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

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!'

'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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