grievous when they awoke on this morning to receive the forestalling
message of the little white flag.

"Camped at the foot of the Saddle last night and went up at the first
peep of day," Hazard ventured, long after the silent breakfast had been
tucked away and the dishes washed.

Gus nodded. It was not in the nature of things that a youth's spirits
should long remain at low ebb, and his tongue was beginning to loosen.

"Guess he's down by now, lying in camp and feeling as big as Alexander,"
the other went on. "And I don't blame him, either; only I wish it were
we."

"You can be sure he's down," Gus spoke up at last. "It's mighty warm on
that naked rock with the sun beating down on it at this time of year.
That was our plan, you know, to go up early and come down early. And any
man, sensible enough to get to the top, is bound to have sense enough to
do it before the rock gets hot and his hands sweaty."

"And you can be sure he didn't take his shoes with, him." Hazard rolled
over on his back and lazily regarded the speck of flag fluttering
briskly on the sheer edge of the precipice. "Say!" He sat up with a
start. "What's that?"

A metallic ray of light flashed out from the summit of Half Dome, then a
second and a third. The heads of both boys were craned backward on the
instant, agog with excitement.

"What a duffer!" Gus cried. "Why didn't he come down when it was cool?"