Page:Through South Westland.djvu/140

70 miles; then up a river-bed, where we were to find the next accommodation-house. Mr. Ritchie, our host, was North-of-Ireland, and we had much laughing over the term “far-downers,” which we frequently heard applied to men from there. His only explanation was that perhaps they went further than anybody else! At last the goodbyes were said, the Maori ladies waved graceful farewells, and we rode away as the last wreaths of mist melted off the mountains, and the sunset clouds above began to turn to rose and gold.

A very rough bit of road led us on to the beach, where the big white and green rollers were thundering on the strand. Low sand dunes bounded the bush, which, along the coast, was cut off straight and even as by gigantic shears, and all the trees branched away from the prevailing west wind. Here and there a splash of scarlet enlivened this 40-foot hedge, and immediately within its sheltering band the forest-luxuriance rioted unchecked. Far away in a golden haze a wooded headland ran out to sea with a rocky islet at its point, and we could see from the long roll and break of the waves there must be a sand bar—no doubt at the mouth of the Mahitahi. Late as it was, with the low sun slanting in our faces, that was a very hot stretch of beach to cross, and we watched anxiously for stick or post to indicate a turn-off into the bush. But there was neither post nor sign—not even a rag tied to a stick to guide us—to such meagreness was the great South Road reduced!