Valuable as he knew the greenstone _mere_ to be, both intrinsically and on account of its romantic history, it was with a new and deeper interest that George regarded it at the conclusion of Te Kaihuia's legend of its origin. Of course the story of its supernatural appearance and manufacture was a fairy-tale which--he gave an unmistakable start, and a grim smile curled the thin lips of the old Maori, who was watching him intently. There, on the narrow end, or handle, of the club were three deeply set impressions, which exactly resembled the imprint of two fingers and a thumb. The mineral nephrite, or greenstone, is singularly hard and unyielding, and how these peculiar marks came to be made upon the club George concluded to leave to the antiquaries to solve; for, needless to say, the old chief's version of their cause counted for nothing with him. But he was far too courteous to allow his incredulity to appear before the venerable narrator, whom he warmly thanked as he rose to take his leave. Te Kaihuia took the young fellow's strong hand in both his own. 'I have yet a word for you, Hortoni,' he said gravely. 'Never allow the _mere_ to be far from your hand. Danger lurks we know not where. Hear now my word.' Wondering whether the old man's mysteriously given advice held a covert warning of impending trouble, George went below and locked the greenstone club in a sea-chest which the dead captain had lent him. Moreover, he determined to wear the weapon during his night-watches on deck, in case of treachery such as his aged friend had seemed vaguely to hint at. Trouble, indeed, was nearer than he thought; but it was not to come--in the first instance, at all events--from Te Karearea and his Maoris. Late that night as George swung in his hammock, he was awakened by something jolting against his body, and, peering drowsily over the edge, saw a line of dark figures stealing cautiously up the ladder. In a flash he leaped lightly to the floor and collared the hindmost of the procession. 'You, Bigham!' he exclaimed as the fo'c'sle lamp illumined the face of his captive. 'How comes the leader of the mutiny to bring up the rear?' Bigham gave himself away at once. 'We knew you wouldn't approve,' he whispered, 'so we thought we'd surprise you when the thing was done.' George flew into one of his rare rages. 'You ass! It will be a mercy if one of us is left alive when the thing is done. Call back the men. Quick! There is no time to lose.' But Bigham's Lancashire obstinacy resented this interference, and with a sudden twist he darted on deck, saying huskily, 'Let them laugh as win.' Slipping on his trousers, George made all haste after him, but the night was so dark that he could not make out the stations of the conspirators. Neither could he hear the soft pad, pad of the bare-footed sentries.