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THROUGH SOUTH WESTLAND.

weka snatched them up, and ran away with them. There was a hue and cry, but the weka had the best of it, and he saw his teeth no more. They have curious eyes, red like rubies, and the wings are but weakly developed—they often reminded me of a hen pheasant whose tail had been plucked out, and they can run quite as fast.

By this time Ted was making signs that we must go, so we bade farewell to the hospitable camp, and went back to where we had left the horses by the narrow track. I found here one of the loveliest lace-like ferns I had seen—full two feet or more in height, and tapered to the point from ten inches at the base, and was so fine, it was like a fairy network. It was past eleven o’clock, and for nearly two hours we journeyed on. The gorge was narrowing, the mountains getting steeper. In some places they were quite precipitous, and glorious waterfalls came leaping from the rocky heights above. A mid-day rest was called on a grass flat in the river-bed, where the horses could eat their fill. Then on again, and towards evening we were coming down a descent above a clearing. Ted had dismounted to let down some bars, when suddenly I saw smoke arising through the trees. I called to him that someone must be camping in front of us. He said nothing audible, but with a perturbed look went off to investigate. I followed more slowly. In a little clearing stood a hut no bigger than the Blue River hut, but more dilapidated outwardly—