VII 
AN OVERCROWDED HOTEL 
237 
called birch. After passing the “ Devil’s Punchbowl ” 
waterfall, the endless perspective of the wide river-bed of 
the Waimakariri opened for miles in front of us. It was 
a clear, cold sunset, and the mountains stood out black 
against the silver sky. The wind from those snowy 
peaks laid an icy hand upon us as we crossed the wide 
shingly bed of the river, now so swollen by the melting 
of the snows above that it came down a perfect whirl 
of waters, and it was a case of touch and go as we 
went over. Oh, how cold the wind blew along that 
valley ! and weren’t we glad when another half-hour’s 
drive brought us to our halting-place for the night, 
its only recommendation being the great log fire which 
greeted us as we went inside ! It was a small, crowded 
and badly-managed hotel. As for beds, there were none 
to be had, the hotel was full to overflowing. They could 
not be blamed for this, for two coach-loads of passengers 
from Christchurch were already in possession ; but I 
did expect civility, which was entirely omitted from 
their bill. Those behind us, including the two men 
of sorts, did not take things so easily. It was a night 
ruffled by unrest ; sleep was out of the question on a 
horse-hair sofa with one rug, and in the chilly dawn of 
the morning we had breakfast by the light of a strong- 
smelling kerosene lamp, and started on our way, bowling 
along with five fresh horses and a new driver. 
We said good-bye here to the last of the trees, and 
the mountains ran down to the broad river-beds, with 
their steep slopes covered with rock and grass ; gaunt- 
looking and desolate. I held on extra tight at some 
of the narrow passes down the inclines, for there was 
always a spice of danger in it, and one felt a sort of 
wondering excitement in picturing what the next sharp 
corner might bring. Now we went along the gorges, 
then up again on to the hills. We passed a small lake 
