I was in the hands of my Maker, watching, like the Jews of old, for a sign.
Laputa dismounted and looked down into the gorge.
'There is no road there,' I said.

'We must go down to the foot and come up the stream-side.

It would be better to leave your horse here.' He started down the cliff, which from above looks a sheer precipice.
Then he seemed to agree with me, took the rope from the schimmel's neck, and knee-haltered his beast.

And at that moment I had an inspiration.
With my wrist-rope in his hand, he preceded me down the hill till we got to the red screes at the foot of the kloof.

Then, under my guidance, we turned up into the darkness of the gorge.