It was now three weeks since Te Karearea had set out for the front, and sick or wounded Maoris were constantly filtering into the pah, one and all with the same story to tell—the continued success of the chief, and the impending annihilation of the detested Pakeha. The worst news they brought was that of the death of old Kapua Mangu, who had been shot while weaving a spell for the destruction of the Arawas. His head had been brought back to the pah, and was now in the hands of the gentleman whose business it was to preserve the grisly relic.
One night George entered their hut in a state of great agitation. His face was pale and his eyes glittered; but for some time he sat silent, while Terence watched him anxiously.
'Anything wrong, old fellow?' he inquired at last.
'Wrong! wrong! Ay; it is all wrong together,' burst out George. 'A devil is loose upon the earth, and his name is Te Karearea. He—he——' His voice faltered, and he stopped for a moment. Then, ominously calm all at once, he resumed: 'News has come that Te Karearea and a company of his Hau-haus stole upon the settlement at Poverty Bay at night and massacred—there's no other word for it, for the poor people were quite unprepared—thirty-three people. And, Terence'—he covered his eyes with his hand—'there were women and little children among them. Your friend Major Biggs was killed, and——' He could say no more.
For a time the two sat without further speech. They felt sick with horror; for the picture of those helpless, anguished mothers and their babes would obtrude itself. But at last George sprang up and shook his great shoulders, as if throwing off some fearful oppression.
'Terence,' he said quietly, 'till now, in spite of what I knew him to be capable of, I have had a sneaking sympathy with this ruffian, with his misfortunes, with his aspirations. I knew that his point of view must be different from ours. I was inclined to make allowances. But now—now——'
'I know,' Terence said in a low voice. 'It is—it is those babies.'
George's strong teeth seemed to snap together. 'Yes; and he shall answer for them to me.' Then he went out into the night.
Next day, as they were sitting in the marae, a wounded Maori came up and said, grinning: 'Pokeke fights at the side of Te Karearea, and he constantly mutters "The great axe of Heora." He bade me tell you this, Hortoni.'
George laughed contemptuously. 'This Heora is, I believe, one of their mythical heroes,' he explained to Terence. 'When a Maori frequently repeats the words "The great axe of Heora," he means that he is keeping his mind fast set upon revenge. Well, this settles the locality of one of our trio.'