Our two traitors had been destroyed, but the mischief that they had done lived after them.  By no possible means could we get back to the pinnacle.  We had been natives of the world; now we were natives of the plateau.  The two things were separate and apart.  There was the plain which led to the canoes.  Yonder, beyond the violet, hazy horizon, was the stream which led back to civilization.  But the link between was missing.  No human ingenuity could suggest a means of bridging the chasm which yawned between ourselves and our past lives.  One instant had altered the whole conditions of our existence.

It was at such a moment that I learned the stuff of which my three comrades were composed.  They were grave, it is true, and thoughtful, but of an invincible serenity.  For the moment we could only sit among the bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo.  Presently his honest black face topped the rocks and his Herculean figure emerged upon the top of the pinnacle.

“What I do now?” he cried.  “You tell me and I do it.”

It was a question which it was easier to ask than to answer.  One thing only was clear.  He was our one trusty link with the outside world.  On no account must he leave us.

“No no!” he cried.  “I not leave you.  Whatever come, you always find me here.  But no able to keep Indians.  Already they say too much Curupuri live on this place, and they go home.  Now you leave them me no able to keep them.”

It was a fact that our Indians had shown in many ways of late that they were weary of their journey and anxious to return.  We realized that Zambo spoke the truth, and that it would be impossible for him to keep them.

“Make them wait till to-morrow, Zambo,” I shouted; “then I can send letter back by them.”

“Very good, sarr!  I promise they wait till to-morrow,” said the negro.  “But what I do for you now?”

There was plenty for him to do, and admirably the faithful fellow did it.  First of all, under our directions, he undid the rope from the tree-stump and threw one end of it across to us.  It was not thicker than a clothes-line, but it was of great strength, and though we could not make a bridge of it, we might well find it invaluable if we had any climbing to do.  He then fastened his end of the rope to the package of supplies which had been carried up, and we were able to drag it across.  This gave us the means of life for at least a week, even if we found nothing else.  Finally he descended and carried up two other packets of mixed goods—­a box of ammunition and a number of other things, all of which we got across by throwing our rope to him and hauling it back.  It was evening when he at last climbed down, with a final assurance that he would keep the Indians till next morning.

And so it is that I have spent nearly the whole of this our first night upon the plateau writing up our experiences by the light of a single candle-lantern.