"I'd hate to be the horse, though," Peanut said, as he put his pole ahead of him, and cleared six feet at a jump.
It was, indeed, a steep path, and they came down it at a high rate of speed.
"Gee, we go up about a mile an hour, and we come down about six!" Art exclaimed, catching a tree beside the path to stop himself.
They began to have glimpses of the Profile House between the trees. The trail suddenly slid out nearly level in front of them; other paths appeared, crossing theirs; and before they realized where they were, they stood in the clearing, by the railroad station, and just beyond them was the huge Profile House and the colony of cottages.
Peanut and Art sprang ahead. "Whoa!" cried Mr. Rogers. "Suppose we leave our packs and stuff in the depot, and prospect light-footed, eh?"
The baggage master at the depot recognized Art and Peanut. He had been one of the pursuing party the night before. He stowed their things in his baggage room. "Guess you can have the freedom of the city!" he said. "Wouldn't wonder, if you went to the hotel, they'd give ye something cold."
"Come on!" cried Peanut.
"No," said Art, "I ain't so thirsty I have to be treated. I don't think we want to do that, do you, Mr. Rogers?"
