“All right, then one thing more and we’ll hit the trail. You meet me in the morning right after breakfast.”
CHAPTER XXXII
THE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY
Early the next morning Tom and Hervey hiked down to Catskill.
“I don’t see why we don’t hike straight for the mountain,” Hervey said; “it would be much nearer.”
“Didn’t you ever sail up the Hudson?” Tom asked him. “All the trails up the steep mountains are as plain as day from the river. If you want to discover a trail get a bird’s-eye view. Don’t you know that aviators discover trails that even hunters never knew about before? If the kidnappers went up that mountain, they probably went an easy way, because they’re not scouts or woodsmen. 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.