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.'

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.

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.

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.'

The tunnel took a turn, widening into a cave (page 194).
The tunnel took a turn, widening into a cave (page 194).