'We were a pair of jackasses to be taken in,' said Terence, politely including himself. 'It did not strike us that they were sitting here in the dark, and that, but for our torches, we should not have seen them at all.' George was gazing thoughtfully at the heads. 'You know the established custom,' he said at last. 'When a Maori is killed in battle, or dies away from home, it is the duty of a friend to cut off his head and bring it to his relations, so that the family _mana_, or honour, may not be sullied. Then the head is preserved, and retains, as you see, a weirdly lifelike appearance.' 'I do see,' said Terence, whose lips were twitching. 'Now observe,' went on George. 'That is the head of Te Pouri, whom Te Karearea slew, and next to it is all that is left of old Te Kaihuia. Both of these were brought along by our contingent, so that they must have been placed here within the last few hours. It is reasonable to deduce from this that there must be an outlet not far away.' 'But why have these bodiless heads been set up here, do you suppose?' inquired Terence. 'This may be the storing ground for family relics, or, perhaps, there may be something peculiarly drying in the atmosphere. I really don't know; but----' 'Hush! Some one is coming,' in a fierce whisper from Terence, who instantly extinguished his torch upon the ground, George following his example. 'We must wait, for they will hear us if we run,' thought George, and then an idea came to him. He smiled grimly in the darkness, groping here and there with his hands. 'Do as I do,' he breathed into Terence's ear, rapidly whispering directions. 'Oh, lord, no; I can't,' sighed Terence. 'You must. We may be dead men else. Quick! There is no time to lose.' Voices sounded now, not far away, and dancing flashes of light began to illumine the near distance. It was as well that a sharp rise of the ground intervened between the fugitives and the newcomers; for, otherwise, the glare from their own torches would long ago have betrayed the presence of the former. Presently the light broadened, and, to the surprise of the watchers, Te Karearea, following the old _tohunga_, Kapua Mangu, appeared upon the crest of the ridge, some twenty paces away from the grim circle of heads, now once more complete. Te Karearea, who had apparently shaken off the physical effects of his recent exertion, pulled up short as Kapua Mangu plunged his hand into a hole in the trunk of an enormous fallen tree, which formed a long, low arch across the ridge. Then, striving to hide his terror of some supernatural manifestation under a mask of cultured indifference, the chief advanced again with the evident intention of looking over the magician's shoulder. But the old man swung suddenly round and, crying in a loud, clear voice the single word, '_Tapu!_' flung a dark object at the feet of the chief.