See? It would be an awful job
picking our way up that mountain from camp. If those men are up that
way they knew where they were going. They're not pioneers, they're
kidnappers."
"Slady, you're a wonder."
"Except when it comes to climbing trees," Tom said.
At Catskill they hired a skiff and rowed out to about the middle of the
river. From there Hervey was greatly surprised at what he saw. His
bantering mood was quieted at last and he became sober as Tom, holding
the oar handles with one hand, pointed up to a mountain behind the
bordering heights along the river. Upon this, as upon others, were the
faintest suggestions of lines. No trails were to be seen, of course;
only wriggling lines of shadow, as they seemed, now visible, now half
visible, now fading out altogether like breath on a piece of glass.
It seemed incredible that mere paths, often all but undiscernible close
at hand, should be distinguishable from this distance. But there they
were, and it needed only visual concentration upon them to perceive that
they were not well defined paths to be sure, but thin, faint lines of
shadow. They lacked substance, but there they were.
"That's old Tyrant," Tom said. "See?"
Hervey would never have recognized the mountain. The side of it which
they saw was not at all like the familiar side which faced Temple Camp.
That frowning, jungle-covered ascent seemed less forbidding from the
river, but how Tom could identify it was beyond Hervey's comprehension.
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