I went to bed again for two or three hours, and then got up and had breakfast. We started at five. Hitherto, I had been riding the black pony, “Steam-engine,” but this day, as I heard the road was good, and through valleys, I rode the young bay horse His Highness had given me. I found the road was not all valley. [Sidenote: Dangers of By-paths.] We reached a ravine where the road branched into two. One branch ran to the left of the ravine, the other wound up the face of the mountain to the right. When the Armenian and I arrived at the division, we found there was a block on the left road, and, therefore, took the one on the right. We had got some distance up when a block occurred here also. The Armenian, who was leading, at once took a little by-path which ran along the edge, a little below the main road, and I followed. I did not like it. Looking directly down I could see the bottom of the ravine, and on the other side, down below, I could see the other road crowded with cavalry and baggage-horses, indiscriminately mixed. Imagine yourself riding along the sill of your bedroom window on a young untried horse, and you will get an idea of what I am trying to explain. The path was barely three feet wide. The situation in itself was unpleasant, and I did not know how my horse would behave in mountain climbing. Some young horses are frightened, and instead of keeping their attention fixed on what is before them, they look about--mine did, and neighed when he saw the horses below--slip, become frightened, plunge and slip more: then--various complications arise. [Illustration] Suddenly, I saw the Armenian pause a second--he was riding a steady old mountain pony--glance up to the road above and put his horse straight up the slope. There was a scramble, a scatter of sparks, as the hoofs struck the rock, and he was up on the road. I saw why, when he was gone, and my turn came. The path ended: rounding off into nothing. There was no room to turn back, nor to dismount; I could not stay where I was, and I put him at rocky slope. The horse looked up: a little touch of the spur, and I grasped his mane with both hands: he reared straight up, gave a spring from his hind legs, and in a moment was on the slope. I lived a long time in the next few seconds, for it flashed into me that, if we ever got up, the crush on the road above would leave no room for us, and we must inevitably slip back. But, no! he scrambled like a cat, and darting into a gap in the stream of baggage-horses, we were safe on the path. I hoped I didn’t look very sickly: I felt so. Presently, we were able to escape from the stream of traffic by riding along a narrow ridge, then we descended a horribly steep slope. This, however, was earthy and stony, not bare rock, and it afforded a firmer foothold: the bay went down sideways, like a crab. In the place where we scrambled up, the rock was rough and somewhat irregular. If it had been smooth, this probably would never have been written.