his general appearance indicated at once that he was not a native of that region. his neat blue suit, of the latest cut, set off a slight, boyish figure to advantage, and seemed more appropriate to fifth avenue than to a small mountain village. a shock of chestnut hair, in defiance of comb and brush, swept across a white forehead, and his frank blue eyes were pleasant to look upon. below them, a coat of tan told of his outdoor life.
bob somers held out his hand.
"i'll bet you're howard fenton," he said, warmly.
"you've struck it," laughed the other, accepting the proffered hand and giving it a hearty shake. "and mighty glad i am, too, that you chaps have arrived," he went on, totally ignoring the presence of many interested listeners.
"my uncle spoke to me about you," said bob. "fellows, this is howard fenton."
"feels good to meet some one," laughed dave. "takes off some of the strangeness of landing in a strange place. how do you like it out here?"
"for a while, not at all," replied fenton, lowering his voice. "you see," he added, confidentially, "i was always used to the city, and the strangeness you speak of—well"—he drew a long breath—"it hit me pretty hard, at first. silly, i know, but the pater—he's out here with me—thought he knew what kind of a vacation i'd enjoy."
"and he wasn't mistaken, after all," interrupted bob; "i can see that by your face."
"i should say not. a few days, and i began to like it immensely."
"see here," broke in dugan's rough voice, as its owner stepped out of the post-office, "i'm going to take your truck over to the house. if you're goin', jump in;" and, without waiting for a reply, he mounted to his seat.
"coming along, fenton, aren't you?" inquired bob, cordially.
the new york boy nodded.
"sure," he answered. "we'll get better acquainted on the way. maybe i can help you to get things started."
as the coach whirled along, fenton told them that he intended taking a scientific course in columbia university and had brought a few text-books along to study between times.
"and i haven't opened one of them yet," he added, with a laugh.
"best plan for vacation," said dave brandon, lazily.
"mr. barton told me that you fellows have formed a club."
"that's right—and we've seen some great times, too," responded somers.
"go in for parliamentary procedure and all that, do you—whereas, etc., etc., be it therefore resolved that——"
"not much," grinned sam randall. "hunting, fishing, and having a good time generally is what we're after. that stout boy opposite is our poet laureate and artist in chief; dick, here, is photographer; bob's captain, and tom clifton and i are just ordinaries."
fenton laughed.
"do you really paint?" he asked, with interest, turning toward dave.
"oh, yes—a little," admitted the latter. "just took it up last winter, though."
"are you going to make any sketches out here?"
"it would take an awful lot to keep me from it. i have a stack of canvas that has to be daubed up. and talk about fine views, never saw anything to beat 'em."
"i met mr. barton several times," went on fenton. "he sort of took to me because i came from new york."
"yes, that's where he used to live," said bob. "uncle isaac came out here a good many years ago. he has some big orchards a few miles away—grows all sorts of fruits, you know. he bought this house because it's right near the lake."
"mighty good of him to invite us out here, wasn't it?" put in sam randall.
"uncle got the idea of going to europe," added bob, by way of explanation, "so he suggested that the whole crowd come over. and he left a colored boy to do the cooking, too."
fenton nodded, and bob went on, "the rambler club rendered father a big service not long ago. we took a trip for him, and on the way some fellows blew up our motor boat."
"blew it up?" gasped fenton.
"yes—into a thousand bits. i'll tell you about it some time. well, dad insisted upon making up the loss in some way, and when uncle isaac proposed this jaunt, i didn't have any trouble in fixing it up. uncle isaac and his wife left a bit sooner than they expected, and hustled us out here."
"nothing could have suited me better," declared fenton, warmly. "i guess you won't mind my mixing in with you once in a while. most of the visitors in town are elderly people, and the boys," he lowered his voice, "well, they're good enough chaps in their way, but not just the sort i like. jim havens and tom sanders are the two i know best."
"why do they call dugan 'big bill'?" asked tom clifton. "he isn't big."
fenton grinned.
"has a nephew of the same name," he explained. "he's smaller, so it's 'big bill' and 'little bill.' fine pair they are, too. hello—here we are."
this announcement interested the boys immensely. the coach was turning into a private road, which led toward a substantial two-story building. standing some distance back of the main thoroughfare, its graceful white outlines could be seen, surrounded by beautiful trees and shrubbery. to its left was a stable.
"not a bad looking place, eh, fellows?" observed bob, with satisfaction.
"it's dandy," put in dick travers, enthusiastically. "and so close to the lake."
"yum—yum, i can't see anything, i'm so hungry," sighed dave. "thank goodness—no more traveling to-day."
as dugan brought up his horses before the entrance, a smiling colored lad rushed out.
"i 'clar' to goodness, the boys has come at last, eh? mistah dugan!" he exclaimed. "i certainly is glad, for suah."
"show it then, sam bins, by helpin' to git this here truck off the rattleboard," growled the driver.
"so you is mistah somers, an' party," went on the lad. "i've been a-lookin' for yo' every day. yo' sho must be hungry, gemmen. all right, mistah dugan, i'll help yo'. step inside, mistah somers an' fren's, an' i'll git a meal that'll do yo' a power of good."
"glorious words," murmured dave, "to be followed by glorious action."
ten minutes later, the "rattleboard" had disappeared, and the boys were busily engaged in removing the dust and stains of travel.
the rooms of rickham house were large and furnished more for comfort than appearance. as the boys collected in the large, square dining-hall, they examined with interest the old-fashioned fireplace, substantial oak furniture and numerous engravings of hunting scenes which hung upon the walls.
sam bins had disappeared, but occasionally sounds from the open door indicated that something was happening in the kitchen.
"did you ever think how much we owe to cooks?" said dave, as he settled down in a comfortable chair. "why——"
"huh, cut it out, chubby," admonished dick travers. "let's talk about something worth while."
"won't do it now, after being sat on like that," sighed the poet. "wake me up, fellows, when dinner is ready," and he closed his eyes.
sam bins was a good cook and had a proper appreciation of the size of a hungry boy's appetite. the meal was therefore a bountiful one.
between talking over their plans, relating stories and listening to fenton's description of new york, the ramblers passed a very pleasant time.
the meal at length having been concluded, sam bins took them to the stable and exhibited a pair of fine saddle-horses.
"yo' fellahs know how to ride, ob course," he said, with a huge grin.
"not i," responded fenton, decidedly, as the others nodded. "never was on a horse in my life."
sam bins was profoundly astonished.
"then i wouldn't advise yo' to try either of dese," he said, rather scornfully. "dey's got a lot ob spirit—dey has."
fenton laughingly assured him that he wouldn't.
the rest of the day was spent in arranging their rooms. dave and sam took one, tom and dick another, while bob somers used a smaller one at the western end.
since leaving their homes in wisconsin, they had been almost constantly traveling, and the whole of the previous night was spent on the cars. this, with the journey on the stage-coach, had fatigued them greatly. but in spite of eyes that persisted in blinking, they bravely kept at work until their belongings were arranged to suit them.
fenton, the city boy, had a wholesome respect for firearms, and the ramblers, as they exhibited their brightly polished shotguns and rifles, filled him with apprehension.
"i'd be afraid of my life to handle one of those things," he admitted, candidly. "you see," he grinned, "i never had any occasion to use 'em in new york. but there are two things i've learned pretty well out here—sailing a boat and handling a canoe—what's the matter with taking a sail day after to-morrow?" he rattled on. "the pater has a good boat, the 'dauntless,' and, if you like, we'll explore promontory and hemlock islands. they camp out there once in a while. tom sanders and jim havens, the fellows i spoke about, are over there now."
"you can just bet we'd like it," declared bob, enthusiastically.
"the lake is perfectly safe as far as the passage between the islands," went on fenton. "i won't take you into any danger."
"you are not going to find us a scary crowd," laughed bob; and the matter was arranged then and there. fenton soon after took his departure.
"a nice chap, that," observed dave, as his slight figure grew small in the distance.
"awful glad we got acquainted so soon," said tom. "somehow or other, he doesn't seem like a stranger. a smart fellow, too."
"he's in good company, then, tom," was dick travers' rejoinder.
that evening, the ramblers sat on the wide veranda, enjoying the pleasant air.
the moon was mirrored in shining streaks on the breeze-swept waters of the lake, and its light played hide-and-seek on the mountain crags beyond. several peaks gleamed ghostly white against a greenish sky, while the valley appeared gray and mysterious.
"some of those mountains look like volcanoes," observed tom.
"when did you ever see a volcano?" laughed dick.
"in books, smarty."
"some of them were volcanoes at one time," declared dave brandon, "and there must have been terrible eruptions. i've read that there's lots of lava and basaltic rock to be seen, and——"
"basaltic rock? excuse me, chubby, but don't spring anything like that so suddenly. basaltic—wow!" and dick's companions joined in the laugh that followed.
"oregon is a great state," went on dave, with a twinkle in his eye. "there's a lake—crater lake they call it—an awful big sheet of water, right in the crater of an extinct volcano, away up in the air, with high walls all around."
"nice place to drop in," commented sam.
"canyon river interests me a whole lot," observed bob. "of course most of the rivers here are swift-flowing, and there are many canyons—but that waterfall—great to get a look at it, eh?"
"yes, if we could soar above it in a flying machine," drawled dave. "even the thought of climbing a mountain makes me tired. fellows, i'm going to turn right in."
and the others decided to follow his example.
