Ten minutes later they had reached their destination. Behind them rose the thickly timbered slope of the mountain, and at their feet was the bluff. Even Nelson found time now for a look at the panorama of blue sunlit lake spread below them. The camp landing was hidden from them by the trees, but the upper end of the lake was in plain sight, each island standing out distinct against the expanse of breeze-ruffled water. Below them at a little distance a column of smoke rising from the trees told of the location of Camp Trescott. Beyond was Joy’s Cove, and, to its left, Black’s Neck. Chicora Inn looked very near across the lake. Far away a shimmer of blue indicated Little Chicora. It was a beautiful scene, and the boys, their hats thrown aside, gazed their fill while the breeze ruffled their damp hair. Then Dan started to work. The bundles were undone and their contents laid out on the narrow bit of turf between the trees and the edge of the cliff; two lengths of rope, a gallon can of blue paint, a ball of stout twine, a piece of steel wire bent into a double hook, and an oak board sixteen inches long and six inches wide, notched on each side near the ends. When they were all displayed Dan looked them over as a general might view his troops. Suddenly he struck his right fist into his left palm with a loud smack: “Oh, thunderation!” he exclaimed. “What’s the row?” asked Bob. “We left the paint-brush down there!” Sorrowfully they walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down into the meadow. “Somebody’ll have to go and get it,” said Nelson. “Where’d you leave it?” “You couldn’t find it in a week,” answered Dan in vexation. “Here, let’s get these things rigged up. It would take half an hour to go down there and back the way we came. You can let me down with the rope and I’ll find it.” So they set to work. The board was lashed firmly to one end of an inch rope, the can of paint was opened, one end of the other length of rope was tied into a noose, and the hook was passed through the rope at the end of the swing. “That looks like awfully small rope,” said Tom. “But it hasn’t got to hold you, my boy,” said Dan. “Pass the end of it around that tree, fellows. That’s it. Now let’s see where to put it over.” He sank onto his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the bluff. “Here’s a good place,” he said, and dropped the swing over the edge. “Now haul up the slack, Bob.” “Look here,” said Nelson, “it will be easy enough letting you down, but are you sure we can pull you up again?” “Well, if you can’t--!” Dan’s tones spoke volumes of contempt. “But you’ll have to unwind the rope from that tree, you know, and pull on it directly.” “Wouldn’t it be safer if we left it snubbed around the tree and pulled on it here at the edge, letting some one take up the slack at the tree?” “Yes, if two of you can lift me.” “We can, if we don’t have to bear the strain between hauls.”