We simply fell over the cliff, plunging, caroming, and ricocheting down through the masses of vegetation.

How the horses got down I shall never know and shall always consider as a miracle.

And how the burden-bearing porters managed to get their loads down is even more of a mystery.
Somewhere down below we heard the cry of a baby! That meant that there must be human habitation near and, of course, a mountain stream, and perhaps guides to lead us out of the mountain fastness.

A few moments more of falling and sliding and plunging, and the advance guard came into a tiny clearing where a fire was burning.

A rude Wanderobo shack, built around the base of a towering tree from which fell great festoons of giant creepers, stood in the center of the clearing.