with deep, purple gorges, and higher mountains beyond. Along the river were paddocks and grazing land, but behind the house the bush came to the very doors. The heat seemed tropical in that closed-in valley; everything was saturated with moisture and the mist hung low on the hills. So far we had scarcely been troubled by mosquitoes, but now we were in a country infested by them. Much discussion took place as to our next stage, and they strongly advised resting the horses a day, and then pushing through the next fifty miles in one stage. The alternative was a night spent in a hut en route, whither we would carry some provisions with us.
“You won’t sleep much in the Blue River Hut,” they laughed. “Don’t you think of such a thing!“ “Why, the mosquitoes could lift ye up and carry ye away!“ “They just swarm“—and so forth. But we were bent on going on, if possible. While the discussion was in progress heavy rain fell, and we decided to push on, for this hot and close valley was terribly enervating. One of the daughters offered to ride with us for the first nine miles and see us over the Paringa river, and the whole family gathered to watch the start.
“You’re just a little bit of all-right,“ said my hostess, hugely delighted with a waterproof cover I drew over my hat. “We live in the wet here all the year round, and we none of us has inventions like that!“ “Mind,“ said our host, “and don’t be for going to cross the Haast the two of ye; it’s
