And just as they were about to step on the porch, another yell nearly startled them out of their senses.
Sam Bins, with wildly rolling eyes, stood at the doorway.
"Good land—golly! Mr. Somers an' gemmen!" he cried. "Oh, dis chile can hardly believe it. You hain't never been in dat awful gorge, nohow. It was all a joke, eh?" and Sam's eyes rolled alarmingly. Then he began to laugh, and go through the same kind of antics in which Dick and Tommy had indulged a few moments before.
"Not much joke about it, Sam Bins," said Bob, with a smile, "but come out on the porch and hear the whole story. Hello—people coming, eh?"
"Christopher, a regular mob," chimed in Sam Randall. "Guess we've made some stir in Mountain Village."
For that afternoon, the Resort House was deserted. All who habitually settled affairs of state to their own satisfaction, discussed crops and weather, and speculated about new arrivals, betook themselves to Rickham.
Even old Sile Stringer had hobbled over, when Bob Somers began to graphically relate the story of their trip. Many gasps of astonishment came from his listeners, as he told of first one thrilling experience and then another.
"I always know'd a feller could git through that gorge," quavered old Sile; "always—said so many a time."
Howard Fenton finally had a chance to speak of his own adventures, and it was dark when the last of their visitors departed.
In this happy way was ended an experience which none of the boys would ever forget. And there were a couple of others, too, who were likely to remember the part they had taken in it.