"Bully for you!" cried Bob.
He urged his pony ahead, jumped it over a fallen tree, and, after passing the edge of a dense thicket, found the forest again opening out, with the brow of the hill showing high above.
The riders slowly came together from different points, and allowed their horses to cover the intervening space at a slow walk.
At the summit they had a magnificent view of the surrounding country. The hill had a broad flat top, extending off to their left for about half a mile, where it dropped almost vertically to the plain below. They could see the rugged end of the cliff joining a steep declivity which began only a short distance from where they had reined up.
By keeping to the right, the way led directly down into a wide rolling valley dotted with clumps of timber. In the distance, range after range of hills stretched off, the furthest to the north a hazy line of bluish-gray jutting against a higher form, which, at first glance, seemed to be but a cloud.
Bob was staring earnestly.
"Look, fellows!" His voice held a note of excitement. "What is that?"
"A—a mountain!" yelled Tim. "Sure as shootin'! Whoop!"
"You're up in the air, an' so is that," laughed Jack Conroy. "It's floatin' away."
"An' you float away, too," cried Tommy, whose eyes were shining with interest. "Whoop! It's—it's the unvarnished truth."