"A good deal," Mr. Rogers answered. "Art, here, and I were picking it up, and we didn't let on, but it was hard work, especially with that icy gale in your face. It ought to have at least double the number of cairns between Monroe and the summit cone. I really thought I'd lost it once, but we picked up the next cairn before we got nervous."
"You're right," said the bugler. "You're quite right. They've neglected this fine old path for the paths on the north peaks. And it's more dangerous than any of the north peaks, too. It ought to be re-*marked."
As he spoke, they came suddenly into what looked like an old cellar hole in the rocks.
"The corral where the horses used to be hitched after they'd come up the Bridle Path," said the man. "We're almost there, now."
The path became more nearly level, and very soon, through the cloud, they could make out what looked like the end of a wooden bridge. A moment later, and they saw it was the end of a railroad trestle. Another minute, and through the vapors they saw emerge a house, a curious, long, low house, built of stone, with a wooden roof. The house was shaped just like a Noah's ark.
"The summit!" cried Mr. Rogers. "There's the old Tip Top House!"
The Scouts gave a yell, and jumped upon the
