In such a corps the personal character of the leader is everything; and in this respect they were exceptionally fortunate. Carl Von Tempsky, the son of a Prussian officer high in service, was a soldier of fortune in the best sense of the word. He had served for several years with credit, if not distinction, until the temptation of a free adventurous life proved too strong for him. He quitted the ranks of the 3rd Fusiliers for a long ramble in Mexico, during which he held various military commands. After this foreign service he travelled through Central America, and knew Bluefields Bay and the Mosquito Shore, finally reaching New Zealand a year before the troublous time which supplied the warlike excitement in which his nature revelled. Producing his credentials, he was at once appointed to the force which, under his leadership, became so celebrated. His career was assured. Daring to recklessness, he was yet a thorough disciplinarian. Suave in manner, but unyielding, he controlled the wilder spirits in his regiment, while his confident and successful generalship roused his men to a pitch of enthusiasm which rendered them well-nigh irresistible in the field. As scouts they were invaluable, often securing information of the movements of the enemy, which the superstitious natives believed to be derived from witchcraft or sorcery. Their sudden onslaught upon outlying camps and redoubts demoralized the foe. While, whenever they had brought anything like an equal force to bay, they invariably routed them with loss, Von Tempsky, with his dark flashing eyes and cavalier curls, bearing himself as though gifted with a charmed life. Such was the corps in which Massinger and Warwick found themselves; for the latter had made up his mind--on Mr. Slyde's principle, that in the present state of affairs "one must join something"--to follow the same flag as his erstwhile employer, to whom he had become personally attached. Of the young Englishman's courage and liberality he had the highest opinion; of his prudence he felt doubtful. This was his chief reason, as he told Mr. Slyde, for enlisting. "I shouldn't like to see him shot or tomahawked," he said. "He'll make a grand soldier if he gets time; but he's careless--deuced careless--and foolhardy. I'm afraid of some dog of a Waikato taking a pot-shot at him from behind a tree while he's thinking of something a thousand miles away." * * * * * The Forest Rangers were a distinguished corps in which to be enrolled. From the beginning of the campaign their name had been in every one's mouth. Their dress was picturesque, though toned down in regard to the special services on which they were generally detailed.