wild war-song was kept with wonderful accuracy.

"Feel scared, Mas' Don?" whispered Jem.

"I did at first, Jem," replied Don; "but they seem such a set of
ridiculous idiots, that I am more disposed to laugh at them."

"That's just how I feel, my lad, only aggrawated like, too. I should
like to go among 'em with a big stick. I never see such faces as they
make. It is all flam; they won't fight."

The war-song went on as if the enemy were exciting themselves for the
affray, and all the time the men of Tomati and Ngati stood firm, and as
watchful as could be of their foes, who leaped, and stamped, and sang
till Jem turned to Don, and said in a low voice,--

"Look here, Mas' Don, it's my opinion that these here chaps never grew
inside their heads after they was six or seven. They've got bodies big
enough, but no more brains than a little child. Look at that
six-foot-four chap making faces at us; why, it's like a little boy.
They won't fight."

It seemed so to Don, and that it was all going to be an attempt to
frighten the tribe he was with. But all the same, the enemy came by
degrees nearer and nearer, as they yelled and leaped; and a suspicion
suddenly crossed Don's mind that there might be a motive in all this.

"Jem, they mean to make a rush."

"Think so, Mas' Don?"

"Yes, and our people know it. Look out!"

The followers of Tomati had thoroughly grasped the meaning of the
indirect approach, just as a man who has practised a certain manoeuvre
is prepared for the same on the part of his enemy, and they had
gradually edged towards the entrance to the _pah_, which was closed, but
which naturally presented the most accessible way to the interior.

The howling chorus and the dancing continued, till, at a signal, the
rush was made, and the fight began.

Jem Wimble's doubts disappeared in an instant; for, childish as the
actions of the enemy had been previously, they were now those of
desperate savage men, who made no account of their lives in carrying out
the attack upon the weaker tribe.

With a daring that would have done credit to the best disciplined
forces, they darted up to the stout fence, some of them attacking the
defenders, by thrusting through their spears, while others strove to
climb up and cut the lashings of the _toro-toro_, the stout fibrous
creeper with which the palings were bound together.

One minute the enemy were dancing and singing, the next wildly engaged
in the fight; while hard