"Do you see those climbers carelessly thrown along the track?" "I do see some supple-jack here and there." "Those," said Warwick, "are Maori ladders, which you will find strong enough when it is your turn to try them. Of the two, I would rather trust to them than ordinary rope." "When do we start?" asked Massinger. "Not today, or perhaps tomorrow. They have scouts on the watch. The major won't move until they get careless. Then a midnight affair." "Regular 'Der Freischutz' business," said Slyde. "Hour midnight. Circle. Skulls neatly arranged. 'Zamiel, come forth!' etc. Owls in forest, please attend. Come to think, we _are_ rather in the Freischutz line. If we get back to Auckland one of these fine days (or years), good idea for private theatricals." "We shall have them in private and public," said Warwick, "before the season's over. Likely to end up with a tragedy, too." "Tragedy or comedy, we shall be in the front row," said Massinger; "but, the overture not having commenced, we can't criticize the performance. Our _jeun premier_, Von Tempsky, however, would do honour to any opera in Europe. What a romantic-looking fellow he is in his undress uniform! Calm, yet determined-looking, an expression which would never alter in the face of death. Hair worn longer than we Englishmen affect, but it becomes some people. As a fashion it's certain to come in again. Cavalry sabre, forage cap, blue tunic, boots to the knee,--there you have him. He would have been a _Feld_ some day if he had remained in the Imperial service." "Better that he is with us to-night," said Warwick. "Besides being a first-class leader, he is one of the smartest scouts that ever picked up a track. Did you ever hear what he did at Papa-rata? Many a man wears the Victoria Cross for less." "No--that is, heard generally. Tell us about it," said Slyde. "Afraid I shouldn't do much in that line." "Nor I either," said Massinger. "I am all ears." "You'll never be all eyes, captain," said Warwick, with a grim smile. "And by Maori custom a captured scout is doomed to tortures that can't be told. I always keep one shot in my revolver." "For whom?" asked Massinger. "For _myself_, if ever I'm 'jumped,'" answered Warwick, who had acquired, among his other experiences, a few miner's idioms. "But here is the story. The general wanted a sketch of the enemy's works at Papa-rata, which they had occupied in force. Our Von undertook the service--sort of forlorn hope business--and, like everything he ever began, carried it out thoroughly. He managed to hide himself in the scrub and flax in the very midst of the natives, and, far worse for discovery, their prowling dogs, popularly supposed to wind a white man a mile off. There he calmly sketched the position, and got safe back into camp. They gave him his commission for it." "And well he deserved it," said Massinger.