“Come in,” said the caretaker.
The two men entered. They were rather elderly men, or at least middle aged, with gray hair; but both of them were tanned and rugged, the type you learn to recognize as the real trampers on the White Mountain trails. They made themselves at home at once, tossing their small packs into a corner. They had no blankets, but both of them carried botanical specimen cases.
“Where from?” asked Mr. Rogers.
“Jackson,” they said. “We came up Tuckerman’s yesterday to the Tip Top House, and spent this morning getting specimens on Bigelow Lawn. We’ve just come over the Gulf Side.”
“Did you meet four men carrying an injured woman?” the boys asked.
“Carrying her where?”
“To the train.”
“They were taking her along the West Side Trail, from Monticello Lawn, where she sprained her ankle,” Mr. Rogers added. “One of them went ahead to the summit to telephone.”
“Oh, that explains it!” the two strangers said. “We met him just as we were turning out of the carriage road into the trail. He was going about ten miles an hour. And when we got up on Jefferson, we saw a train climbing the trestle, and wondered why.”
“Hooray, she’s safe!” shouted Peanut. “Bet she never tries to climb in low shoes again, though.”