In less than an hour, in fact, they had swung with the bend of the rushing Ammonoosuc River into a considerable level plain, and found themselves in the midst of a settlement. There were two or three railroad tracks, cottages, a small hotel, then a big hotel--the Fabyan House, and a junction railroad station, and then, still closer to the great wall of the Presidential range, which now loomed up directly in front of them, the Mount Pleasant House, and half a mile to the left, across a beautiful green golf course, the huge bulk of the Mount Washington Hotel. “Golly, that hotel is as big as Mount Washington itself,” said Art. The chauffeur laughed. “Yes, and the prices are as high,” he said. They now passed along the road, between the two hotels, headed south, and then began to go up-hill, leaving the Presidential range more and more on their left. Soon they lost sight of Washington, with the curving line of the railroad up its flank. After two miles, they lost sight of all the range. On their left was only a high, wooded slope. On their right was the same. In front of them a white hotel and railroad station suddenly appeared, and in front of that was only a narrow defile between the two hills, just big enough to let the road and railway through. “The Crawford House!” said Mr. Rogers. “And ahead is the gateway to the Crawford Notch. All out!” They got out of the motor beside the hotel, and thanked the chauffeur for their trip. They had come twenty-seven miles farther on their way since two o’clock, and it was not yet four! “Now,” said Mr. Rogers, when the car had turned back home, “the Crawford Bridle Path starts right here in these woods across from the hotel. That’s it, there. I move we tote our stuff up it far enough to make camp, and then take a walk down into the Notch.” “Second the motion,” said Frank. Picking up their burdens, the boys walked a quarter of a mile eastward, by a beaten path that ascended at a comfortable angle, not far from a brook. Presently they found a pool in the brook, hid their stuff in the bushes fifty feet from the path, and hurried back to the Crawford House. Just below the hotel and the railroad station was a small pond. “That pond,” the Scout Master said, “is the head waters of the Saco River. We are on a divide. Behind the hotel, the springs flow north into the Ammonoosuc, and thence into the Connecticut. They empty, finally, you see, into Long Island Sound. The water of this lake empties into the Atlantic north of Portland, Maine. Yet they start within two hundred yards of each other.” Just south of the little pond, the boys noticed a bare, rocky cliff, perhaps a hundred feet high, rising sharp from the left side of the road. The top was rounded off. “Look!” said Lou. “That cliff is just like an elephant’s head, with his trunk coming down to the road!” Mr. Rogers laughed. “They call it the Elephant’s Head,” he said. “You’re not the first to discover the resemblance.”