"Shoot away!" returned the white man. "I won't go back. I'm running away from the soldiers. I want to go to the Maoris. Take me with you!"
"You tangata kuwaré!" the Maori said. "You pakeha fool, go back! T'e Maori kill you, my word! You look out."
"I don't care if they do," replied the soldier. "I tell you, I want to live with the Hauhaus."
"E pai ana!" ("It is well"), said the scout. "All right, you come along. But you look out for my tribe—they kill you."
"I'm not frightened of your tribe," said the soldier.
"What your name, pakeha?" was the next question.
"Kimble Bent," answered the pakeha.
The Maori attempted the pronunciation of the name, but the nearest he could get to it was "Kimara Peneti."
"Too hard a name for t'e Maori," he said. "Taihoa; we give you more better name—good Maori name. If"—he qualified it—"my tribe don't kill you."
Then the swarthy warrior dismounted and ordered the pakeha to get into the saddle; he saw that his prisoner was dead-tired. He turned the horse's head back towards the Maori country, and the strangely-met pair struck down along the banks of the Tangahoé, the Maori striding in front.