreadful thought was lost in the rush.

Already Paeroa was overpowered, his weak state allowing him no possible chance against his stalwart foes. Utterly unmindful of the British principle of sympathy for the under dog, two Arawas held him by the arms, another grasped his long hair, pulling his head backwards, while a fourth, with raised club, was about to dash out his brains.

But with a rush George was among them and, ignoring ceremony, struck right and left with his fists, upsetting the would-be slayer and those who held Paeroa as well. Without an instant's delay Paeroa scuttled into the bush, pending the adjustment of the dispute.

'Pardon, friends!' George said apologetically, turning his glance upon two who stood ruefully rubbing their swollen noses. 'You were about to kill the wrong man. That is Paeroa, who brought word of my captivity.'

'And you are Hortoni?' queried a thin, lithe man who was evidently in command. None of the Arawas seemed either surprised or resentful.

'It is so,' replied George. 'I have just escaped with Mura, Kawainga, and Paeroa from the nest of the Hawk.'

'Mura! If you mean Tereni, he was slain after the fight at Paparatu,' said the Arawa chief.

'No; he is here,' corrected George. 'Te Karearea meant to kill him that night, but I came up in time to——'

'To stop them from shoving me through the gates of Reinga,' put in Terence, bobbing up from the fern and airing his broken Maori. 'I am very much alive, I assure you, Chief.' The Arawa leader and he grinned cheerfully at one another.

'Don't you remember me?' went on Terence. 'You are Te Ingoa, who imitated the Hau-hau cry that night at our bivouac.'

'Yes; I remember you, O Tereni,' replied the Arawa in English. 'You told us of Hortoni, and how he had run away from the white-haired chief.'

"The white-haired chief." George heard without understanding. 'What are we to do, O Te Ingoa?' he asked. 'Even now Te Karearea scours the bush for us with his young men.'

'While he scours the bush, we may clean up the pah, Hortoni,' the Arawa replied sententiously. 'Two of my men have fallen down a hole here. They say that there is quite a large space, but fear to go on lest Taniwha should lurk at the other end. What am I to do?'

'There is indeed a taipo at the other end,' George answered gravely. 'It is in the form of a Hawk who devours women and little children.' Then, as the Arawa's eyes gleamed with comprehension: 'Let me lead you through the passage, O Te Ingoa. The issue of this hole is close by the Pah of Death, more than half way up the hill. There is the upper bridge to cross, but——'

'Lead on, Hortoni,' Te Ingoa interrupted excitedly. 'To us shall fall the honour of clipping the Hawk's talons and blunting his beak. The rest, with the white-haired chief, your father, are behind. I will send a messenger to hurry them.'

George turned to Terence, who was smiling sympathetically at him. 'Colonel Cranstoun is evidently not far away,' he said. 'Te Ingoa wishes to march forward. But don't you think we ought to wait until the others come up?'

'Decidedly not,' replied Terence. 'Let these fellows do their own killing. The white-haired chief, as they call him, will be better out of this fuss.'

'I am not sure that the colonel would agree with you,' said George. 'Still, there are enough of us here, and it is a pity to waste valuable lives.' He turned to the Arawa. 'The sooner we go the better, Chief.'

'I am ready, Hortoni. Show us the way.'

Without more words George and Terence dropped into the hole—more circumspectly than on the first occasion—followed by all of the Arawas except three whom Te Ingoa sent upon the back track. Also, by George's order Paeroa and Kawainga remained behind, for they were thoroughly exhausted by their exertions.

When at last the contingent stood beneath the exit on the hillside it was precisely six o'clock, an hour when ordinarily the pah would have been humming with the bustle of commencing day. On this day there was bustle, indeed, but not of the usual kind.

Before disturbing the barricade which Te Karearea had for some reason placed before the opening, Te Ingoa, his lieutenants, and the two Pakehas held a final brief conference. George was for waiting until night before delivering the attack, but the Arawa argued that he would be unable to hold in his men, who were mad to get to grips with Te Karearea, whose revolting cruelties had disgraced the name of Maori.

'Then you will suffer terribly,' said George; 'for the place is extraordinarily strong.'

'We shall of course lose a few as we cross the bridge and rush the walls,' Te Ingoa agreed coolly. 'That is to be expected. All the same, the Hawk's nest shall be harried this time, I promise you.'

'Well, I don't want to be a wet blanket,' said George, giving in. 'We two will do our best to help you.'

'I am sure of that,' Te Ingoa replied heartily, and shook hands, English fashion. 'As you and Tereni know the lie of the land, you had better go out first and reconnoitre.'

It was easy enough to displace the barricade and, as the boulders were thrown aside and sounds from the outer world began to penetrate, it was evident that something out of the common was afoot. For, borne upon the morning wind, came the noise of distant shouting, the snapping crackle of independent rifle fire, and the short, sullen bark of revolvers. Then, as George and Terence hurled down the last obstruction and excitedly pushed through the opening, the roar of a heavy volley close at hand stunned their ears, and to their amazement they saw the plain and hillside alive with men, fighting furiously, and all, apparently, in the most extraordinary confusion.

'Come out!' shouted George. 'Hold back your men, though, until you have seen this thing for yourself. I can't make it out.'

'I think I can,' cried Terence, jumping about in his excitement as Te Ingoa joined them. 'The main body of your force has come up on the heels of the advance and got between Te Karearea's rascals and the pah. See—the walls are almost deserted.'

'You are right,' agreed Te Ingoa. 'Those are my kupapas (volunteer Maoris), and they are settling accounts with the Hau-haus.'

'What are you going to do?' George asked eagerly.

'And thus, almost without a blow struck at itself, falls the Pah of Death,' said Te Ingoa, half to himself. He waved his hand downwards. 'Ignorant of our approach—he could hardly be careless of it—Te Karearea has allowed his men to get out of hand in his desire to recover the greenstone club. One column of my fellows is busy with the remnant of the garrison, the other is there by the river, blocking the advance of the returning Hau-haus. What am I going to do? Why, charge down the hill, take this lot in the rear, and then join column number two in polishing off the fellows by the river. I never expected such an easy job, I must say.'

'He talks like an Englishman,' observed Terence, as the Maori dived below to summon his men, 'and he feels, like an Irishman, sorry that he won't have enough fighting.'

'He may get as much as he cares for before all is done,' said George. 'All this is very unlike Te Karearea. I suspect a trick.'

'Well, down we go! Here come Te Ingoa and his merry men.' The whoop Terence let out would have done credit to a Comanche. 'Hurrah! Stick close to me, George. I believe the old Hawk has been caught napping.'

It really was so. The crafty Te Karearea, unsettled by the escape of his prisoners, and still more so by the disappearance of the greenstone club, had allowed his men to get out of hand, and was now paying heavily for his error. Perhaps, too, the words of the old prophecy haunted him, and the hopelessness of averting the ruin of his house still further unbalanced him.

At any rate, instead of playing tricks and laying ambuscades, there he was on the hillside, fighting like a demon. As the comrades raced down the slope in advance of Te Ingoa, the desperate Hau-hau turned his head and saw them, and with a loud howl of fury sprang through the press and made straight at them.

It was magnificently brave—one man charging two hundred—but the upward rush of the Arawas to meet Te Ingoa bore back the Hau-haus, and Te Karearea, shouting hateful words of vengeance, was swallowed up in the recoiling wave of his own men. Another moment and the Arawas, swooping down the hill, struck their prey, driving them back upon the weapons of the Arawas below, and the Hau-haus, like the hard, defiant quartz between the crushing hammer and the plate, were smashed to pieces.

Armed only with his mere, George was able to do very little execution, for the Hau-haus who recognised him gave him a wide berth. However desperate a conflict may be with ordinary folk, there is always a chance of escape; but when it comes to engaging a wizard armed with a magical club, it is best to take no chances.

The slaughter was terrific, for the combat was in the old style, hand to hand. Neither side had had time to reload, and while some swung their guns by the barrel, others used their ramrods like rapiers, thrusting viciously at eyes and throats. One wretch, pierced through and through, rushed howling into the thick of it, the slender steel rod, protruding front and back, wounding others and barring his own progress, till he was mercifully slain with a blow from a bone mere.

'Come out of this,' George shouted to Terence, who was fighting back to back with him. 'It is sickening. Let us go and help our folk by the river. These fellows are done for.'

'Right!' Terence yelled back, sweeping his clubbed rifle round to clear a path. His empty revolver had long ago been thrown in the grinning face of a Hau-hau. 'Come on!' He rushed off, screeching with excitement, under the impression that his friend was close behind him.

So George had been at the start; but, as he ran, he heard a shout: 'Turn, Hortoni! Accursed Pakeha, I fear neither you nor your mere. Stop and die!'

Without the least desire to accept this gracious invitation, which resembled that of the famous Mrs. Brown to the duck, George turned his head to find Pokeke rushing at him with levelled spear, his eyes glowing and his mouth agape with hate.

That turn nearly cost George his life, for his foot slipped and he fell heavily on his face. The long spear sped to its mark, but much fighting had made Pokeke's hand unsteady. He missed George altogether and, retaining too long his grasp of the shaft, turned a half somersault and sprawled beside his intended victim.

Both of them were so shaken that they lay still for some seconds. Pokeke was up first and, before George could rise, flung himself upon him, grasping his hair and drawing back his head, while in his right hand he raised his wooden mere with which to give the coup de grâce.

Now, if ever, the wonderful greenstone club ought to have shown its power; but, alas! George had fallen with his arm under him, and TUMATAUENGA'S mere was jammed so tightly beneath his heavy body that not even the war-god himself could charm it forth.

But, as the wooden club descended, the stock of a rifle, sweeping horizontally, met it with such violence as to send it spinning many yards away, while the brass-shod butt, continuing its swing, caught Pokeke a frightful blow between the eyes, crushing in his skull.

'Not hurt?' shrieked Terence, whose face was flaming. 'Come on!' He lugged George from the ground. 'Go first!' he screamed, his voice cracking. 'I told you before we left Sydney that I couldn't trust you out of my sight.' He was almost mad with the fierce joy of his first battle.

'Where is the Hawk?' he sang out to George as they ran down the hill.

'Somewhere in the thick of it,' panted George. 'Haven't seen him since the start. Come on!'

The combat on the hillside waned to a close; but as yet there had been no concerted movement towards the river-bridge, where a much smaller force of Arawas did battle with an outnumbering body of Hau-haus. Still, every now and then an Arawa from the hill would arrive and take a hand, so that matters were growing more equal as the friends came racing across the plain.

'Pull up for a moment,' gasped George. 'If we don't get our wind we shall be brained for a certainty. Where are the white soldiers and Colonel Cranstoun?—Oh, God help us! Look at that!'

With a horrible fear at his heart he hurled himself towards the bridge, at the far end of which two Pakehas were defending themselves against a dozen Hau-haus. Both were elderly, while the hair of one was snow-white; but their erect carriage, fearless demeanour, and the manner in which they wielded their old-fashioned swords, occasionally getting in a shot with the revolvers in their left hands, showed that they were old soldiers, and quite accustomed to give a good account of themselves.

The construction of the bridge gave them an advantage, and no doubt they could have held their own against any frontal attack; but what horrified George and Terence was the sight of Te Karearea, who with four Hau-haus were hurrying to assail the two old soldiers from behind.

He with his men and George with Terence were running along two sides of a triangle, the bridge being the apex. If the chief reached it first—No! George set his teeth and swore he should not.

'Father!' he shouted after one long indrawing of breath. 'Keep at it! We are behind you!' For he feared that the noise of footsteps racing up behind would disturb the attention of Colonel Haughton and General Cantor, whose presence there he could in no way account for.

They were indeed the only white men with Te Ingoa, for Colonel Cranstoun to his great annoyance had been called south. But he had set the wheels in motion, and the friendlies, along with Colonel Haughton and his brother-in-law, had marched against the pah. George had presumed the "white-haired chief" to be Colonel Cranstoun, never dreaming that his father and General Cantor had crossed the sea in chase of him as soon as they learned that he was in New Zealand.

Te Karearea heard George's shout and grinned at him, shaking his bloodstained mere. He was slightly in advance and running like a deer.

'Aha! Hortoni, they told me up there who the white-haired chief was,' he yelled. 'Give me the mere of TUMATAUENGA, and I will call off my men.'

'Take it, fiend!' shouted George, leaping across the narrowing apex and aiming a furious blow at the chief, while Terence and the four Hau-haus raced for the bridge. One of them Terence brained with his rifle, but the other three dodged him and ran on, while he despairingly toiled after them, knowing that he would be too late.

Then to his intense relief he heard the welcome 'wheep' of bullets past his ears, and first one and then another of the Hau-haus rolled over, dead or out of action. Two minutes more and a strong party of Arawas under Te Ingoa himself swarmed round the old soldiers and slew every man of the Hau-haus who were attacking them.

And now it was the turn of Colonel Haughton and General Cantor to be anxious, for between George and Te Karearea a fearful combat raged. The Hau-hau had parried the blow aimed at him, and the Englishman himself had reeled back before a fierce counterstroke. For a moment after they circled round one another, like two wrestlers seeking a grip. Then with a shout they clashed together.

Disregarding his mere, which he allowed to hang from his wrist by its loop, George fastened the strong fingers of his left hand round the chief's sinewy throat, while with the other he clutched the fist that closed round the club and bent the wrist backwards so unmercifully that with a groan Te Karearea opened his fingers and let his weapon fall. Then, writhing free, he flung his arms round George and strove to throw him. The mere of TUMATAUENGA slipped from the dangling wrist and lay unheeded on the hard ground while the two strong men fought for the possession of it.

Backwards and forwards they rocked and reeled, locked in what each realised to be a death-grapple, neither yielding the slightest advantage to the other. Arawas and whites looked on, amazed, unable to help their champion, so quick and sudden were the turnings and twistings of the combatants.

Suddenly George quitted his hold. But before Te Karearea could utter the yell of triumph which sprang to his lips, he felt his long hair seized from behind, his head jerked backwards with a force which nearly broke his neck, and he fell, dragging George with him.

Over and over they rolled; but George, though he received some heavy blows in the face, shifted his grip, but never loosed the hold he had got of that long black hair.

Now his hands were on each side of Te Karearea's head, his fingers tightened in the coarse locks, and with a supreme effort he rolled the chief on his back and flung himself astride of him. Then, drawing up the malevolent, grinning face till it was close to his own, he dashed it from him with terrible force.

There was a dull, smacking sound, as if two stones had been brought together. A fierce scream, strangled in its utterance, burst from the chief, and his eyes gazed ragefully into the stern, flushed face above him. Then their baleful light was suddenly extinguished, the grinning teeth parted, the strong jaw dropped, the clinging hands fell away.

Te Karearea, the back of his skull crushed like an eggshell against the hard greenstone club, quivered for an instant and passed through the gates to the waters of Reinga.

The man of "the strange, strong race"—the race of the Eagle—had held to the mere of TUMATAUENGA, and the doom of the House of Te Turi had fallen.

* * * * * * *

What a lot they had to say to one another that night, as they sat round the bivouac fire and watched the flames as they shot up from the stockade and whares—for Te Ingoa had not left standing a single stick of the Pah of Death. The long day after the battle was won had worn quickly to an end, for there was much to do, and those who had come through the stress of the fight were now gathered together, resting and celebrating their victory, each after his own manner.

Around one fire sat Colonel Haughton and George, reconciled for all time, and anxious only to please one another, Terence and General Cantor, Kawainga, the faithful Paeroa and the Arawa chief, Te Ingoa, who listened, absorbed, to the story of the adventures of the two young Pakehas. The greenstone club, of course, came in for a considerable share of attention, and Terence stoutly championed its claim to magical powers.

'You can't explain how it came to be in your hand that first night on board the Stella,' he declared. 'You can't account for the fact that it got between you and Paeroa's club on the hillside over there. You can't ex——'

'Look here, my son,' struck in George, smiling up into his father's face, though he addressed Terence, 'the explanation of the whole business lies in four words—"the Providence of God." Each time the greenstone club came into play was a time of tremendous excitement, and I have no doubt that I was too preoccupied to notice what I did or did not do with regard to it. So encrusted with legend is the mere of TUMATAUENGA that, because I cannot remember exactly what I did each time I used it, miraculous powers are at once attributed to it.'

'So you make out that there was nothing extraordinary about it at all,' said Terence, disappointed. 'Of course one does not expect miracles nowadays.'

'Don't you, my boy?' interposed Colonel Haughton. 'God's providence works miracles on our behalf almost daily. Is it not a miracle that, after death has stared him in the face so often, I should have my dear son back again? Was it not a miracle that when you stood with the rope round your neck he should come up in time? Suppose he had not walked towards the sentry and learned what was toward.'

'You are right, Colonel,' Terence answered, abashed; 'though I did not quite mean what I said.'

'A thing is none the less miraculous because you can sometimes explain it,' remarked General Cantor. 'However, I am sure that both you boys know well enough to whom you owe your safety, and that you are not so ungrateful as not to acknowledge His care for you.'

There was silence for a moment, and then Colonel Haughton said: 'Before we say good-night I want to tell you two something. I have bought back Major Moore's old station, George, and the title-deeds are made out in the joint names of you and your friend Terence.'

'Father!' For a moment George could not say another word. Then he gripped a hand each of his father and his friend. 'You could not have pleased me better,' he cried. 'Thank you, dad, thank you. Partner, I congratulate you.'

'But what have I done to be treated like this?' objected Terence. 'George saves my life, and I am rewarded for it. That seems odd.'

'You returned the compliment to-day,' Colonel Haughton reminded him. 'Your father was my dear friend, Terence, as you know; and, indeed, I could give you other good reasons for my action. But why should I? The thing is done.'

'There, Terence, you must make the best of it,' said George, laughing. 'Unless, indeed, you don't feel inclined to chum with me any longer.'

Terence gave him an eloquent look and tried to thank Colonel Haughton. But he could only press the old man's hand, so George threw an arm round his shoulders and led him away.

Together they stretched themselves under a great tree, just as they had done on that other night when Terence had walked into the grip of the Hawk. The flames died down on the summit of the hill—the Pah of Death was no more. The blazing stars of the south looked down upon the battlefield, still strewn with relics of the fight. Here and there in the bivouac some wounded wretch stirred uneasily and groaned in his troubled slumber. But deep in the fern the friends slept the peaceful sleep of healthy, happy youth—youth which can forget past sorrow as easily as it dreams of coming joy; and between them lay what George had called 'God's Providence'—the greenstone mere of TUMATAUENGA.

THE END

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