“Bring her around the south side,” cried Frank. “Let’s see that shelf where the big goat killed the lions.”
“And if the sheep are there to-day,” exclaimed the Englishman, “we’ll have a jolly try at them.”
“Don’t shoot,” said Phil, “unless we find a place to land. We haven’t Skinner and Hosmer with us to find our game.”
Phil was now driving not over five hundred feet in the air and directly toward the southern exposure of the “Bench.” The lone peak was rising in the air as if suddenly expanding. When the Loon was almost beneath the Gibraltar-like pile of rock, its steep sides rose to make the highest peak the boys had yet seen. Later, they reckoned the pinnacle not less than 1500 feet above the forest below.
Awed by the glowing wonder of the mountain’s mass, Frank and Lord Pelton were bending their necks to follow its steep sides skyward when Phil called out again.
“Down there, look! That must be it—the flat shelf.”
There was scarcely time to make out a formation such as Hosmer had told about before the Loon had passed it. But, in all respects, it was such a place as the bear hunter had described. If sheep were there they were not seen.
“Did you see it—the cliff where ‘Old Baldy’ stood when he threw himself down on the lion?” shouted Frank.
“Did I?” answered Phil. “If it wasn’t a hundred feet above the shelf it wasn’t a foot.”