"It's up to you to cast the deciding vote," said Mr. Rogers to Rob.
Rob winked at the Scout Master and said, "Well, if Art and Peanut are such heroes, a bit of nice, chewy pemmican won't hurt 'em. I vote to stay on top."
"For two cents," said Peanut, "I'd punch you in the eye."
As they neared the top of the peak, they suddenly heard voices, which sounded strange way up there, far above the world, where for hours they had heard nothing but the rushing of the wind.
"Hello!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers, "there's a party here ahead of us."
"I'll bet there are women in it, too," cried Peanut. "And I wanted to dry my shirt!"
"Hm," said Art. "Seem to be times when even you don't want women around."
There were, however, no women in the party. As the Scouts crested the final broken fragment of rock, they found themselves on a summit no larger than a city back yard, and on that summit an old foundation hole, where once a small summit house had stood. Down in this hole, sheltered from the wind, were three men. Like the Scouts, they wore khaki. They, too, had packs and blankets, and they all needed shaves. They were eating their lunch as the boys suddenly appeared just above them.
