"Like a twin brother to this one, an' hard to tell which is the meanest. None of us around here ever keers to go up, but strangers, like as not, will be crazy 'nuff ter try it."
"That's mighty interesting—I mean the waterfall," observed Bob Somers.
"I suspicioned you'd say so, an' wouldn't s'prise me if you turned out to be one of them fellers what don't mind a-runnin' inter danger—the wuss, the better. Only hopes you git cured soon," and with this ill-natured remark the driver lapsed into silence, while Bob devoted his attention to the scenery.
The lake now stretched straight ahead, its furthest shore almost lost in a haze that enveloped the base of the mountains beyond. The road led down to the water's edge, and once there, it seemed but a few minutes before the stage-coach was rattling past the outlying farms. The individual houses of the village were now clearly distinguishable, as well as a wharf, at which several boats were moored.
At length, the vehicle drew up in front of the Resort House, a rather pretentious building which combined hotel, post-office and general store.
It seemed as if the entire male population had assembled to witness the arrival of the coach. Men and boys lolled about, exhibiting the liveliest interest in the proceedings, and gaping curiously at the five boys, as they stepped to the ground.
"Act as if they'd never seen a human being before," whispered Sam Randall. "My, but it's good to stretch one's legs again."
"Say, which of you fellows is Bob Somers?" exclaimed a cheery voice.