"We must take to the forest!" cried Tom.
"There'll be some shelter there, and I don't like
the way the geography of this place is behaving.
There may be a landslide at any moment."
As he spoke he motioned upward through the
mist of the rain to the sloping side of the mountain
towering above them. Loose stones were
beginning to roll down, accompanied by patches
of earth loosened by the water. Some of the
patches carried with them bunches of grass and
small bushes.
"Yes, it will be best to move into the jungle,"
said the professor. "Goosal, you had better take
the lead."
It was wonderful to see how well the aged Indian
bore up in spite of his years, and walked on
ahead. They had left their mules tethered some
distance back, in a sheltering clump of trees, and
they hoped the animals would be safe.
The guide found a place where they could
leave the trail, though going down a dangerous
slope, and take to the forest. As carefully as
possible they descended this, the rain continuing to
fall, the wind to blow, the lightning to sizzle all
about them and the thunder to boom in their ears.
They went on until they were beneath the
shelter of the thick jungle growth of trees, which
kept off some of the pelting drops.
"This is better!" exclaimed Ned, shaking his
poncho and getting rid of some of the water that
had settled on it.
"Bless my overcoat!" cried Mr. Damon. "We seem
to have gotten out of the frying pan into the fire!"
"How?" asked Tom.
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