"Hello!" they called up. "Where did you come from?"
"Up from the Flume," said the boys.
"Took the wrong way," said the men. "That's the way to go down. You got the long trail up."
"We like hard work," Peanut retorted. "Excuse me while I dry my shirt."
He took off his pack and blanket, and then peeled himself of his outer and undershirt, spread them on a rock in the wind and sun—and began to shiver.
"Wow! How this wind evaporates you!" he cried.
"Get down out of it," commanded the Scout Master, "and keep moving. You'll get cold if you don't."
Peanut jumped into the foundation hole, out of the wind, and swung his arms like a coachman in winter. Art took off his shirts, too, and did the same thing. The rest decided to wait till they made camp at the base.
"And now for the emergency rations," cried Rob, undoing his pack.
("Look at those guys—sandwiches! Oh, dear, wish you had a gun to hold 'em up, Art!" whispered Peanut.)
("I'd like to," the other whispered back. "'Your sandwiches or your life!' eh?")
Rob, meanwhile, had produced a small blue tin, and was opening it. The three strangers looked on
