At this time I was hopelessly lost, and if left alone could probably never have found my way out again.

So we quickened our steps lest the guides should get too far ahead of us.

In those cool depths of the forest, into which only occasional shafts of sunlight filtered, the air was cold and damp, so much so that even the old Wanderobo got cold.

It made me cold to look at his thin, old bare legs, but then I suppose his legs were as much accustomed to exposure as my hands were, and it's all a matter of getting used to it.
Our porters, especially those that were most heavily loaded, were falling behind and there was grave danger of losing them.

In fact, a little later we did lose them.