Barney Mulloy and Harry Rattleton hitched their chairs nearer. “Do you be afther m’anin’ thim chumps in the woods up on the mountain?” asked Barney. “Begorra! av yez say yis to thot, Oi’m wid yez.” “I mean the fellows of the Blue Mountain Athletic Club,” said Colson. “A week ago they sent us challenges, which we accepted, but which we must back down from unless your party is willing to join in and aid us. You see, we had sixteen boys in the camp at that time. Now we have only five. The others, who came from the same town down by the coast, had to leave because of sickness in their homes.” “How many boys are in the Blue Mountain Club?” inquired Jack Diamond. “Well, there are fourteen besides Ward Hammond, who is their leader. They are already crowing over us in a way we don’t like, because they think we can’t meet them.” “Are they summer visitors?” asked Rattleton. “Some of them are. The others belong here in the village. Hammond was brought up here, and his father owns a good deal of land in these mountains. He hasn’t a very good name, though, and is not well liked. I’ve been told that he’s related by blood to some of these fighting mountaineers, but I don’t know how true that is. When you meet him, you will notice that he has the tall, lank appearance of a mountaineer.” “We’ve met him!” grunted Browning. “About challenges. What is their character?” questioned Merriwell. “The arrangements were for an archery shoot, day after to-morrow, with a swimming match on the lake the next day, and that to be followed by a mountain-climbing contest.” Colson looked hopefully at Merriwell and his companions. “You must not say ‘no’ to our invitation,” he insisted. “You’ll find it much pleasanter in our cottages down by the lake than in this hotel, and we need you! We want you to join our club. It is perfectly legitimate, for we’re allowed to recruit from anywhere. As I said, a number of the Blue Mountain boys—more than half of them, I think—do not have their homes in Glendale.” “What do you say, fellows?” questioned Merriwell, turning toward his companions. “Av it’s thim chumps upon the hill!” exclaimed Barney Mulloy. Merriwell nodded. “I think I’d like that, by thutter!” declared Ephraim Gallup. “You pets my poots, dot voult pe a bicnic!” asserted Hans Dunnerwust, the jolly-looking Dutch boy. The others assented, each after his own peculiar manner. “When do you want us to come down?” asked Frank. “Right now, this minute, if you will!” cried Colson’s companion, who had hitherto maintained a grave silence. “It’s lonesome as a graveyard down there. And you’ll want to do some practicing! Can you handle the bow and arrow?” Philip Tetlow’s face lighted up with such fine enthusiasm, and his delight was so manifest, that Frank could hardly restrain a laugh.