At length the descent was accomplished, and we entered a desolate valley, keeping to the rock-strewn river-bed, now almost dry, as being better than the road, which here is almost indistinguishable, winding and turning amongst great boulders, which appear to have fallen from the steeps above. An hour or so later we passed under the strange fortress of Mefhak, grandly situated on a pinnacle of rock some five hundred feet above the valley; and, leaving a large encampment of Turkish troops on our left, once more began to ascend. For a while our way led through the loveliest of little valleys, which seemed like the greater one we had been passing through in miniature. On either side walls of rock some fifty to a hundred feet in height rose precipitously, but, sheltered from the sun, a number of varieties of wild-flowers had taken root, and the place was a fairyland of colour. Great clusters of jasmine hung over the precipices, while on every side bloomed acacias and aloes. A gorgeous flowering-tree, bearing pale-pink blossoms, edged the narrow water-course, just as if it had been planted there by the hand of man. An hour more and we drew up at the caravanserai of Ijz for our mid-day rest. Very hot it was; but the proprietor of the _café_, a wounded Turkish soldier, full of grievances and very dirty, amused us much, mumbling and grumbling as he leaned over the fire to cook my coffee and the men’s drink of coffee-husks. Although coffee in very large quantities is exported from the Yemen, it is drunk only by the Turks and the richer classes, the poorer contenting themselves with, and preferring, they say, the boiled husks. We spent only an hour or two at Ijz, as I was anxious to push on to Menakha before dark; and accordingly in the heat of the early afternoon we said good-bye to our old host and the handful of Turkish troops who had joined us in our meal, and mounted our mules once more. [Illustration: _Gorge near Menakha._]