When we arrived at this conclusion we were at a spot some miles from the Orange, up an unnamed dry river that by compass bearings appeared to trend in the direction of the Gauna Gulip, from which low, but rugged and difficult, mountain ridges separated us. So to avoid a detour of at least two days, we decided to follow up this unknown ravine instead of retracing our steps, hoping that it would ultimately converge into the right river-bed, where we should be near water, of which we had very little. All the long afternoon we toiled up the defile, the winding sand-bed rising until the encompassing rocky walls were only a couple of hundred feet high, but still too steep for horses. At length, just about sunset, we came to the end of the crumbling schist and a granite intrusion rose on either hand--huge rounded boulders the size of cottages piled one upon another and without a vestige of earth or sand in the network of cavities between them. And after a few hundred yards of these we were faced by a low connecting granite _nek_, barring our progress, and abruptly ending the ravine. Over this we were confident of finding the Tatas River, from which we could easily reach our destination. I was riding ahead, and found the _nek_ quite easy of ascent and scarce a hundred feet high. Up this I rode, crossed a few yards of ridge and looked down--and nearly fell from the pony in sheer funk! For I was at the edge of a sheer precipice of 600 or 700 feet in depth, its face of horrible, smooth, slippery-looking granite, with scarce a crack or crevice in it to offer foothold for a cat, and with but a few huge rounded boulders clinging to its face as by a miracle. It was almost dark, but in the depths below I could see the sand-river we were bound for, and could have almost dropped a stone into it--but to attempt to get down to it--even without the horses--looked sheer madness! Ransson and the two guides came up, and the latter shook their heads and clucked and said we must go back--and go round--which would mean two days to reach the spot below us! Ransson merely grunted and, getting off his horse, he rummaged in his saddle-bags and produced a small book.