"Two hours ago. No good to keep same road. All go sleep there--no wake up." The man had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the storm. Fred did not like this independent change of route, but going back was out of the question, and he was too cold to argue, with fire, shelter, and food close at hand. "All right," he said briefly. "Keep on. We'll talk it over afterward." Ten minutes later Kanuka halted before the door of a rude hut, which communicated with two or three small wings or out-houses. It was built of mud and rough stones and thatched with straw. There were several houses similar in character farther down the road. The little settlement was in a sheltered nook between two high hills, which, as the valley ran east and west, protected the huts, or hovels as they might well be called, from the full force of the gale. Kanuka knocked at the door with his club, but it was some time before it was opened, although the light burning within, shining through the small window, showed that the occupants were awake. The guide was redoubling his blows and shouting in his own language, when the door swung inward, and an old woman appeared in the opening. A low colloquy ensued, and then Kanuka turned to his employer. "She says we may spend the night here," he said, in better English than he had yet used. "Go you in and get warm, sir. I will care for horses." With some difficulty Fred dismounted and stumbled in at the open doorway. He found himself in a small low-browed room, so filled with smoke that his eyes tingled, and so dirty that, hardened traveller as he was, he hesitated for a moment before removing his heavy coat. The aged crone paid no further attention to her visitor, but resumed her preparations for the evening meal, which had been interrupted by Fred's appearance on the scene. There was a broad, irregular fireplace on one side of the room, and here a fire was blazing, with a black pot, from which rose a not unsavoury steam, suspended over the flames. Mumbling to herself, the mistress of the hut--for such she seemed to be--occupied herself in stirring the contents of the pot, and in dragging a small wooden table to the centre of the floor, which, like the table, the chairs, the walls, and the old woman herself, was grimy and redolent of filth. Accustomed to adapt himself to all sorts of strange surroundings the reporter now removed his outer garments, and approached the fire with a propitiatory word to the woman; but she responded merely by pointing impatiently to a bench, and turning her back upon him. Nothing daunted Fred drew the bench nearer the fireplace and proceeded to thaw out his benumbed fingers with every outward appearance of content and satisfaction. To please himself rather than his hostess, who he knew could not understand a word he spoke, he continued to soliloquise aloud.