cure branch, nothing remained except to gather
herself well together and jump off. But what a jump! the ground fell
sheer away at the foot of the wall, and left a chasm many feet wide,
which the horse could not see until it had climbed to the top of the
wall, and as turning back was out of the question, the only alternative
was to give a vigorous bound on to the narrow ledge beyond. Terrified as
I felt, I luckily refrained from jerking Helen's head, or attempting to
guide her in any way. The only chance of safety over New Zealand tracks,
or New Zealand creeks, is to leave your horse _entirely_ to itself. I
have seen men who were reckoned good riders in England, get the most
ignominious tumbles from a disregard of this advice. An up-country horse
knows perfectly well the only sound spots in a swamp; or the only sound
part of a creek's banks. If his rider persists in taking him over the
latter, where he himself thinks it narrowest and safest, he is pretty
sure to find the earth rotten and crumbling, and to pay for his
obstinacy by a wetting; whilst in the case of a swamp the consequences
are even more serious, and the horse often gets badly strained in
floundering out of a quagmire.

But it was not all danger and difficulty, and the many varieties of
scene in the course of a long ride constituted some of its chief charms.
At first, perhaps, after we had left our own fair valley behind, the
track would wind through the gorge of a river, with lofty mountains
rising sheer up from the water side. All here was sad and grey, and very
solemn in its eternal silence, only made more intense by the ceaseless
monotonous roar of the ever-rushing water. Then we would emerge on acres
and acres of softly rolling downs, higher than the hillocks we call by
that name at home, but still marvellously beautiful in their swelling
curves all folding so softly into each other, and dotted with mobs of
sheep, making pastoral music to a flock-owner's ear. Over this sort of
ground we could canter gaily along, with "Hector," F----'s pet colley,
keeping close to the heels of his master's horse,--for it is the worst
of bad manners in a colley to look at a neighbour's sheep. The etiquette
in passing through a strange run is for the dog to go on the off side of
his master's horse, so that the sheep shall not even see him; and this
piece of courtly politeness Hector always practised of his own accord.

A wire fence always proved a very tiresome obstacle, f