“A pickle,” said Peanut, and pack on back he plunged over the summit, and down the path into the spruces, the rest trailing behind.
“Go after him, Rob,” said the Scout Master, “and hold him back. He’ll tire his front leg muscles all out, if he doesn’t break his neck.”
Rob went, and held Peanut by main force till the rest came up.
“You couldn’t have held me,” cried Peanut, “if I hadn’t wanted to say that we could go down easier with poles. We ought to have brought our poles. What can we cut for ’em?”
“Moose wood,” said Art. “I saw moose wood a bit further down, as we came up.”
So the party plunged on, finding the steep descent quick work, the chief difficulty being not to go too fast. At the first sign of moose wood, Art gave a cry, and soon the whole party had cut staves six feet long.
“I’m going to leave this pretty green and white bark on mine, and cut my initials in it to-night,” Lou announced.
“A good idea,” the rest agreed.
Shouldering their packs again, they put out the staves ahead of them, threw their weight forward, and with this assistance descended with even greater rapidity and much more safety. They stopped in the Flume only long enough for a drink, and again plunged down. As they came out into the level pasture near the base, Peanut slowed down.
“Wow,” he said, wiping his forehead, “that looks easy, but you really work awful hard holding in!”