Page:Emeraldhoursinne00lowtiala.djvu/233

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THE MILFORD TRACK AGAIN
123

by our adventure the other night, and had then and there determined that nothing of the sort should happen again.

“Even if people started in plenty of time from the Sutherland Falls there is no guaranteeing that they won't meet with an accident or something to delay them,—there’s that river to cross, for instance, and the ropes might get out of order. So I sent word to these chaps that they’d get overtime pay if they rushed these through and they worked from daybreak yesterday morning to do it. Directly we can get the bedding down these will be ready for emergencies, now.”

We had some sandwiches and hot tea there, for we had not been able to do justice to Mrs Sutherland’s early breakfast, and then, like giants refreshed, began the long walk to the Falls. But during our short sojourn in the hut another of those weather miracles took place, the rain ceased, the clouds vanished, the sun shone, all in the twinkling of an eye. And under these conditions the walk did not seem at all long. The valley was roofed with an azure dome that seemed to double the height of the hills, and in the sunshine the trees and ferns and moss looked more emerald green than ever. And it intensified the fragrance of the syringa, and made the clematis gleam like ivory; and as it sparkled on the water the creeks and gullies seemed to be instinct with life and bubbling with joy. How the water rushed and foamed over the giant granite rocks in Roaring Creek, too, and how it glittered and purled in the broad river-bed under the suspended chair!

We arrived at the scene of our defeated hopes soon after midday, and walked up to see the Falls while dinner was being prepared. And as it was so gloriously fine we decided not to stay there after all, but to take advantage of the good weather to cross over the Pass lest our luck failed us by the morrow.

But we had a good spell at the huts, inspected the new ones which will afford double accommodation in the future, and started on the third stage of that day’s journey at about three o’clock.

The “Hamlet” looked very lovely, but it was all up-hill, and certainly seemed very long, perhaps because there is little or no variation in the view. We seemed to be eternally turning corners into exactly the same spot that we had just left, but the last turn paid for them all, for we did not realise that it was the last until we unexpectedly came upon the “Battlefield!”

It still looked like a battle-field, too, that wonderful valley, even more so, perhaps, under the sunny peaceful sky than when the storm-clouds were darkening and half concealing the gigantic peaks and enormous masses of snow and ice. Now the sun shone down on the battered grey warriors fallen from their lofty eyries, and glistened on the streaming sides of the cruelly-torn and rent declivities, whence great masses of rock and soil had been dislodged in the fury of the elements. It glittered coldly on the gleaming, dazzling Jervois Glacier that filled the sky-high saddle between its guardian peaks and it flashed from the mica-covered stones in the cliffs under the dripping snow-water that ran from the heights. The scene was, if possible, even more desolate in the