“And flagpoles!” exclaimed Dave. “I guess there would be enough flagpoles in that patch to plant a pole in front of every schoolhouse in the United States.”
“Well, every schoolhouse ought to have a flagpole, and ought to have Old Glory on it, too!” cried Roger. “My father says that people generally don’t make half enough display of our flag.”
The youths walked along the edge of the summit for quite a distance, looking off to the northward and southward. Then, after Ben had taken a few more pictures, they started back for where they had left the horses.
“Come on, let’s have a race!” cried Ben suddenly. “First fellow to reach the horses wins the prize!”
“And what’s the prize?” queried Phil.
“Won’t tell it to you till you win it!” broke in Dave.
With merry shouts, all of the chums started on a run for where they supposed the horses had been left. They soon found themselves in the midst of the underbrush and many loose rocks, around which they had to make their way. Some thought the horses were in one direction and some another, and as a consequence they soon became separated, although still within calling distance.
“Hi! Be careful that you don’t go down in some hole and break a leg,” cautioned Dave.
“That’s right!” sang out Roger, who was some distance off. “Some of these rocks are mighty treacherous.”
Forward went the crowd, and in about ten minutes Dave and Roger found themselves in sight of the former camping spot. Phil and Ben were also coming on from around some rocks on the left, and each of the crowd put on an extra burst of speed to reach the horses first.