Looking down, Andy could see the trees of the forest far below. A thousand feet, yes, possibly twelve hundred, they had risen without making use of the usual method of “boring” for altitude. It was really higher than as yet they had dared venture. Still, strange to say, Andy did not feel the least particle of fear in connection with any possible tumble.
His anxiety was concentrated upon the chances of the biplane leading them all the way along the journey, just as though it were a procession, and Puss the grand marshal.
“I know it,” replied Frank, without showing any concern.
“But we must break into their pace better than this, if we hope to win!” declared Andy, who had taken a look upward, to see the grinning face of Sandy Hollingshead turned down toward them, just as though he already scented victory in the air.
“Don’t you worry, Andy!” Frank simply said.
“Are you holding back anything?” demanded the other, eagerly.
“A little. We can do better. Just wait, and trust me!”
Andy breathed more easily. When Frank spoke like that it always gave him a new lease on hope. That came of knowing his cousin so well, and having such perfect confidence in his sterling abilities. When Frank Bird said “Have faith, and trust me to pull through,” Andy was ready to believe almost anything could happen.
So he once more turned his eyes on the cap of the great mountain which they were approaching at a rapid rate.
Old Thunder Top was indeed an imposing spectacle as seen from a level. Of course, in the eyes of real mountaineers, the elevation would have been a trifle, and they might have spoken of it as a mere “foothill”; but to all loyal Bloomsbury boys it was always referred to with respect, as the “Mountain”! Perhaps the fact of those queer cliffs preventing any one from reaching the summit added to the admiration with which it was gazed upon. Had the boys been accustomed to picnicking upon that top whenever they pleased, it must have lost much of its grandeur.