Shortly the sky thickened again, and it began to rain.
Travel had been precarious before; but now its difficulties were infinitely increased.

The clay sub-soil to the rubble turned slippery and adhesive.

On the sides of the mountains it was almost impossible to keep a footing.

We speedily became wet, our hands puffed and purple, our boots sodden with the water that had trickled from our clothing into them.
"Over the next ridge," Uncle Jim promised us, "is an old shack that I fixed up seven years ago.

We can all make out to get in it." Over the next ridge, therefore, we slipped and slid, thanking the god of luck for each ten feet gained.