“Oh! You must be rather wet! But before you take off your hats I had better tell you that these beds are all engaged,—Mrs Binks and her daughters have gone to see the Falls, but we are all sleeping here to-night!”
“So we concluded!” returned Mrs Greendays icily. “Come, Mary,” and we straightway retired, closing the door behind us. Mr. Inspector met us as we walked towards the dining hut.
“Of course you have the prior claim to the beds,” he began, “as they were here last night and could have gone on, you can oblige them to turn in together, or turn out if they prefer it!”
“Not for the world!” said Mrs Greendays. “I suppose it is possible to get as far as the next huts?”
“Nineteen miles, Hilda!” said her husband who had joined us with Colonel Deane. “I am afraid you could not manage that, my dear!”
“At least we are game to try,” she answered with a rather watery smile.
“But let us at least have some food, Tom,—we can discuss it while we are eating.”
“We are just a week or so too early,” said Mr. Inspector, who had been trying to persuade us not to go on, as we sat down to the table. “My men are building more huts now, but at the present there is nothing between this and Sutherland’s at Milford. The only comfort is that we can save a bit of the way by crossing Lake Ada instead of walking round it, but it is a dangerous lake, and if you decide to come on we must start at once, for we must cross the lake in daylight.”
So after a hurried meal we set off again, just as we were in our wet clothes. Happily the worst fury of the rain had been spent, and save for gentle but frequent showers the afternoon was fine.
Soon after leaving the huts we had a splendid view of the Sutherland Falls. They are 1,904 feet high, and they fall in three tiers from over a wooded cliff, the waters joining the highway torrent whose proper name is the Arthur River.
Captain Greendays and I were a little ahead of the others when, in turning for another look at the Falls without looking where I was walking, suddenly I found myself on my back in a stream across the track. I had slipped on a wet plank laid over the stream, and must have twisted an ankle, for when I stood up the pain was excrutiating and for a few minutes I was obliged to lean helplessly and speechlessly against the bank. All day long I had been climbing about, often leaving the track to make short cuts in impossible looking places, stepping on to loose stones and boulders, through snow and rain, and nothing had happened. And now, here on the flat, with an eighteen mile tramp before us, this!
But it was useless to growl, and I was very glad that no one but Captain Greendays was there until I had pulled myself together again. I don’t know how I managed to hobble along that afternoon. The absolute necessity and the dread of delaying the others doubtless helped a good deal, but the beauty of the valley certainly had a share in the matter.
