“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. Rogers, “there’s a party here ahead of us.” “I’ll bet there are women in it, too,” cried Peanut. “And I wanted to dry my shirt!” “Hm,” said Art. “Seem to be times when even _you_ don’t want women around.” There were, however, no women in the party. As the Scouts crested the final broken fragment of rock, they found themselves on a summit no larger than a city back yard, and on that summit an old foundation hole, where once a small summit house had stood. Down in this hole, sheltered from the wind, were three men. Like the Scouts, they wore khaki. They, too, had packs and blankets, and they all needed shaves. They were eating their lunch as the boys suddenly appeared just above them. “Hello!” they called up. “Where did you come from?” “Up from the Flume,” said the boys. “Took the wrong way,” said the men. “That’s the way to go down. You got the long trail up.” “We like hard work,” Peanut retorted. “Excuse me while I dry my shirt.” He took off his pack and blanket, and then peeled himself of his outer and undershirt, spread them on a rock in the wind and sun--and began to shiver. “Wow! How this wind evaporates you!” he cried. “Get down out of it,” commanded the Scout Master, “and keep moving. You’ll get cold if you don’t.” Peanut jumped into the foundation hole, out of the wind, and swung his arms like a coachman in winter. Art took off his shirts, too, and did the same thing. The rest decided to wait till they made camp at the base. “And now for the emergency rations,” cried Rob, undoing his pack. (“Look at those guys--sandwiches! Oh, dear, wish you had a gun to hold ’em up, Art!” whispered Peanut.) (“I’d like to,” the other whispered back. “‘Your sandwiches or your life!’ eh?”) Rob, meanwhile, had produced a small blue tin, and was opening it. The three strangers looked on with an amused curiosity. Rob sniffed the contents, assured himself that it was fresh, and with his knife blade dug out a chunk for each member of the party. “Gee, is that all I get for lunch?” said Frank, contemplating the piece in his hand, no bigger than an English walnut. “It’ll be all you’ll want, believe me,” said Peanut. “And all you need to stop your hunger and nourish you till night,” Rob added. “That’s condensed food.” Peanut took his piece over to the three men. “I’ll swap this excellent and nourishing morsel for a ham sandwich,” he said. The men laughed. “You will not!” one of them answered, hastily stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “I’ve tried that before, myself. If you’ve got a little water to soften it up in, and a bit of bread to put it on, it’s not so bad, at that.” One of the other men passed over a sandwich--but not to Peanut. He gave it to Rob. “Divide the bread,” he said. “It’ll make your rations go better.”