“There is only one Houdini—or was,” said Brent.
I am certain that our route was not the same as that I had followed in my haphazard ascent. Yet once or twice I did recognize trifles that I had seen before. Probably in places I had been on the trail. Tom’s progress was more purposeful, and he moved from one significant thing to another as one proceeds by means of stepping stones across a stream. I was astonished by his discovery of little signs that seemed sufficient to guide him. At one place he paused in a perfect tangle of underbrush, Brent and I dutifully pausing also while he stooped to inspect a stone which he had discovered by stepping on it. He said it was a trail stone, meaning that it had been much stepped on.
“The only thing this thoroughfare lacks is a name,” said Brent, as he started again, lifting his lanky legs high out of the dense growth. “Be on your watch for a traffic cop, Tommy.”
Soon we came to my discovery, the long wisp of pliant wood tied around the tree at the head of the declivity. “Here it is,” I said triumphantly.
“You can see I didn’t dream it. Now that’s there to grab hold of. Am I right?”
Tom was too preoccupied with his inspection of it even to answer me. “Why, it hasn’t been here long, either,” he said; “it’s fresh, look here.” And he pulled a long strip of bark from it. “Look at the color of that—feel of it.”
“Well,” said I with a slight touch of disdain. “What did I tell you?”
“That’s a kind of a—let’s see—that’s a—no it isn’t—yes it is,” Tom said. “That’s a colly knot. I haven’t seen one tied like that since I was overseas. Come ahead, let’s go up and look at these rocks.”
“You will find them as represented,” I said with an air of quiet triumph.
“If not, we get our money back,” said Brent.