“Well, we’re going on after lunch. Won’t bother you to-night,” the men said. “Don’t mind our being here for lunch, do you?” “Depends on what you’ve got to eat,” said Peanut, with a laugh. “Not much,” the tall man answered. “Enough for two men, but not enough for a huge person like yourself.” Peanut grinned, as the laugh was on him, and the boys set about getting their lunch ready, also. The two newcomers had come up from Jackson that morning, they said, and were bound for the top of Washington via the head wall of Huntington Ravine. They spoke as if the head wall of Huntington were something not lightly to be tackled, and of course the boys were curious at once. “Where’s Huntington?” asked Art. “Mr. Rogers, you’ve never told us about that.” “I never was there myself,” said Mr. Rogers. “I can’t have been _everywhere_, you know.” “Well, neither have I been there,” said the tall, thin man, “but my friend here has, once, and he alleges that it’s the best climb in the White Mountains.” “Hooray, let us go, too!” cried Peanut. Mr. Rogers smiled. “We’ll go along with these gentlemen, if they don’t mind, and have a look at it,” he said, “but I guess we’ll leave the climbing to them. I don’t believe I want to lug any of you boys home on a stretcher.” “Aw, stretcher nothin’!” said Peanut. “I guess if other folks climb there, we can!” The short, stout man’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe when you see it you won’t be so keen,” he said. “Come along with us and have a look.” CHAPTER XIII Up the Huntington Head Wall Luncheon over, the two men packed their knapsacks again, while Art put some dehydrated spinach in a pot to soak for supper. He covered the pot carefully, and stood it in the ashes of the fire, where it would get the heat from the rock, even though the fire was put out. Then falling into line behind the two men, the boys and Mr. Rogers started off, apparently going backward away from the mountain down the path toward Crystal Cascades and the Glen road. “We just came up here,” the tall man said. “Came out of our way a bit to see the shelter camp, as I want to build one like it near my home.” “So do we,” said the Scouts. The two men walked very fast, so that the boys had hard work to keep up with them. They were evidently trained mountain climbers. After half a mile of descent, they swung to the left, by the Raymond Path, and after a quarter of a mile of travel toward the northeast, they swung still again to the left, up the Huntington Ravine Trail, and headed back almost directly at right angles, toward the northwest, where the cone of Washington was, though it could not be seen. The path now ascended again, rather rapidly, and the Scouts puffed along behind the tall man and his stout companion, who walked just about as fast up-hill as they did down. “Say!” called Peanut, “is there a fire in the ravine?” The tall man laughed. “Sure,” he said. “Four alarms!”