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._