All the same the dangerous beaten track was immediately forsaken, and once more they set out to climb straight upwards. Occasionally Bob, who seemed more at home in this thing than his companion, as he had lived among the mountains most of his young life; would discover that by taking a side cut they could avoid a hard climb, and in that event the direct line was changed to an oblique one.
The view was at times a fine one, with a stretch of the wild country spread out before them like a panorama. Then again for a quarter of an hour or more they would be unable to see anything, on account of the formation of the mountainside, or it might be the presence of thick foliage on the small trees growing in profusion all around them.
"So far we haven't seen the first sign of a living thing?" remarked Thad, when they halted to get their breath.
"That's a fact, suh," agreed Bob White, "but we mustn't make up our minds that we haven't been followed and watched at all times. These mountain men can climb like goats, suh. It would make you stare to see one of them go up a cliff that neither of us could dream of climbing. They could keep us in sight right along, and believe me, we would never know a thing about it."
"I can easily understand that, Bob. But it's some wilder up here than ever I believed possible. I saw squirrels in plenty as we came along; some birds flushed from alongside that bank that must have been partridges; and right here's a bunch of feathers, showing where some animal had a fine supper not long since."
Thad dropped down beside the telltale feathers that marked the end of a game bird, and seemed to be examining the ground.
A minute later he looked up.
"I'm not as dead sure about this thing as Allan would be," Thad remarked; "but it doesn't look like fox tracks to me. The claws are too well defined; and I'm of the opinion that it might have been a wildcat, if you happen to have such beasts here in the heart of the Blue Ridge."
"I reckon we do, suh, and mighty fierce fellows too," the Southern lad made answer promptly; "I've myself met with one when out hunting, and got him too, though he gave me a heap of trouble; and I was sore from the scratches a whole week or so. No doubt you're right, and it was a cat; though I'm surprised that he ate his catch on the ground, instead of in the crotch of a tree."
"Perhaps he was too hungry to wait; or the bird tasted so good he just had to pitch in right away," suggested Thad, picking up one of the feathers, and sticking it in the cord of his campaign hat, boy fashion.