"He was shot from behind," he said. "I am as certain of it as that I lie here; it was the act of that skulking scoundrel Ngarara. I was near him at the time. Von Tempsky himself was hardly a foot in front of him as he was trying to spring on to the parapet, when I heard a shot behind us on the right flank. Mind, the troops were standing forward for a bayonet charge, and the covering volleys were on the left flank. It surprised me, so that I looked round; there I saw a band of the Ngapuhi that had dashed up in advance of the main body. Sheltering himself behind a tree, I saw Ngarara. He had missed the first time, but had reloaded. I caught sight of his face for a moment as the second report came, and Mr. Massinger fell forward on his face. Before I could turn towards him I was knocked over by a bullet from a rifle-pit, and knew no more. But a ranger who was close to me at the time, and helped to carry me to the rear, heard Mannering shout out an order, upon which several of the Maketu men closed round Massinger and carried him off. Following them up, he was sure that he saw two women. These he didn't recognize."
"Shouldn't wonder if one of them was the girl he was philandering with at the Terraces. Heard she was with her father's hapu. Princess and wounded knight business. Turn up all safe by-and-by."
"I'm not so sure," mused Warwick. "He's a treacherous dog, that Ngarara. He'll have another try before he gives in—unless the chief shoots him, which he's very likely to do, on sight."
"Summary justice," said Mr. Slyde. "Points in savage life, after all. Come to think."
"I saw him do it once," said Warwick. "I was a boy then. He shot a Maori dead who had helped to murder a white man before the fellow's friends."
"What did the tribe say?"
"Nothing—though there were many of the man's relations present. They knew he was in the wrong. Besides, the act was that of a chief. That means a good deal in this country."
"Seems it does. Power in the land. Must look up one with an eligible daughter. A hundred thousand acres of the Waikato land would be a snug dowry. Live like a baron of the Middle Ages. No more beastly reports to write. Tell my directors to go to the reinga."
"How long is it before the doctor says we shall be fit to travel?" said Warwick, wandering from the point.
"Three weeks at farthest. I vote we go on the scout for Massinger. Can't leave him in the tents of the whatsynames—Amorites or something. Dance at his wedding if we can do nothing else."