The first horse was led up by the stock-keeper in safety, with its saddle and load on it; I followed with the second, but was not so fortunate.

I had accomplished about three-fourths of the ascent when, turning one of the sharp corners round a rock, the load struck against it and knocked the horse over on its side.

I thought for a moment that the poor beast would have fallen down the precipice, but luckily its roll was checked in time to prevent this.
There it lay however on a flat rock, four or five feet wide, a precipice of 150 feet on one side of it, and the projecting rock against which it had struck on the other, whilst I sat upon its head to prevent it from moving.

Its long tail streamed in the wind over the precipice; its wild and fiery eye gleamed from its shaggy mane and forelock; and, ignorant of its impending danger, it kicked and struggled violently, whilst it appeared to hang in mid-air over the gloomy depth of this tropical ravine.

Anxious as I felt for the safety of my pony I could not be unconscious of the singular beauty of the scene during the few minutes that elapsed whilst I was repressing its struggles on a narrow ledge of rock, of which the dark brow projected threateningly above me, whilst the noise of a rushing torrent was audible far below.