Taking his axe, he plunged down the slope, chopping saplings and undergrowth as he went, and as far as possible avoiding big trees. After quite a while he returned. "Get out, sis, if you feel to," he said; "but hit would be better if you stayed in and helt the lines, whilst I hang on to the wagon behind. The mules know how--jest hold 'em straight." The slope was one of at least fifty degrees, and there was no ledge or bench anywhere below to break a possible descent of five or six hundred feet. Isabel's heart was in her mouth, but she let it come no farther. "All right," she said, between clenched teeth. Straight down, therefore, the mules went, a cautious, crouching step at a time, holding the wagon back with their haunches and with Uncle Adam's help. It was a remarkable performance, as was also the sheer pull up again on the far side of the "slip." "Looks skeerier than hit is," remarked Uncle Adam, when they were once again in the road, and the mules were resting and "blowing." The next thing they hung on was a stump in the middle of the descending trail. "Never was kotched on that stump before," said Uncle Adam; "the big rain has washed the road clean away on both sides. Good thing I fotched that-air rail along; I allowed I'd need hit a few times." After more prizing, they again proceeded for quite a while without difficulty. Then, in a creek where numerous logs were floating, they undertook to "ride" one, and were held for a short time on its larger end. The various mishaps took time, however, and when night fell they were still some miles from their destination, with rain again beginning. "I'm purely afeared to risk Troublesome in the dark," said Uncle Adam. "Hit is well named--hit is full of quicks. We'll take the night here with Benjy Logan's folks, and go on to the Forks in the morning." Controlling her disappointment as best she might, Isabel made friends with Benjy Logan's folks, slept with them, eight in a room, that night, and was treated with such kindness that she was almost reconciled to the delay. Next morning the sky was clear, and their journey went well for an hour, until they turned into Troublesome Creek. Then, very soon, the wagon began to settle and sink, and the mules to strain in vain to pull it out. "We've struck one," said Uncle Adam, calmly. "A man can't manage no way to shun all the quicks there is in this creek." He stepped out on the tongue and began ungearing the mules. "I'll ride back yander to the last house we passed and get another team, and some men to help. You set right there on your feet and don't take no fear,--hit ain't aiming to settle much furder." He rode back down the stream, and Isabel "sat on her feet" and watched the yellow "tide" hurry past her, and rise higher in the wagon-bed. Very soon, however, it seemed to reach its limit, and then she relaxed and abandoned herself to the spell of rushing water, green wooded slopes, and deep loneliness.