Читать книгу The Boy Scout Pathfinders; Or, Jack Danby's Best Adventure онлайн

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The way to the quarries was not an easy one. The boys had to climb over great rocks, descend the steep sides of mountains, slipping and sliding most of the way; they had to make a path through stout vines that reached from tree to tree and seemed determined not to let them pass. Still they went steadily forward, for what Scout would ever think of complaining or, worse yet, of turning back with a task half done?

Finally they saw before them through the trees a small hut before which an old man of strange appearance was standing. He wore an old brown hunting suit, so old and threadbare, in fact, that the boys wondered how it ever managed to hold together; his leather leggings were strapped securely just below the knee. In his hand he held an implement that looked like a pitchfork, but which had only two prongs, and in his mouth was a huge pipe that sent up a cloud of smoke at every puff. And although his face was all criss-crossed with wrinkles, the few people who knew him forgot all about that when they caught the kindly gleam of his dark eyes, which were just as keen and bright at sixty as they had been at twenty.