The west did, indeed, look windy, with great clouds suddenly piling up. But the Scout Master said you could never tell much about mountain weather--at least he couldn’t. They entered the little hotel to see the inside. Several people were there already. At the back of the room was a big stove, with a fire in it, too. To the boys, who had but just arrived after their hot climb, the room seemed uncomfortably warm. “Going to spend the night here? Don’t know whether I’ve got room for you all,” said the proprietor. “No, we’re going to sleep out,” Rob answered him. “We never sleep inside on a hike.” “Well, I reckon you’ll need your blankets,” the man said. “The water froze here last night, in the rain barrel.” “What’s that?” put in Peanut, who was examining picture post-cards. “Say, I move we go back down a way to camp.” “I do too, if you’re going to try again to warm yourself between my shoulder blades,” said Art. Everybody laughed, and a man came forward from behind the stove--a funny looking man, with big, hobnail shoes and big, shell-rimmed spectacles. “Which way are you going down the mountain in the morning?” he asked. “By the Beaver Brook Trail,” Mr. Rogers answered. “Oh, that’s all right, then,” said their new acquaintance. “You stay up here long enough to see the sunset, and then I’ll take you down the trail into the woods beyond the head of Jobildunk Ravine. You’ll keep warm in there, all right.” “Can you find your way back, sir?” asked Lou. The man’s eyes twinkled. “If I can’t, I deserve to be lost,” he answered. “I’ve lived a month on top of this mountain every summer for more years than I care to confess.” “Gee, it must be slow up here all that time!” said Peanut. “What do you mean, slow, young man?” the other asked. Peanut fumbled a moment for words. “Why, nothing doing--no excitement,” he finally replied. “Ah, youth, youth! Happy, happy youth!” the stranger exclaimed. “You love excitement, eh? Well, you’ll get some going down the Beaver Brook Trail to-morrow. By George, I’ve a great mind to give you some now! How far have you walked to-day?” “Nineteen miles,” said Peanut, shifting uneasily on his sore heel, and beginning to repent what he had said. Somehow, as Art whispered to Frank, the man looked as if he could “deliver the goods.” “No, that’s far enough,” the stranger replied, after a long pause, as if for reflection. “I won’t dare a man who’s hiked nineteen miles--or a boy either.” “Oh, if it’s a dare----” Peanut began. “No, sir, won’t do it; you can’t bluff me into it!” the man laughed. “But if you think there’s no excitement on Moosilauke, you stay here a few days, and let me take you botanizing a bit, say into Jobildunk.” “What’s that name again, sir?” asked Rob.