Indians had shown in many ways of late that they
were weary of their journey and anxious to return. We realized that
Zambo spoke the truth, and that it would be impossible for him to keep
them.

"Make them wait till to-morrow, Zambo," I shouted; "then I can send
letter back by them."

"Very good, sarr! I promise they wait till to-morrow," said the negro.
"But what I do for you now?"

There was plenty for him to do, and admirably the faithful fellow did
it. First of all, under our directions, he undid the rope from the
tree-stump and threw one end of it across to us. It was not thicker
than a clothes-line, but it was of great strength, and though we could
not make a bridge of it, we might well find it invaluable if we had any
climbing to do. He then fastened his end of the rope to the package of
supplies which had been carried up, and we were able to drag it across.
This gave us the means of life for at least a week, even if we found
nothing else. Finally he descended and carried up two other packets of
mixed goods--a box of ammunition and a number of other things, all of
which we got across by throwing our rope to him and hauling it back.
It was evening when he at last climbed down, with a final assurance
that he would keep the Indians till next morning.

And so it is that I have spent nearly the whole of this our first night
upon the plateau writing up our experiences by the light of a single
candle-lantern.

We supped and camped at the very edge of the cliff, quenching our
thirst with two bottles of Apollinaris which were in one of the cases.
It is vital to us to find water, but I think even Lord John himself had
had adventures enough for one day, and none of us felt inclined to make
the first push into the unknown. We forbore to light a fire or to make
any unnecessary sound.

To-morrow (or to-day, rather, for it is already dawn as I write) we
shall make our first venture into this strange land. When I shall be
able to write again--or if I ever shall write again--I know not.
Meanwhile, I can see that the Indians are still in their place, and I
am sure that the faithful Zambo will be here presently to get my
letter. I only trust that it will come to hand.

P.S.--The more I think the more desperate does our position seem. I
see no possible hope of our return. If there were a high tree near the
edge of the plateau we might drop a return bridge across, but there is
none within fifty yards. Our united