their summer camp, and its dark shadows fell afternoons into the hollows and dells where clung the cabins of the poor whites who recognized the leadership of Bob Thornton.
“It’s not a pleasant feat to contemplate,” grumbled Bruce Browning, looking from the door of the cottage he occupied in company with others, and staring up at the half-naked heights that thrust themselves skyward. “It’s much prettier at a distance. I haven’t any sympathy for these fellows who form Alpine clubs, to bury themselves in snowdrifts and break their necks in crevices, when they might be staying at home, sensibly enjoying themselves.”
“I don’t doubt you’re really wishing for a rattling good chill,” laughed Sep Colson. “It would be such an excellent excuse to laze all day in that hammock.”
“Hardly that,” grunted Bruce. “A fellow might as well wish he’d break an arm to get out of the job of sawing a little wood. But, seriously, doesn’t it seem to you a great waste of energy for a mighty little return to go panting up that mountain, trying to beat a lot of other fellows who haven’t any more sense than you?”
“No more of that,” cried Rattleton, coming up at that moment, and overhearing the question. “You’re the worst grumbler on the face of the footstool, Browning. I should think you’d be just dancing with joy this morning to think how you slipped through that scrape down at Thornton’s. And if there is anything prettier than that mountain, with the morning mists creeping around it, I don’t know what it is.”
“Oh, it’s pretty enough – at a distance!” growled Bruce. “And, of course, I’m going with you, even if I haven’t got over that headache yet. You couldn’t get along without me.”
“Roight yez are in thot!” declared Barney Mulloy, coming, with a shining face, from a dip in the lake. “Indade, we couldn’t git on widout yez, an’ it’s moighty bad we filt whin we thought ye wur dead.”
After solemn consultation over the matter, it had been determined to keep Browning’s adventure a close secret. It would be difficult to prove anything against either Sam Turner, Ward Hammond or Bob Thornton, and the effort would necessarily involve Nell Thornton, whom they naturally wished to protect, and not injure.
Bob Thornton had not been seen, and it was reasonable to suppose that, Turner’s attempt having failed he was keeping himself out of sight, and would continue to do so until the supposed revenue officers had disappeared from the neighborhood.
The starting point of the climb was a glade at the foot of Bald Mountain, and the goal a flat rock beyond the mountain’s outthrust shoulder, both the shoulder and the rock being well-known landmarks.
A score of men from the summer cottages in the village were at the starting point when Merriwell’s party arrived, and two had been sent on some time before to station themselves at the rock, that the time occupied in the ascent and the victors in the contest might be accurately determined.
“Hammond’s fellows don’t seem to be here,” declared Rattleton, stabbing his alpinstock in the ground, and looking about.
“I don’t doubt they will come all right,” Merriwell hastened to say.
“Meebe dey ain’ got ober shoutin’ ’bout dat swim yit!” observed Toots, a smile of pleasurable recollection lighting his ebony face.
“Here they come, just the same,” announced Bart Hodge. “They’ve got sand, and that’s something to praise them for. It’s my opinion, too, that they’ll give us a hard climb, for most of them are familiar with these mountains and hardened to such work.”
Ward Hammond was diplomatic enough on his arrival to try to conceal the intense hatred he felt for Frank Merriwell. He recognized that Craig Carter had made a sad mess of it by striking at Frank with the oar. Even Hammond’s friends had denounced this as a criminal and cowardly piece of work.
As for Craig, he held himself aloof from the joking and conversation, and was not without a fear that Merriwell would seek to punish him yet for his contemptible conduct.
But Merriwell’s victory in the swimming match had been so complete that he chose to pass the matter by without comment, instead of dealing blow for blow.
The starter looked at his watch.
“The party, or any member of either party, that reaches the rock first is to be counted winner. The object is to reach the rock in the shortest possible time.”
Browning glanced up at the mountain, and groaned, as Merriwell grouped his party, and the boys broke into a hearty laugh.
“It is now nine o’clock,” said the starter, when all were ready. “You ought to do it in two hours, or less. I won’t attempt to give you any advice. You know what’s before you. Go!”
Ward Hammond led off at a sharp run, swinging his alpinstock and taking the path that led toward the right, while Sep Colson, who had been chosen to lead the Lake Lily Club, because of his greater familiarity with the ground to be covered, swung into the path that wound around the mountain on the left.
“It’s a little farther,” he said, “but the traveling is easier, and we’ll make better time.”
Frank Merriwell crowded close to Colson’s heels, and others fell in behind him, with Hans Dunnerwust bringing up the rear.
“Yes, this is what I call fun!” grunted Browning, as a bowlder slipped under him and he half fell.
“Be afther takin’ a little more quoinin’ to roise yer spairts,” advised Barney Mulloy, with a grin.
When more than half a mile had been passed over, and they were jogging down a declivity at a lively pace, Colson stopped so suddenly that Merriwell fairly tumbled over him.
“What is it?” Frank questioned.
“Look there! There’s Nell Thornton waving to us.”
“She wants to speak to us,” said Rattleton, looking in the direction indicated by Colson’s pointing finger.
Bruce straightened up and forgot to grumble, when he saw the slim form of the girl descending the rocks.
She was letting herself down a precipitous bluff, clinging to the vines and bushes.
“She can get over places I shouldn’t care to try,” declared Bruce, with an admiration that was akin to enthusiasm. “I wonder what she wants?”
“We shall find out very soon now,” said Merriwell. “It won’t take her long to reach us.”
Dropping to the level ground, Nell came shyly toward the party, with evident embarrassment.
“Do you uns want ter beat them thar other fellows bad?” she asked.
“The worst kind,” declared Rattleton.
“Thar’s a way it kin be done,” she said, with kindling glance, “ef so be ez you uns air good climbers. Thar’s a path which the mounting men foller when they air in a hurry, sech o’ them ez knows ’bout it. I kin show it ter ye, though ef dad knowed I done it he’d jes’ nacherly kill me!”
“You may show it to us with perfect safety,” promised Merriwell.
She gave a quick glance toward Browning, as if for confirmation of the promise.
Browning
