When the river is full, during the wet season, the cascade must present a splendid sight.
I wanted to see the fall from below.

The guide, an elderly man, reminded me that the sun was setting, and warned me that the distance was greater than it seemed.

We should stumble and fall, he said, in the dark.

But as I insisted on going, he put me on the track, and I started on a rapid run, jumping from stone to stone, zigzagging my way down the mountainside.

The entire scenery, the wild, precipitous rocks, the stony, crooked path, the roaring stream below--everything reminded me of mountains in Norway, where I had run along many a _saeter_ path through the twilight, alone, just as I was running now.
As luck would have it, I met an Indian boy coming up from the river, Where he had been trout fishing, and I asked him to accompany me, which he did.