After they had pulled through the deep mud-holes in the town, they turned into a creek-bed, and plunged at once into a world of green loneliness and wild beauty. All day long they either "followed creeks," or wound around the sides of steep mountains, with sheer drop-offs below the narrow trail. Uncle Adam was no talker, but he was a skilled driver. Often it seemed that they must go over the edge, or that the mules could not climb the steps of rock up which they had to pull the heavy wagon; but always the danger was safely passed. Isabel wished, however, that she had four hands instead of two, to hold on with. Along the creeks, where the going, though very rough, seemed not so dangerous, they passed numbers of windowless log-houses, flanked by almost perpendicular corn-fields. Sometimes whole families--men, women, and children--were out hoeing corn; but Uncle Adam explained that the "crap" was about "laid by"; and more often crowds of children swarmed to the doors of the houses to see the wagon pass. Usually there was a withdrawing woman's face in the dark interior behind. They met but few men during the day, and every one of these was riding, and carried a gun on arm or shoulder. "Why do they all carry guns?" asked Isabel. Uncle Adam considered a moment, then replied: "Hit's gen'ally squirrel-hunting time in Breathitt." "Do you mean," she inquired, "that they all go armed on account of the 'war'?" Uncle Adam's reply was to reach down in the wagon and remove some bundles of fodder from beneath his feet, exposing a Winchester rifle. "Best to be on the safe side," he whispered, dropping the fodder back. The sun had set before they crossed the last mountain, White Doe; and it was almost dark and mist hung everywhere before they halted at Uncle Adam's house at the head of White Doe Creek, the halfway place. A fat feather-bed with clean covers had never looked so good to Isabel; and she threw her weary body and racked bones across it, while Aunt Rhoda went into "t'other house" to put supper on the table. After eating, she fell into bed for good, never knowing when Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Adam got into the other bed in the room. Once in the night she was awakened by a terrific clap of thunder, and a heavy downpour of rain on the roof. In the morning Uncle Adam appeared troubled. "Hit was a bad storm," he said, "and hit means tides, landslips, and quicks all along the way. Reason would say not go on; but the women might get tore-up in their minds about you, so I allow we'll ondertake hit." Sure enough, the streams that had been low and clear yesterday were to-day yellow torrents. Often Isabel had to grab her suitcase and lift her feet up into the seat, as the water came swirling into the wagon-bed. The boxes of freight Uncle Adam was hauling to the women just had to take the water. Isabel noticed that the Winchester no longer reposed on the wagon-floor, and asked the reason.