'We had very little inducement to remain on the other,' said George truthfully. 'What was the cause of that terrific noise?' 'Night is the council-time of the Maori,' Te Karearea replied. 'I and my people were met together. Then Paeroa returned with men of Ngatiawa and Waikato, and reported that a band of Arawa dogs had followed at his heels. Thereafter arose a cry that spies were lurking in the scrub.' The furtive brown eyes, steady for once, stared hard at George, whose expression was one of genuine surprise. This was news indeed, if true. Nothing would more effectually divert suspicion from them than the supposed proximity of Arawa scouts. George had much ado to conceal his satisfaction; but all he said was, after interpreting to Terence: 'Can we still get breakfast at the camp, Chief? We have slept late.' 'Kawainga weeps for your absence,' returned the Maori, with an ironical grin. 'Go and see.' He was evidently puzzled, and, as he turned to go, informed them: 'At noon I enter the _pah_ with my warriors. Be ready, Hortoni, for I desire that you and Mura should enter it with me as honoured guests.' George bowed low, the corners of his mouth twitching, and, with a dignified gesture of farewell, the chief drew his mat about his shoulders and stalked away up the hill. After breakfast Terence strolled off to take a look at the reinforcements, and, while George sat quietly on a log, smoking, Kawainga appeared and began to collect the wooden plates and tin cups. Once, as she passed him, she said almost in a whisper: 'Paeroa waits on the bush track where the river forks'; and again, as she repassed with her hands full: 'Hasten, Hortoni, for when the shadows shorten the Hawk will return.' George made no sign that he heard, but as soon as the girl had withdrawn, looked at his watch and strolled carelessly along the track towards the river. There was not too much time, for it was nearly half-past eleven; but he felt that he must learn what Paeroa wanted with him, knowing that the man would not have sent him such a message and in such a way for nothing. By the river bridge he stopped as if undecided which way to go, then turned to the left and followed the bank towards the fork. Half-way thither he stopped again, hands in pockets, and one foot idly kicking up the soil. He was the picture of a man with nothing to do. Note that he was standing now in the clearing between the bush and the river, about midway between the two. While he loitered there, his greenstone club slipped from his belt to the ground, and without the loss of a moment he stooped to recover it. As he did so, a bullet hummed over his bending head, and he heard the sharp smack of a gun close by. Once again the _mere_ had been the means of saving his life; for, had he remained erect, he must have been shot through the head.