Believing, as he did most firmly, that his own fate and the fate of his House depended upon his possession of the greenstone club, Te Karearea's emotion was not altogether feigned, and George, despite the knowledge that his own life would not be worth a day's purchase if he surrendered the mere, felt again that throb of sympathy for this man who pleaded for what meant to him his very existence.
Nevertheless, and though he grew more uncomfortable than ever, his resolution hardened not to yield the club while he had strength to retain it; so, to avoid the sight of Te Karearea's woebegone face, he moved a pace or two ahead of the chief.
They had come almost to the centre of the great tree which spanned the chasm, and the main body had halted at the bridge-head in order not to incommode the chief and his 'guests' during the crossing, which, if not actually dangerous, was a matter requiring caution. For, though wide enough to allow the three to walk abreast, the bridge was yet so narrow, that the right arm of George and the left arm of Terence brushed the ropes.
But Te Karearea was desperate. Ignoring the warning that guile, not force, must be employed to recover the mere, or that only by voluntary surrender or carelessness on the part of Hortoni could it become his own, he made a sudden snatch at the club, which hung rather in front of George's right hip. The natural consequence followed. George moved on with long, swinging stride just as Te Karearea stooped with eagerly extended hand, the chief missed the club, lost his balance, and, in full view of the horrified spectators, rolled over the bridge.
A howl of dismay went up from the Maoris, and George, turning sharply, saw with amazed eyes the unfortunate chief sliding head-downwards into the profound abyss.
Without a thought of his own danger, George flung himself down upon his face with hands outstretched, and succeeded, only just in time, in seizing the chief's left ankle, to which he clung with the tenacity of desperation.
For the position was now awful in the extreme. Head downwards over that frightful abyss the chief hung, held back from instant and dreadful death only by the strong clutch of his intrepid captive, who, with his own arms and face over the edge of the trunk, looked down into the horrid rift into which he was slowly being dragged.
But Terence was to the fore as well, and down he went on his knees and hung on to his friend's legs with all the strength of his mighty muscles. Then he shouted to Winata Pakaro, who ran lightly across the bridge, stooped over the edge, and caught Te Karearea's right ankle, thus allowing George to take a fresh grip of the left.
And so, in a somewhat undignified manner, the great chief was hauled slowly back from what a moment earlier had seemed, and a moment later would have been, certain death.
No loud expressions of delight greeted Te Karearea as he resumed the perpendicular; for every Maori there had seen his attempt to possess himself of the greenstone club, and noted, too, the swift and terrible retribution which, by the magic of the Pakeha, had overtaken him. Truly, the magician had chosen to arrest the fall of the victim, but not until he had given striking evidence of his power.