“About that, I guess,” the Scout Master replied. “There’s some fascination about mountain climbing which makes men risk their lives at it all over the globe, every year, on cliffs beside which this one would look like a canoe beside the Mauretania. I’m glad we’ve had a taste of real climbing this afternoon, anyhow, to see what it’s like. Look, the men have reached the top, and are waving good-bye.” The boys waved back, and as the men disappeared from sight, they themselves moved slowly down the trail, toward the Raymond Path, looking up with a new respect at the walls on either side, and speculating how they could be climbed. Consulting the Appalachian Mountain Club guide book, they found no description of how to get up the west wall, but the ascent of the eastern wall, to Nelson’s Crag, which was called “the most interesting rock climb in the White Mountains,” was described briefly. The Scouts easily identified the gully up which the ascent must be made, but nobody seemed very eager to make it. “No, sir,” said Peanut, “not for me, till I’ve had more practice on cliff work, and have bigger hobnails in my shoes, and can keep right on up.” “Still,” said Frank, “people who go up places like that in the Alps have to come down again.” “Sure they do,” Peanut replied, “but they’re used to it. The older I grow, the more I realize it doesn’t pay to tackle a job till you’re up to it.” “Hear Grandpa talk!” laughed Frank. “You’d think he was fifty-three.” “He’s talking horse sense, though,” the Scout Master put in. “When we get home, we’ll go over to the cliffs on Monument Mountain some day, with a rope, and get some practice. As a matter of fact, those cliffs, though they are only two hundred feet high, are steeper than these here, and you haven’t any gully to go up, either. We’ll get some Alpine work right at home.” “I’ll stay at the bottom, and catch you when you fall off,” said Lou, with a rather crooked smile. “Gee, to think I’d go dizzy like a girl!” “Forget it, Lou,” Peanut cheered him. “’Twasn’t your fault, any more’n getting seasick.” The afternoon shadows were all across Tuckerman’s Ravine when the boys once more reached the camp. It was not yet five o’clock, and out behind them the green summits of Carter and Wildcat and Moriah across the Glen, and all the peaks to the south and east, were bathed in full sunlight; but down in the great hole of the ravine the shadow of Boott Spur had risen half-way up the east wall toward the Lion’s Head, and it seemed like twilight. “Makes me want supper,” Frank laughed. “I got an idea,” said Peanut. “Let’s take a loaf. Let’s just sit around the camp-fire till supper, and do nothing.” “Let’s cut our mileage on our staffs,” said Art. “Hooray!” Somebody lit the fire, for already the twilight chill was creeping down from the snow-bank, and Art put the pot of dehydrated spinach on to simmer. Then everybody got out his knife and cut mileage.