Terence threw himself down at once, but almost immediately sprang up again. 'Give me your hand, George,' he said. 'What's the matter now?' asked George, obeying. 'Brute that I am, I have never even thanked you. But you know, old fellow--my dear old chum, you know----' He paused, blinking hard. 'I should think I did!' cried George, capering with the pain of that friendly squeeze. 'Brute! You are indeed. A grizzly isn't in it with you. Away with you to bed, and don't talk any more nonsense.' 'I won't,' said Terence seriously; 'but I will do at last what I ought to have done at first.' Without a word more he dropped upon his knees and buried his face in his hands. A few minutes later he rose quietly, and with a nod at George, lay down upon his fern-bed and prepared to sleep. CHAPTER XI ONE MYSTERY THE LESS 'The _réveillé_!' laughed Terence, as he awoke next morning to the cheerful notes of a bugle. 'For a moment I thought that I was back with the old regiment.' 'Oh, the soldier fashion in which we do things here would not disgrace the "old regiment," as you call it,' said George, smiling. 'Your own red coat, by the way, has a suspicious newness about it. Did you sleep well?' 'Never better. Ah, George, old fellow, I owe----' 'Here's breakfast,' broke in George hastily, giving him a mighty smack on the back, to the great delight of Kawainga, Star of the Dawn, who appeared with two satellites, bearing the materials for a substantial breakfast. Soon they were again upon the march, and Te Karearea, who had taken every precaution against a surprise, jogged peacefully along, smoking a looted cigar, and listening with interest to the story of the youthful adventures of George and Terence, whom he addressed as Mura, or The Blazing One. The name had much the sound of Moore, but it was the appearance of the Irishman, with his red coat and flaming head of hair, which had really suggested the title. 'It is good to hear of such friendship,' the chief said, beaming upon the pair during a pause in their narration. 'Surely Mura will not wish to leave us now that he has found you, Hortoni. Persuade him to stay, my friend.' George looked him in the eyes and laughed quietly. He translated to Terence, but made no reply to the chief, who did not pursue the subject. 'What did he mean by that remark, George?' inquired Terence as they lay in the shade during the midday halt. 'I can't say exactly, for one never knows what the crafty beggar is up to.' He looked cautiously round, but as no one was near, went on: 'He may even wish you to try and escape, in order to--to----' 'To find an excuse for knocking me on the head,' supplied Terence. 'Then he'll be disappointed, for I'll not leave you--unless escape meant a good chance of helping you out of the trap. In that case I'd go this minute.'