about noon
`` Talk about New Mexico or Death Valley , '' exclaimed Harry , `` I feel like a piece of butter rolled up in a paper and I 've melted . '' `` I feel like a Welsh rarebit myself , '' laughed Frank , `` how about you , Ben ? '' `` I feel like a pot of boiling tar with a fire lighted under me , '' growled the veteran angrily ; `` consarn these rocks , I 'd give a whole lot for a bit of that shade we left behind us . '' Despite the discomfort and the heat , however , they struggled on up the mountain-side , frequently using the rope-ladder to get over rough places , and at about noon they stood beneath the steep rock cliff that formed the nose of the upturned face . It was easy enough then to reach a spot below the tip and Frank , with a long cord he had brought for the purpose , laid out a straight line from the point down the southern slope of the mountain-side . While they were busy about this they were startled by a repetition of the same strange cry , half-warning , half-savage , that they had been so alarmed by the night before . `` A-ho-o-o-o-AH-H-O-O-O-a-h-o-o-hoo-o-o-o-o ! ''