Before their new friend rose to go, he told them something of the trail down the mountain. “It’s an Appalachian Club trail,” he said, “but it’s not so well kept up as those on the Presidentials, and it’s almighty steep in places. You’ll find it good fun. When you get to the bottom, turn to the left and have a look at Beaver Meadow. It’s an acre or more across, and was really cleared by beavers. You can still see the ruins of their old dam. Then go through Lost River, and you’ve seen the best of that region. Good-night, boys, and good hiking!” “Will you be all right in the dark, around the head of the ravine?” asked Mr. Rogers. “The soles of my feet are as good a guide as my eyes on this path,” the man laughed. But Peanut jumped up, took the lantern, and insisted on escorting him along the path till it had passed the head of the ravine. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, when Peanut reappeared, he found the rest ready for bed. Rob gave Peanut’s sore heel a fresh dressing, and then everybody turned in, lying close together for warmth. As they were dozing off, Peanut suddenly exclaimed, “Hang it!” in a loud tone. “What’s the matter with you?” asked Art crossly. “Go to sleep!” “I forgot to carve on my stick how far we’ve walked to-day,” said Peanut. “Well, you can do it to-morrow, can’t you? Shut up now!” “Oh, very well,” said Peanut, relapsing into silence, and then into sleep--the sleep of the utterly weary. CHAPTER V LOST RIVER AND THE LADIES Once again the camp was astir at sunrise, shortly after four. Everybody was cold, and, truth to tell, a little cross. “We’re not hardened to this high air yet, I guess,” said Art, as he built up the fire. But breakfast restored their good nature, and they all went back up the path to have a look at Jobildunk Ravine by daylight, while Mr. Rogers was shaving. “Got to shave, boys,” he said, “because we strike a town--North Woodstock--this afternoon.” It was after six before the descent of the mountain began. At first the way led through thick woods, and, while it was steep, seemed no steeper than Kinsman. They came upon the embers of two or three camp-fires beside springs, and presently upon a small lean-to, built of bark and hemlock boughs, which would hold two people. “Somebody got tired half-way up,” laughed Art. “Gee, they could have got to the top while they were building this.” “Maybe they liked to build,” Lou suggested, which seemed unanswerable.