So I very gently turned her head round down stream and quietly made back again for the bank which I had left.She had got nearly to the shore,and I could again detect a darker line in the water,which was now not over her knees,when all of a sudden down she went up to her belly in a quicksand,in which she began floundering about in fine style.I was off her back and into the water that she had left in less time than it takes to write this.I should not have thought of leaving her back unless sure of my ground,for it is a canon in river crossing to stick to your horse.I pulled her gently out,and followed up the dark line to the shore where my two friends were only too glad to receive me.By the way,all this time I had had a companion in the shape of a cat in a bag,which I was taking over to my place as an antidote to the rats,which were most unpleasantly abundant there.I nursed her on the pommel of my saddle all through this last stream,and save in the episode of the quicksand she had not been in the least wet.Then,however,she did drop in for a sousing,and mewed in a manner that went to my heart.Iam very fond of cats,and this one is a particularly favourable specimen.It was with great pleasure that I heard her purring through the bag,as soon as I was again mounted and had her in front of me as before.

So I failed to cross this stream there,but,determined if possible to get across the river and see whether the Irishman was alive or dead,we turned higher up the stream and by and by found a place where it divided.By carefully selecting a spot I was able to cross the first stream without the waters getting higher than my saddle-flaps,and the second scarcely over the horse's belly.After that there were two streams somewhat similar to the first,and then the dangers of the passage of the river might be considered as accomplished--the dangers,but not the difficulties.These consisted in the sluggish creeks and swampy ground thickly overgrown with Irishman,snow-grass,and spaniard,which extend on either side the river for half a mile and more.But to cut a long story short we got over these too,and then we were on the shingly river-bed which leads up to the spot on which my hut is made and my house making.This river was now a brawling torrent,hardly less dangerous to cross than the Rangitata itself,though containing not a tithe of the water,the boulders are so large and the water so powerful.

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