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Fitzhugh, Percy Keese, 1876-1950

"Roy Blakely, Pathfinder"


"Guess we're pretty near the summit," Harry said; "let's call that we're
coming. The breeze will carry our voices."
So we all called together, "Hello, we're coming."
There wasn't any answer, but anyway, we couldn't have heard on account of
the breeze blowing up the mountain.
That was the only thing we had to guide us now--the breeze. We kept the
scarf in the air and just followed it, pushing through the brush. Sometimes
we had to stop and tear away an opening, so as to get through. There must
have been an easier way or those girls and fellows would never have managed
it, but Harry thought it was better to push right up than to be groping
around for a path.
All of a sudden, Ralph Warner said, _"Look!" Good night!_ A long line of
fire was coming up the mountain, maybe a quarter of a mile in back of us.
First it seemed like a dotted line, kind of, because there were dark
spaces. But even while we looked some of these filled up. The thing it
reminded me of most of all was soldiers; it seemed like a line of soldiers,
all bright and fiery, charging up the mountain. It was coming fast and I
have to admit it scared me.


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