“That’s old Tyrant,” Tom said. “See?”
Hervey would never have recognized the mountain. The side of it which they saw was not at all like the familiar side which faced Temple Camp. That frowning, jungle-covered ascent seemed less forbidding from the river, but how Tom could identify it was beyond Hervey’s comprehension.
It was apparent that by following a road which began at Catskill they would skirt the mountain along its less precipitous ascent, and Tom assumed that the trail, so doubtfully and elusively marked upon the height, would be easily discoverable where it left the road, as undoubtedly it did.
Deduction and calculation were not at all in Hervey’s line; he would have been quite satisfied to plunge into the interminable thicket on the side near camp and get lost there.
“You see there is more than one way to kill a cat,” Tom observed. “I was thinking of the kidnappers while you were thinking about the mountain. As long as they went up I thought I might as well let them show us the easy way.”
“There are two sides to every mountain,” Tom said.
“Like every story, hey?”
“You’re a good scout only you don’t use your brain enough. You use your hands and feet and your heart, I can’t deny that.”
“The pleasure is mine,” said Hervey. “We’re going to sneak up the back way, hey?”