"well, boys, here we are at last!"

bob somers, with a smile of satisfaction on his healthy, sunburned face, uttered these words, as he stood, surrounded by his fellow members of the rambler club, at a small railroad station in oregon. to their left, above a line of trees, columns of brownish smoke and jets of dazzling white steam shot up, each moment changing position and showing how fast the train from which they had just alighted was speeding on its way over the iron rails.

about them was a rich and fertile valley overlooked by a range of rugged mountains, several of whose summits, crowned with snow, gleamed brightly against the sky. it was a wild and beautiful prospect that met the ramblers' gaze, and their eyes sparkled.

"well, here we are at last!" repeated "captain bob," seating himself upon a trunk. "what do you think of it, chubby?"

stout, good-natured dave brandon, fanning his face vigorously, paused for an instant, turned slowly around until his eyes had taken in the entire scene, and then replied, "simply grand, bob. my, but won't i make some great sketches!"

"chub—artist in chief," laughed dick travers, "also poet laureate. but don't forget, fellows, that i'm the official photographer."

"dick's going to snap all the bears and wildcats before we shoot 'em," grinned little tom clifton—"real exciting sport, that."

"oh, bother pictures and photographs," put in sam randall, scornfully. "it's hunting and fishing i'm after. why, you know bob somers' uncle said——"

"oh, that's the fifteenth time you've told us already," interrupted tom clifton. "lots of grizzly and ginger bears in the mountains, and——"

"huh! who ever heard of ginger bears?" laughed sam.

"cinnamon, he means," put in bob somers, smilingly.

"cinnamon—that's it—knew it was like some kind of spice," said tom, with a wink. "but say, fellows," he added, glancing at the road, which curved toward the mountains, "i wonder what's the matter with that stage-coach. hope it won't be a case of walk."

"walk!" the poet laureate, seated on a box, leaned his substantial frame against the side of the station and groaned. "don't you dare suggest such an awful thing, tom clifton," he said, severely. "i feel uncommonly tired—and hungry, too. why, it's three hours since i had a square meal."

a gruff, hearty laugh rang out, as the station-master stepped from the door.

"you don't look, son, as if you needed another for a week," he remarked, pleasantly. "reckon you fellows are going to stay a spell, jedging by the truck you've got." he waved his hand toward the baggage.

bob nodded. "how about the stage?" he inquired, anxiously.

"oh, 'big bill' ain't never on time," volunteered the station-master, reassuringly; "that is, more'n once in about two months," he connected; "but he'll be here all right—don't worry yourselves—there!"

he stopped short, raised his arm, and the boys, following its direction with their eyes, saw on a short stretch of yellow road a dark object which had appeared in view from behind a ridge. it was far off and apparently moving at a snail's pace.

"'big bill,'" added the man, laconically.

"bill isn't hurting his horses," remarked sam randall. "crickets, i wish he would hurry."

"bound for isaac barton's place, ain't you?" inquired the station-master, curiously. "'big bill' says, yisterday, as how some party was a-going to have the place this summer."

"guessed it the first time," laughed sam; "that is, if he ever gets us there."

eager to reach their destination, time passed slowly indeed, and the boys breathed a sigh of satisfaction when the stage-coach finally resolved itself into definite shape, and the crack of the driver's whip came over the still air.

in the midst of a cloud of yellow dust, the coach, drawn by four dapple grays, rattled briskly along.

"oh, ho, never was so glad to see anything in my life," observe dave brandon, resuming a standing posture.

to the accompaniment of many shouts, the driver skilfully swung his horses around, the coach thundered up to the platform and stopped short.

"pretty well done, that," murmured bob.

"mornin', jed—mornin', gents!"

the driver passed his lines over a convenient hook, surveyed the group critically for a moment, then climbed slowly down from his lofty perch.

in spite of his nickname, he was not a big man. a long, aquiline nose, a pair of restless, gray eyes, and a complexion bronzed a deep brown were his distinguishing features, and several of the boys also noted that he wore an extremely sour expression.

"well, bill dugan," observed the station-master, pleasantly, "a regular party here to-day, an' all of 'em bound for the old rickham house."

"i see 'em—my eyes is still good," grumbled bill; "an' a sight of truck to hoist on the old rattleboard, too. you chaps is goin' to stay here all your lives, ain't yer?"

"big bill's" glance rested on the stout form of dave brandon.

"oh, no, not so bad as that," laughed the poet laureate. "we'll give you a hand in getting the stuff aboard."

but the driver seemed to be in no particular hurry. he seated himself on one of the boxes, leaned back and folded his arms.

"them nags has to take a rest," he announced, calmly. "beats me, jed, why any one should want to come out here. only wish i had 'nuff coin to git away."

the station-master laughed.

"'tain't the first time you've said so, bill," he observed, dryly.

"an' won't be the last, nuther. i ain't never had no chance. jack bender went off to portland, an' i hear tell he's makin' lots of money. i'm smart as him, any day."

"big bill's" restless eyes fixed themselves on the other's face, and, as if expecting that his statement might be challenged, he paused.

then, as silence ensued, bob somers spoke up. "how long will it take us to reach the village?" he asked.

"if the old rattleboard don't git throw'd down the precipice, about five hours."

"what precipice?" asked tom clifton, with an uneasy look.

"over at blinker's pass—a clean drop of three hundred feet, 'most straight as the walls of this here shanty, eh, jed?"

"whew! anything ever happen there?" asked tom.

"four year ago next june, a hoss slipped, took over his mate, an' as neat a trap as you ever laid yer eyes on was busted into a thousand pieces."

"great scott!" exclaimed tom, breathlessly, "wasn't that awful! driver go over, too?"

"jest managed to jump an' save hisself."

"are your horses liable to stumble?" tom's voice was slightly tremulous, and he glanced sharply at the four dapple grays.

"all hosses is," was the unsatisfactory reply, "but i cant be a-talkin' here all day—give us a hand, jed—no, we don't want no help." he waved aside the boys, seized hold of a box, and, within a few minutes, assisted by the station-master, had stowed away the baggage upon the top of the vehicle.

"lucky we ain't got no other passengers to-day," he grumbled, as he passed an enormous red handkerchief across his perspiring forehead. "fetch out the mail-bag, jed, an' we'll git. somebody can ride up with me, if he wants to."

"i will," said bob somers, quickly.

in a jiffy, he had climbed up to the seat.

"awful selfish, i know, fellows," he said, smilingly, "and——"

but his further speech was cut short by "big bill," who dropped heavily beside him and picked up the lines.

"git up, there! whoa—steady, boy, steady—so long, jed." his long, snake-like whip twisted and writhed through the air, cracking like a volley of pistol-shots; the leaders plunged forward, and, in a moment, a cloud of dust again arose, and the little station was veiled behind the flying particles.

the dapple grays, at an even trot, pounded over the yellow road, past white farmhouses, green fields and orchards loaded with fruit, toward the tree-covered mountains which loomed up straight ahead.

"this is a dandy country," cried bob somers, enthusiastically. "must be all kinds of game out here. say, are there many visitors at the village?"

"ever since people got the idea that it was a good health resort, we've had 'em—that is now an' then," responded the driver, skilfully flipping the off-horse on the ear, "but i only wish i could git away."

bob smiled. "any young fellows around?" he asked—"enough to make up a baseball nine? it would be jolly good fun to have a game."

"i ain't got no time for such foolishness," growled "big bill," flipping the other horse with equal skill. "there's young fellers around, of course. did you ever see a place without 'em? an' i ain't a-sayin' that they're all they should be, neither."

"some people from new york here, aren't there?"

"how did you know?" queried dugan, with a look of surprise.

"oh, my uncle told me something about 'em. said they were good sort, and all that."

"guess you're talkin' 'bout fenton an' his son, howard," responded dugan, frowning until the lines on either side of his nose had deepened into ruts. "they're staying at the hotel. a good sort, you say? well, i haven't much use for 'em. neither one never throw'd no coin in my way. whoa, you brute! if that little feller inside sees old 'peggy' a-stumblin' like that, he'll be scared enough to git out—an' walk."

dugan's sour expression relaxed, and he laughed loudly.

the road led across a rolling valley, and bob somers drew an involuntary breath of admiration as the ever-changing panorama opened out before him. rugged forms on the mountains gradually grew more distinct, until the rocky sides of frowning precipices could be clearly seen.

"pretty heavily timbered," observed bob, with a glance aloft. "great scott, that mountain we're coming to is a whopper, all right."

"'tain't nothin' to some," replied dugan, "but i reckon when we git to blinkers pass you'll want to climb inside—most of 'em does."

"not i," laughed bob. "only wish we were there now. hello, dave!" he sang out.

"hello, bob!" came a cheery response from within the coach.

"what do you think of this for scenery—isn't it great?"

"oh, ho—best i ever saw. i'm getting inspirations every minute. did you ever see anything prettier than this?"

as he spoke, the vehicle lumbered heavily over a bridge. below, a turbulent stream foamed its way in and out among rocks and boulders, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight. the trail led upward, and when an hour had passed—an hour full of delight to the boys—they were in the midst of a wild and unfrequented region. here and there, leaves of the maple and ash shone out against the darker pines and cedars, while the dogwood in full bloom lightened the landscape with its cheerful colors. forest perfumes filled the air, and the notes of many woodland songsters rose above the steady grind of the coach.

"perfectly su-perb—magnificent!" floated out of the window, and bob somers chuckled as he listened to the delighted comments of his friends.

it was a long, toilsome ascent. the road twisted and turned, now lost in the dark, gloomy recesses of the mountain, then emerging into the clear daylight, where views of the broad valley were obtained.

"crickets, but we are getting up in the air," called out tom clifton. "how much further is it to that pass?"

dugan pulled up his panting horses. "a right smart ways, yet," he answered, "but you'll know it when we get there, young 'un."

at the next halting place, a magnificent view caused the ramblers to almost exhaust their vocabulary of admiring expressions. a veil of bluish mist hung over the opposite mountain, while its snow-capped summit, rising clear, shone out brilliantly against the sky. far down in the valley a silver torrent threaded its way among the rich masses of vegetation.

"glorious!" cried bob somers, enthusiastically. "it certainly makes a chap feel small. know how high that mountain is, mr. dugan?"

the driver snorted.

"bill—plain bill's my name," he said, sourly. "never had no tape measure long enough to find out, but some says it's five thousand feet."

"and it looks it," was bob's comment.

"in ten minutes we'll git to blinker's pass," went on "big bill," slowly. "don't know but what we oughter blindfold that little feller inside—say, what's the fat boy's name?"

"dave brandon."

"he don't look as if he ever done a lick of work in his life. whoa, you 'peggy.' too clost to the pass for any of that game;" and bill, with a laugh, gazed into bob somers' face.

"might as well give it up, bill—you can't scare me," laughed bob. "guess you won't find tom clifton showing the white feather, either."

"we hain't came to it yet," and bill smiled grimly.

but the pass was soon reached. the road rose steeply, then stretched ahead in a level course for a considerable distance.

bob somers, in spite of his assurance, felt a strange tremor run through him, as they reached the dangerous point. below, the jagged rocks extended in a sheer descent of several hundred feet, and between them and the bottom was but a narrow strip of turf and rocks. he clutched hold of the seat in a firm grasp and gazed breathlessly at the thrilling sight.

"something of a drop, eh?" chuckled "big bill." "toss over one of them rocks an' you won't hear a sound when it strikes."

"great scott, it's like being in a balloon," gasped bob.

"it's taken the nerve of many a fellow—it has. hey, young 'un, are you too scared to take a look?"

the driver leaned around and glanced toward the window. he saw dave brandon's smiling face looking calmly down.

"it's deep, and no mistake," observed the stout boy; "but not quite as bad as i hoped."

"don't expect much, chubby, do you?" laughed bob.

as for little tom clifton, he smiled faintly, but made no reply to dugan's question, and the latter was quite sure that he breathed a sigh of relief when the precipice was hidden from view behind a ridge.

again the coach climbed laboriously upward. many times the panting animals were allowed to rest, and the ramblers became impatient to reach their destination. hunger attacked them, and dave sighed dolefully as he thought of the long wait before their appetites could be satisfied.

but at length the road began to descend, and about two o'clock they caught a glimpse of a shining body of water with two dark spots at its western end.

"what are they?" asked bob, with interest.

"promontory and hemlock islands," replied dugan. "that's mountain lake. we're gittin' there now—village is jist beyond the middle of the lake."

"and mighty glad i am to see it," said bob. "i can make out some of the buildings. are those white spots farmhouses?"

the driver nodded.

"this must be a great place for boating and fishing."

"'tain't bad—but jist let me give you a word of advice—keep away from them islands."

"why?"

"why?" echoed dugan, with a shrug of his shoulders. "well, jist this side of 'em is the entrance to canyon river. it runs a-racin' an' teamin' through an awful gorge, an' any feller that gits swept in is a goner."

"whew! no one ever go through in safety?"

"none that i ever hearn tell of. the sides of the gorge rise plumb out of the water, an' even if you kin swim like a fish it wouldn't do you no good."

"well, i guess you won't catch me trying to swim through," laughed bob.

"the end of the lake is all right for a feller that knows the currents," went on dugan. "that's what i told howard fenton."

as if glad that their journey was about over, the horses broke into a brisk trot and the coach rattled noisily along, swerving from side to side, while bill dugan cracked his long whip at frequent intervals.

he was a skilful but reckless driver, and the last stretch was taken at a clip which made bob somers hold tightly to his seat.

as they approached the lake, captain bob became more and more pleased with its surroundings. the forms of the two islands began to stand out clearly, and he soon saw that the nearest was scarcely more than two hundred yards from the end of the picturesque sheet of water. the lake rounded sharply at this point, being shut in by granite cliffs. it was here, immediately opposite promontory island, that canyon river had its source, the water flowing into a gorge whose towering walls rose in places from five hundred to a thousand feet.

"do people climb the mountain?" asked bob.

"anybody that don't mind riskin' their necks kin. but it's an awful job, an' nobody with any sense would try it," growled dugan. "onct, i was foolish enough ter go up with some fellers. we set out early, an'"—dugan paused; the recollections brought out the wrinkles on his forehead again—"i'll never forgit it. after a-climbin' an' climbin', we came to a wall of rock risin' most straight up in the air."

"well, what happened?"

"the fust thing we did arter that was to run inter a hornet's nest, an' in tryin' ter git away from the pesky bugs i fell down a bank, every blessed cent i had rolled out of me pockets, an', for all i know, they're a-rollin' yet."

bob politely refrained from smiling at bill dugan's ludicrous expression of disgust.

"not only that," went on the driver, "but i ruined me best pair of boots, an' was laid up for a week with a bad arm. an' all that jist to hear the sound of a waterfall in the distance—always did run in mean luck."

"climb the wall of rock?" queried bob.

"i did not," snorted dugan. "t'other chaps wanted to, but i says, 'not fur me.'"

"then you never saw the waterfall?"

"no! an' don't want to, nuther. some fellers has, but the pesky birds an' animals kin do all the lookin', as fur as i keer. as i tole you afore, anybody what gits caught in that gorge is a goner. where the river comes out there's a current that would make you shiver to look at. no boat could git up it."

"how is the mountain on the other side?"

"like a twin brother to this one, an' hard to tell which is the meanest. none of us around here ever keers to go up, but strangers, like as not, will be crazy 'nuff ter try it."

"that's mighty interesting—i mean the waterfall," observed bob somers.

"i suspicioned you'd say so, an' wouldn't s'prise me if you turned out to be one of them fellers what don't mind a-runnin' inter danger—the wuss, the better. only hopes you git cured soon," and with this ill-natured remark the driver lapsed into silence, while bob devoted his attention to the scenery.

the lake now stretched straight ahead, its furthest shore almost lost in a haze that enveloped the base of the mountains beyond. the road led down to the water's edge, and once there, it seemed but a few minutes before the stage-coach was rattling past the outlying farms. the individual houses of the village were now clearly distinguishable, as well as a wharf, at which several boats were moored.

at length, the vehicle drew up in front of the resort house, a rather pretentious building which combined hotel, post-office and general store.

it seemed as if the entire male population had assembled to witness the arrival of the coach. men and boys lolled about, exhibiting the liveliest interest in the proceedings, and gaping curiously at the five boys, as they stepped to the ground.

"act as if they'd never seen a human being before," whispered sam randall. "my, but it's good to stretch one's legs again."

"say, which of you fellows is bob somers?" exclaimed a cheery voice.

from among the group, a boy stepped forward, looking inquiringly from one to another.