It was four miles to Indian Mountain, the last two a steady climb—steep in places and sidling—but the five did not mind it. Zack and Zeke, the two fat mules belonging to the college farm, took a steady jog-trot until they reached the foot, and then slowed down for the long, hard pull. Lalla Ponder was poised recklessly near a mound of provisions guarded by some extra quilts. Her light curls and nimble tongue were in constant motion. “I like tippy places and caves,” she said. “There’s one back in Clay that’s haunted, they say, but I’ve been in it and never cared a rap.” “You’re never afraid of anything,” remarked Kizzie, looking up at her room-mate admiringly. “I don’t know where you haven’t been that’s crawl-y and creep-y.” “Well, there’s one place on this mountain. I’ve never been all the way through Fat Man’s Misery.” “Let’s all try hit,” Gincy proposed recklessly. “If hit can be done.” “The boys often do it, but it’s a pretty hard climb for you girls,” said Miss Howard who sat with the driver. “I’m going to build a fire in the fireplace and pop some corn,” Urilla suddenly remarked. “Perhaps Gincy will help me sweep the bungalow before she goes exploring,” ventured Miss Howard with a twinkle. “I reckon I will,” assented Gincy, catching the look of mischief. “You-all no ’count folks kin go on and have your fun; you’ll be back comin’ meal time.” The wagon suddenly lurched, checking the chorus of protests. Lalla lost her balance, falling on Urilla. The basket of fruit and vegetables overturned and the driver halted for repairs. “Hit’s only a rock that big storm onsettled t’other night. Them ornery mules jest nachelly struck hit,” he said. Back and forth the road wound, continually disclosing new vistas. In the coves farmers were gathering the “crap.” There were pine-capped crests, bare, tumbled rocks, stream beds showing traces of tempestuous high water, threaded now by tiny, twinkling rills. Beyond, and still beyond, reared peak after peak of the Cumberlands. Gincy looked eagerly toward the southeast. For a moment she almost imagined she could see the tiny cabin perched above Goose Creek. After a hard climb of almost two hours, the level space on the mountain-top was reached. From a thicket of young trees they emerged into a cleared space where stood a long, red bungalow apparently without doors or windows. Built at the edge of a cliff, it commanded a wonderful view of the surrounding mountains and the Blue Grass country. “Oh! We’re here at last!” Gincy tumbled out hastily. “Whar do you git in?” “Down the chimney, of course,” laughed Urilla. “Look for the ladder under the bungalow.” “You might watch and see how I do it,” said Miss Howard, producing a key and going around to the rear of the building. Presently she pushed up sections of the side—one by one—and lastly threw back the wide front doors.