The yell died in the man's throat as George grappled with him, forcing him back against the sloping side of the ditch with one hand, while he groped for his revolver with the other. But he had been dragged somewhat to one side in the short, sharp struggle, and the weapon eluded his grasp. The Hau-hau turned and twisted, striking ineffectual blows; but he had no chance against George, whose groping hand presently encountered a long, hard stone just below the edge of the ditch. 'This will do,' he thought, and laid the man out with a well-directed blow. Then down he went on his hands and knees to search for his revolver. Realising how important it was that he should find it, he drew a match from his pocket and, covering it with his hat, struck it against the stone which he still held in his hand. For an instant it flickered, and then flared up. But George, careless of his exposed situation, knelt, staring with wide, almost frightened, eyes at the greenstone club, which he held once again in his hands. CHAPTER XXI IN THE FLAX SWAMP Loth as George was to yield to the superstitious feeling which the coincidences in connection with the greenstone club invariably engendered, he was almost stupefied at its reappearance at the present juncture. Yet there was nothing supernatural about it. He had jumped into the ditch almost at the exact point at which the _mere_ had dropped from his belt, and had naturally stumbled upon it. He was too well balanced to remain long under the spell of the occurrence, and with a sigh of thankfulness picked up the club, stripped the mat from the shoulders of the unconscious Maori, and ran, light-footed, in the direction of the upper bridge. Before he had gone twenty yards he bounced into a number of Maoris hurrying towards the same spot. 'Have you caught them?' he said thickly, congratulating himself that the darkness and the mat about his shoulders would prevent immediate recognition. '_No hea?_' grumbled a Hau-hau. The words, meaning literally 'from whence?' imply in Maori phraseology that the thing inquired for is nowhere. It was an admission that the superstitious fellows did not expect to retake the fugitives. 'Hortoni, indeed, is under the protection of TUMATAUENGA,' growled another. 'Else would the Hawk have slain him ere now.' 'But Hortoni has lost the _mere_--so they say,' returned George, quickening his pace a little, so as to pass the talkative Maori. '_Na!_ the _mere_ of TUMATAUENGA cannot be lost,' a third observed sententiously as George drew ahead of him. 'By this time Hortoni again wears it by his side. _Ehara!_ It is extraordinary, and I do not know why ATUA should favour a Pakeha. But so it is. _Ea!_' he grunted disgustedly. 'In my opinion Hortoni is a god. Who can prevail against a god?'