Page:Through South Westland.djvu/241

Rh settlement were ruined by disastrous forest fires, and the only other settler was drowned. The way became very rough, and the Berline groaned and creaked as we bumped, now over a dry watercourse, then across a swamp, where it threatened either to part with its wheels or to remain, but a violent jerk from the horses freed it. Presently high grass completely hid the track, and we could only guess at it, and carefully avoid a series of exquisitely blue, but treacherous little peat tarns, where the paradise ducks and pukaki, or “swamp hens,” were busy.

The mountains on each side of us rose 2,000 to 3,000 feet, sloping steeply to the river, and patched with dark bush and the brilliant green of young bracken, and the valley itself varied from one to three miles in width. Plenty of long grass grew by the river margins, where fine cattle were feeding. We wondered why so fair and fertile a land was utterly uninhabited. In all our wanderings I never enjoyed a drive so much. The air was so exhilarating, the sunshine so glorious, and the goal in front so alluring; everything thus far had gone well, too, and no thought of failure or disaster crossed our minds.

And so the long sunny day wore on, and the lights and shades on the snows ahead changed, and crept higher and higher as the sun moved westward, and at five o’clock we saw the Niger Hut perched on a slope of grassy hillside, the track winding down to it through a cutting.