Somehow we crawled up, like flies on a wall.
When we came to a stream of water rushing directly across our
path at the foot of a towering rock Harry gave a cry of joy and
ran forward. I had not known until then how badly his knee was
hurt, and when I came up to where he was bathing it in the stream
and saw how black and swollen it was, I insisted that he give it
a rest. But he absolutely refused, and after we had quenched our
thirst and gotten an easy breath or two we struggled to our feet
and on.
After another hour of scrambling and failing and hanging on by
our finger nails, the way began to be easier. We came to level,
clear stretches with only an occasional boulder or ravine, and
the rock became less cruel to our bleeding feet. The relief came
almost too late, for by that time every movement was painful, and
we made but slow progress.
Soon we faced another difficulty when we came to a point where a
split in the passage showed a lane on either side. One led
straight ahead; the other branched off to the right. They were
very similar, but somehow the one on the right looked more
promising to us, and we took it.
We had followed this but a short distance when it broadened out
to such an extent that the walls on either side could be seen but
dimly.
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