“If you ask me,” said Brent, “I think it’s the work of that hermit. Also, I think he’s a trifle cuckoo.”
“I agree with you, Brent,” Tom said, “but then, how do you account for the body in the gully?” He was still persistent in his belief that it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.
“Tomasso,” Brent said, “I account for nothing! Hereafter, I shall believe only that which I see. And I mean to see that soon.”
“Explain all that, Brent!” I said.
“The sooner we get into action, the better it will be. We’ve got to see whether this hermit is dead or alive. He must have had some kind of a bunk up there and we’re going to find it, if it’s possible.”
“What about his pet lynx?” Tom asked.
“Don’t worry about that, old man,” Brent answered, reassuringly. “We’ll take Rivers along and tell him we’re going for the express purpose of getting the animal. That job will be for him and I rather think he’ll enjoy it immensely. But as for the long-haired one—I’ve an idea if he is still alive we won’t have to hunt him out.”
“Why so?” I queried.
“Because, if we get Rivers to watch for the lynx and we see him, I’m sure the hermit will pop along too.”
“What of the other fellows?” I asked. “Shall we ask them along?”