He began somewhat stiffly to descend the hill, when he was startled by a harsh, imperative whisper close beside him: 'Lie down, Hortoni! Quick, lie down!' Then, as he stared this way and that, seeing no one, a lithe brown form rose from the other side of the rock beside which he stood, compelled him with heavy hand to the ground, and sank out of sight as swiftly and noiselessly as it had arisen. And as George, obedient to the pressure upon his shoulder, crouched under the rock, a bullet flattened itself with sulky smack upon the face of the boulder behind him, while, even as it dropped to the ground, the crack of a rifle floated up from the valley. CHAPTER IX JUST IN TIME 'A clever marksman,' thought George, as he snuggled behind his rock. 'If I hadn't been pulled down, I should have handed in my parole for good and all.' He drew a deep breath. He had courage enough to admit that he had been scared. Smack! Another bullet lodged close by; but this time there was an abrupt, dull thud, followed by a heavy groan, while a commotion further up the hill told all too plainly of a human form writhing in agony. '_Habet!_' muttered George. 'Whatever is all the rumpus about? Some settlers, perhaps, have heard of our arrival and come out to stop us. What clever beggars these Maoris are at taking cover! I could not see a sign of one when I was up.' He twisted his head and stared down into the valley; but, seeing nothing for his pains, peered round the back of his sheltering rock. There lay Winata Pakaro, famous fighting chief, his lips set in a grin of hate, his eyes glittering with the light of battle, his long hair stirred by the breeze as the locks of the Furies by their writhing snakes. Suddenly his rifle sprang to his shoulder, and George, forgetful of his own danger, lifted his head by ever so little over the rock to watch the effect of the shot. In a moment the explosion roared in his ear; but there was no one to be seen in the valley. Only, almost simultaneously with the report of Winata's rifle, the gloom of the distant scrub was rent by a vivid flash, and George ducked again as the bullet came singing up to smash the stock of the Maori's gun and glance off up the hill. '_Na!_' grunted the disgusted Winata Pakaro, and called softly to a comrade, who glided out of the bushes, not three feet from George, who, till then, had not the slightest idea that any one lay there. Winata explained his wants, and the other, whose business it was to keep in touch with the firing-line, crawled off as a fourth bullet grazed Pakaro's shoulder. The hardy savage merely grunted, took another rifle from the hand of his comrade, and stretched himself out as before. A crash, a groan, and, as the report of a fifth shot came from the valley, the powder-monkey, so to call him, fell upon his face, and lay still with a hole in his head. He had imitated George in peering over the rock, and now there he was--dead.