From ledge to ledge, the four made their way. Fortunately, footholds on the steep, sloping sides were numerous, otherwise their task would have been almost impossible.
"Whew—hot work," panted Dave.
"But we're getting up, Chubby," said Bob. "The river begins to look like a creek."
They stood on a shelving rock, with somewhat the feeling that an explorer experiences when gazing upon a newly-discovered land for the first time.
"Mighty few people have seen this," quoth Dave. "Pretty little valley, Fenton."
"Yes it is, Dave."
"And there's Wells—looks just like an ant. Can't you hear his voice plainly? Wonderful how sounds carry in a place like this."
Stuart had seen them, and was giving a parting salutation.
Up, up, slipping, sliding and scrambling; now on hands and knees, then drawing themselves almost by main force over rugged rocks, they progressed slowly toward the top.
Each was, of course, provided with a heavy stick, or "alpen-stock," as Dave called it, and these proved very useful.