"Now, Rob, one last word," said the Scout Master. "I'm giving you the map. Follow the trails agreed on, and promise me not to leave 'em, even for a dozen feet. You are entering unknown country, and dangerous country. Go straight down past the Gulf camp, and you'll pick up the Six Husbands about a quarter of a mile below—maybe less. Goodbye. Signal, if clear, when you get to Jefferson. If worst comes to worst, go back to the Gulf camp, or if you are on the range, go to the shelter hut just east of Jefferson, on the Adams-Jefferson col."
Mr. Rogers, Lou and Frank waved their hands as they watched the other three plunge over the edge of the head wall, and begin to descend the two thousand feet of precipitous rock pile which dropped down to where Spaulding Lake lay like a mirror amid the trees at the bottom of the Great Gulf. Then they shouldered packs again, and set out toward the three summits of Clay, just ahead of them, the first stage of their journey over the north peaks to the Madison Hut. The morning was clear and fine now, and they could see for miles upon miles out over green valleys and far blue mountains, while the rocky pyramids of Jefferson, Adams and Madison ahead of them, rising about five hundred feet above the connecting cols, seemed near enough, almost, to hit with a stone, though actually the nearest, Jefferson, was two miles away.
