Billy obeyed the request, and readily distinguished the peak to which Saxe had called his attention.
“Well?” he questioned.
“I want you to notice, too,” Saxe continued, “that the peak is flat on the top for some distance, and that there’s nothing of much height to the south.”
Billy nodded in assent.
“All right,” he agreed. “Go on.”
“Now, look farther north, about two miles, or perhaps more. You see another mountain, which seems to be almost the same height as Mount Tabor, and is flat on top in the same way?”
There was hardly any delay before Billy answered:
“Yes, I see it. Next?”
“Well, then,” Saxe continued, with animation, “you must bear in mind the fact that those two peaks are the highest on the whole extent of the western shore of the lake. It is, I imagine, very likely that anyone in search for a striking object in the landscape would select them at the outset as guides, on account of their conspicuousness. It’s my belief, after looking pretty closely, that Mount Tabor is shown by the two G’s above the staff in the beginning of the gold song. Try it running north from Mount Tabor, and compare it with the chart, and see if you don’t find it brings you all right to the second high mountain, which is marked by the two G’s of the second half of the music. And then, keep on, until you come to the mountain top, much lower, but also hog-backed, which seems to me to be indicated by the final C’s of the score.”
Billy needed no urging. Before his friend had ceased speaking, he had brought his whole mind to bear in considering the similarities to which Saxe called his attention. For five minutes, he examined first the undulant horizon line and then the chart, which he held out-spread before him. He and Saxe were in the stern seats, while Roy and David had places forward, discussing the shore-line, and giving no heed to what was going on behind them. Suddenly, the voice of Billy Walker boomed forth in its fullness: