“Gosh, my lungs are covered with dust,” said Peanut. “How far have we got to go, dodging these things?”
“Only six miles,” the Scout Master answered. “I guess we can stand it that long.”
It was getting on toward dark in the Notch (where the sun seems to set much earlier than outside, because of the high western wall) when they reached the Flume House.
“It’s too dark to go up into the Flume to camp to-night,” Mr. Rogers declared. “Besides, I don’t know just where the path up Liberty starts, and we’d better wait for daylight to ask. We’ll go up the road a few rods, and camp by some brook close to the road. Then in the morning we can see the Flume and the Basin and all the sights.”
The motors had ceased going by now, and the road was empty. They very soon came to a good brook, and a few paces off the road put them into the seclusion of the woods. Here they camped, and had their supper. The day had been a comparatively light one—four miles down Moosilauke, six through Lost River and to North Woodstock, and six to camp—sixteen in all, mostly down-hill.
“And don’t forget the two miles at lunch to the store and back for our packs,” said Frank.
“An even eighteen, then,” said Rob. “Gee, that’s not very good.”
“Women—they’re to blame for everything, ain’t they, Art?” said Peanut.
Art got up and made for his tormentor, but Peanut was too quick for him. He was away into the rough, dark woods, and Art gave up the chase. It wasn’t long after, however, in spite of the fact that they had walked only eighteen miles, when the camp was asleep.