Page:Through South Westland.djvu/153

Rh when at last I fell into a troubled doze, it was with my head wrapped in one of the pack-covers. Over the rest of that night of misery I draw a veil. Transome smoked many pipes, I believe. And when the grey dawn stole in at the one small window, we looked at each other. I was much the worst, quite unrecognizable and could hardly see, but though Transome’s hands were swollen they had spared his face. How I wished I could have smoked all night! Hurriedly I collected the charred embers together, and made some cocoa. “Let us flee,” I said, “while there is any of us left.” Transome vowed he would report the state of this “Traveller’s Rest” at head-quarters on our return; but, after all, no one, except it may be an odd cattle-drover, ever sleeps there—the settlers know it too well.

We set out into a world which was still wrapped in that weird white mist. Only a few yards of track were visible ahead—always ascending through the trees. But we were gradually getting to the top of a 2,000 foot saddle—it grew brighter every minute, and as we left the night clouds below, we knew that up among the peaks there would be a cloudless sunrise: