Fortunately the noble beast I bestrode was as bold as he was handsome, and never winced nor shied from the yelling devils who, with waving tomahawks and mats, tried to frighten and check him, but just extended himself, and obedient to my hand and knee pressure swung to whichever side I wanted him to go. In fact he seemed to be guided by my will and understood my wishes as soon as the ideas were formulated in my own brain. Oh, what a splendid gift Providence presented to man when he gave him the horse, and what a friend the noble beast is to you, when you treat him as a pal and not as a slave. Some such thought rushed through my mind as, pistol in hand, I sent him at the crowd of howling savages, a few of whom had already reached the road, two of whom I spotted as being the most dangerous. These two bounders had taken up positions on either side of the track, the one on the left side being armed with a long-handled tomahawk, with which he evidently intended to maim my horse’s legs, the other stood empty-handed, whose plan, plain enough to surmise, was to grab the horse’s bridle and pull the wounded beast down, or, in case he fell, to seize me and put a stop to any resistance I might offer. Backing these fellows up, and running to support them, were a scattered mob of others, armed with guns and tomahawks, but I had no time to notice these critters, as, uttering a yell that must have been inherited from some far-back old Milesian ancestor, I charged straight at my would-be body-snatchers. It was clear to me that the man with the tomahawk was my principal danger, as should his cut at my horse’s legs be successful down we must both come in a heap, and it would be a case of Kingdom Come for the pair of us. So aiming at his midriff as well as I could, when I was within ten yards of him, I fired, and to my delight saw him collapse in a heap. I had barely fired when I was badly shaken in my saddle, as my horse seemed to stop dead, make a half rear, and strike out savagely with his fore-feet. ’Twas only for a tick of time, for with a plunge and bound he regained his stride, and I caught a glimpse of the smashed head, face and shoulders of a man writhing on the ground, as my horse leapt over him; so it was not difficult to understand that the native had sprung at the bridle and been struck down by my noble charger, by which meritorious act he had gained utu (revenge) for the brutal treatment he had received from the Maoris whilst he was a captive and slave in their hands. Anyhow we had broken through them, and although a shower of bullets followed us, two of which touched my gallant pal, while one knocked the heel and spur from my right boot, we were safe, and I cantered along to the fort talking to my horse, and praising him for the bold way he had behaved, while he, playfully reaching at his bit, now and then snorted back as much as to say, “Right, Boss, we euchred those ruddy jossers, didn’t we?”