Still, it might have gone hardly with Terence, but that, as the Maoris surged about him, a deep voice cried angrily: 'Is the word of Te Karearea of no weight in this _hapu_? And you, Hortoni, why do you break faith with me?' Where the chief had sprung from George had no idea, but he was uncommonly glad to see him, and, as the Maoris shrank back, he briefly explained who Terence was and what had taken place. Thereupon Te Karearea turned upon Winata Pakaro and rated him viciously, demanding how he had dared to take so much upon himself. To this verbal castigation Winata merely opposed a smile of cynical amusement as he walked away. Then Te Karearea faced George once more and said graciously, 'I give you, O Hortoni, the life of the friend for whom you would have given your own. To-morrow you shall tell me the story of your friendship. But he must give up the rifle.' At a nod from George, Terence surrendered the rifle, and Te Karearea then extended his hand, as if expecting to receive the greenstone club as well. But when this piece of impudent bluff--which was extremely well acted--met with the reception it deserved, he grinned good-humouredly and nodded to the pair to withdraw, which they did at once. With his arm round Terence's shoulders, George piloted his chum towards the huge fallen tree, beneath which he designed to pass the night. 'You dear old fellow!' he said heartily, drawing Terence to him. 'Who would have thought of meeting here, and like this? What a mercy I came up in time!' 'Thank God you did!' replied Terence, unable to repress a shudder; for when a brave man has stared death in the face, and the grim Gatherer has passed on, leaving him untouched, he is not, as a rule, flippant about his experience. 'When I came rushing up, I hadn't the faintest idea that I was to meet you,' went on George. 'Indeed, I only recognised you when you screamed at me in that queer, cracked voice. In the first place, I had never seen you in uniform, and in the---- Hold up, old fellow!' For Terence staggered and would have fallen, had not the strong arm around his shoulders slipped to his waist and supported him. George laid him down and bent anxiously over him, seeing that he had fainted. The strain had been dreadful, and, brave though he was, his emotional nature had lent an added poignancy to the sufferings of that terrible half-hour. In a few minutes he revived, and looking up at his friend with an apologetic smile, murmured: 'I'm all right now. I did not mean----' 'Lie still and don't talk, dear old fellow,' interrupted George; but Terence sat up with his back against the tree and drank a cup of water which George handed him. Then George, wishful to take his thoughts off his recent peril, began to chat about the sharpshooter of the early morning. 'What became of that crack shot of yours?' he inquired. 'He was wonderful. The Maoris lost two men, and I myself came within an ace of adding another bull's-eye to his score.'