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!'