ome; and when
some one proposed that they explore some of the mysteries of the famous
Blue Ridge, Bob eagerly seconded the motion, in his warm Southern way.
And that was how it started. Once boys get an idea in their heads, it
soon gains weight, just like a rolling snowball.

And now they were here, with the grim mountains all around them, silence
wrapping them about, and mystery seeming to fill the very air. But
healthy boys are not easily impressed or daunted by such things; and
they cracked jokes and carried on as boys will do with the utmost
freedom.

The conversation between Step Hen, Bumpus and Giraffe having attracted
the attention of the scoutmaster, he called out at this juncture:

"Whose knapsack is that you've got strapped on your back right now,
Number Eight?"

A shout went up as Step Hen, quickly turning the article in question
around surveyed it blankly; but apparently both Bumpus and Giraffe had
known of its presence all the while, though pretending ignorance.

"Who strapped that to my back?" demanded the owner. "I don't remember
doing it, give you my word for it, fellers. Mighty queer how things
always happen to _me_, and nobody else. But anyhow, I'm ready to
continue the march, if the rest of you are."

Five minutes later, and the boys were straggling along the rough road
that wound in and out, as it pierced the valleys between the peaks
looming up on either side. There was no attempt at keeping order on the
march, and the boys, while trying to remain within sight of each other,
walked along in groups or couples.

Giraffe and Bumpus, a strange combination always, yet very good chums,
were at some distance in the lead. Bringing up the rear were Thad and
Allan, examining some chart of the region, which Bob White had drawn for
them, and talking over what the plan of campaign should be.

In the midst of this pleasant afternoon quiet there suddenly arose the
piercing notes of the bugle, followed by a loud and hoarse shout; and
looking up hastily, Thad Brewster was surprised to see Bumpus wildly
waving both his arms. Although he was at some little distance away, and
at the bottom of the decline, what he shouted came plainly to the ears
of the young scoutmaster, giving him something of a thrill:

"Hey! come along here, you fellers; Giraffe, he's got stuck in the
crick, up to his knees, and he says it's quicksand!"

CHAPTER II.

SEEING GIRAFFE THROUGH.

"QUICKSAND!" shrieked Step Hen, who