“No, I’m not trying to scare you,” Mr. Rogers answered. “But I do want to impress on you, before we begin our two or three days on these summits, that they are dangerous mountains, and that here, if anywhere, our scout motto, ‘Be prepared,’ is the one to live by. As you say, we have blankets, plenty of food, and compasses, and we can go down anywhere we want, if need be, into the timber, and get through. But we might get scattered, or after to-day we might split for a time into groups, and I want you all to know what to do. Now, let’s on again.” Packs were resumed, and the party started ahead along the rocky path toward the domed summit of Mount Pleasant, which from this high col was hardly more than a hill of rocks, rising a few hundred feet above the path. They plodded on for a mile or more, and began to see over into the great wilderness to the south. To the north, at their very feet, lay the Bretton Woods intervale, with the hotels and golf links, but to the south the pitch was much steeper, and dropped into a region of forest and tumbled mountains without a house or road of any sort as far as the eye could see. Now the path divided, the trail to the left leading directly over the summit of Pleasant. They took the right hand trail, and dropped down a little, going along through some low scrub which had climbed up from the gulf below, protected from the north winds. It was warmer here in the shelter of Pleasant, and they stopped for a long drink by a spring. But, two miles from Clinton, they rose again beyond Pleasant upon the bare col between Pleasant and Franklin, and got the full force of the north wind, which seemed to be blowing harder than before. The sun, too, was getting more misty. Mr. Rogers was watching the south and southeast, but while it was very hazy in that direction, the direction of the wind didn’t seem to indicate that the mist bank could come their way. They rested a moment, and then began the toilsome ascent up over the waste of strewn boulders toward the summit of Franklin. The path was no longer distinct. Here and there it was plain enough, but in other places it could be detected only by the piles of rock, or cairns, every hundred feet along the way. As they drew near the summit of Franklin, Frank, who happened to look back down the trail, shouted to the rest. “Look,” he said, “somebody’s coming up behind us!” The others turned. Sure enough, half a mile back down the trail, were two people, a man and a woman, evidently hurrying rapidly. “They haven’t any packs or blankets,” said Art. “Nor anything at all, but sweaters tied around their waists, as far as I can see,” Lou added. “Probably going up for the day only, and expecting to get down again before night,” said the Scout Master. “They’ll have to hurry. They seem to be hurrying. They’ll catch us all right, at the rate they are coming now, before we get beyond Monroe.”