They were soon on a level with this lake, which is called Eagle Lake, but the path was two or three hundred feet south of it, and to get in to it meant fighting through tough dwarf spruce and other verdure, only waist high, but as good as a wire fence. They stuck to the trail, which led through this dwarf vegetation almost on a level for some distance, then actually began to go up-hill again, on to the west shoulder of the mountain. “Oh, rats!” cried Peanut. “I’ve gone up enough to-day!” “Heroes shouldn’t be tired,” said Frank. “Heroes need sleep, just the same,” Peanut retorted. The ascent, however, was not for long. Soon they swung northwest again, entered timber at last, and began to descend rapidly. After a mile or so on this tack, the timber growing ever taller, they brought up against the end of Eagle Cliff, which rose straight up in front of them. Here the path swung west again, and began its final plunge to the Profile House. It was a good, generous path through the woods. In years gone by it used to be a bridle path, for people ascended Lafayette on horseback. “I’d hate to be the horse, though,” Peanut said, as he put his pole ahead of him, and cleared six feet at a jump. It was, indeed, a steep path, and they came down it at a high rate of speed. “Gee, we go up about a mile an hour, and we come down about six!” Art exclaimed, catching a tree beside the path to stop himself. They began to have glimpses of the Profile House between the trees. The trail suddenly slid out nearly level in front of them; other paths appeared, crossing theirs; and before they realized where they were, they stood in the clearing, by the railroad station, and just beyond them was the huge Profile House and the colony of cottages. Peanut and Art sprang ahead. “Whoa!” cried Mr. Rogers. “Suppose we leave our packs and stuff in the depot, and prospect light-footed, eh?” The baggage master at the depot recognized Art and Peanut. He had been one of the pursuing party the night before. He stowed their things in his baggage room. “Guess you can have the freedom of the city!” he said. “Wouldn’t wonder, if you went to the hotel, they’d give ye something cold.” “Come on!” cried Peanut. “No,” said Art, “I ain’t so thirsty I have to be treated. I don’t think we want to do that, do you, Mr. Rogers?” “What do you think--on second thought, Peanut?” asked the Scout Master. “Well, we’re taking a dinner from Mr. Goodwin, ain’t we?” “Yes,” said Art, “but that’s different. We helped save his silver and stuff. And it’s just in his family. Up there at the hotel, there’d be a crowd around--women, and things. Looks kind of as if we were trying to get into the lime-light.” “Guess you’re right,” Peanut replied. “Come on, then, and show us the Old Man of the Mountain, Mr. Rogers. But ain’t there a place where we can _buy_ a drink?”