“Aye,” he said, “and the finest sight I ever saw was the top of Mount Aspiring, where it rises up like a great silver cone against the blue.” We questioned him eagerly, could we see it? “Yes,” he could take us there, but it meant camping, with stores and outfit. The idea remained in our heads—the idea of the Silver Cone.
Next day the storm was past, a serene blue sky spread overhead, and we gathered, a little group at the gate with the waiting horses, till Ted should appear. We bade farewell to our kind host and hostess, who were greatly concerned that there was no whisky in the house to tender us a parting glass, and at seven o’clock, no Ted appearing, we rode away down a long green alley in a bush-grown swamp. The going for us was slow, with mud holes every few yards, but in about an hour’s time we heard the pad of horses’s hoofs, and Ted came cantering up. As usual he said little, merely remarking he had heard we were at Okuru, storm-stayed, and then took command of the expedition. He quickened our pace, and I rode after the big, stalwart figure sitting straight and square, legs dangling, only toes in the stirrups; and how that mare of his could cover the ground! She was unshod, and but a three-year-old, caught a short time back in the river-bed—where the mares and foals run practically wild. Ted could talk when it came to talking about his mare! And he told me in three weeks he had broken her in, and ridden her in the Christmas races on the sands,
