The Maoris, uncertain whether they were chasing men or demons, made a lusty noise to scare the latter and keep up their own courage, and with the roar of the pursuit thundering in their ears, George and Terence dashed down the hill at what was very nearly breakneck speed. For a fall among the boulders or a headlong crash against the trunk of a tree might easily serve to smash a skull or snap a spinal column. But, fortunately for them, the nature of the ground soon became such as no man could pass through at a run. Had they struck the rough path which Te Karearea's axe-men had hewn while they slept, or chanced on one of the numerous tracks which pierced the forest for miles around for the convenience of hunters, all would have been well; for all these roads led to the river or to the bivouac. Once there, ahead of the Hau-haus, they might have defied detection, since no one but Paeroa could certainly have said who were the intruders upon their grim rites. But in the first mad rush of their flight they had plunged deeply into the maze of the forest, where, dark as it was, for the half-moon was low, they were almost at the mercy of the thorns, which rent their clothes and tore their bodies, and of the thousand-armed, clinging _kawakawa_, the supplejack, whose tough, all-embracing tendrils held them back with the power of ropes. 'We are trapped,' panted Terence. 'Let us turn and make a fight of it.' For behind, alongside, and even ahead of them pealed the vengeful shouts of the Hau-haus. 'Range up alongside me,' George answered over his shoulder. 'I have a better plan than that.' His temper seemed to cool and his brain to grow clearer the greater the emergency. 'All right! Wait until I catch up to you,' said Terence. 'Then I will--Ah-h-h----' Before he could finish what he was about to say, there broke from him that strange, solitary note of alarm, sharp at first, then long drawn and dying away in a curiously muffled shriek. Then silence, save for the occasional yell of a pursuer, and a faint rustling near by, as of branches coming gradually to rest after a puff of wind. But there was no wind. 'Terence!' George called softly. 'Terence! Where are you?' But he got no answer, and, full of terror, began to grope his way to the spot whence his comrade's voice had seemed to come. 'Terence!' he called again loudly, careless of his own safety, if only he might bring help to his friend. 'Terence! Speak to me. Oh, what has happened? Where can he be? There was no sound of a blow or--Ah-h-h----' Just as with Terence, that one sharp, quavering cry--and then George's voice, too, died away, and a terrible silence fell upon the dark bush. CHAPTER XIII DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN Crash! George's heavy body broke through the tangle upon which he had stepped, and down he went through impenetrable darkness to the bottom of the hole into which he had fallen.