“The party, or any member of either party, that reaches the rock first is to be counted winner. The object is to reach the rock in the shortest possible time.”
Browning glanced up at the mountain, and groaned, as Merriwell grouped his party, and the boys broke into a hearty laugh.
“It is now nine o’clock,” said the starter, when all were ready. “You ought to do it in two hours, or less. I won’t attempt to give you any advice. You know what’s before you. Go!”
Ward Hammond led off at a sharp run, swinging his alpinstock and taking the path that led toward the right, while Sep Colson, who had been chosen to lead the Lake Lily Club, because of his greater familiarity with the ground to be covered, swung into the path that wound around the mountain on the left.
“It’s a little farther,” he said, “but the traveling is easier, and we’ll make better time.”
Frank Merriwell crowded close to Colson’s heels, and others fell in behind him, with Hans Dunnerwust bringing up the rear.
“Yes, this is what I call fun!” grunted Browning, as a bowlder slipped under him and he half fell.
“Be afther takin’ a little more quoinin’ to roise yer spairts,” advised Barney Mulloy, with a grin.
When more than half a mile had been passed over, and they were jogging down a declivity at a lively pace, Colson stopped so suddenly that Merriwell fairly tumbled over him.
“What is it?” Frank questioned.