Page:Through South Westland.djvu/165

would sink, and I should be in the dark . . . . and supposing a snow-flood came down . . . . what then? Patient Tom stood stock-still watching where his comrade had disappeared; did he think she was drowned, or could he see the farther shore? Gladly I would have got off, and sat in that one tiny patch of shadow cast by his body, but there was no stone or trunk to mount from, and he was a tall horse—gymnastics were beyond me just then. The evening wore on. Bit by bit the scene I had just witnessed passed before me—over and over again in my tired head. Well, it had ended well. The Haast had tried to do its worst, but it had failed. Was nobody ever coming? I bowed my head till it was nearly on Tom’s neck, though I still, from time to time, waved my flag of distress. Hours seemed to pass. Then a long way off, near the lagoon, I saw a man. He was in his shirt sleeves, and was coming along in leisurely fashion; but he was on the opposite bank of the arm which we had crossed together. I turned Tom and rode back towards him. Then he stopped coming on, and waited. This I took to be a signal to cross, and without going so far as our original ford, I just put Tom in where we were. In less than a minute he was swimming! The water came up about my waist, but we got across easily till we reached the other side. Here the bank shelved, and I did not see how we were going to climb out. But, with a mighty effort,