“Well-what-do-you-know-about-that?” said Garry. “It’s what’s left of a hook; the tree has grown out all around it, don’t you see?”
It was indeed the rusty remnant of what had once been a hook but the growing trunk had encased all except the end of it and the screws and plate that fastened it were hidden somewhere within the tree.
“That tree has grown about an inch and a half thicker all the way around since the hook was fastened to it,” said Doc.
“It’s an elm, isn’t it?” Garry said.
Tom thought a minute. “Elms, oaks,” he mused, “that means about ten or twelve years ago.”
“There are only two reasons why people put hooks into trees,” said Connie, after a moment’s silence; “for hammocks and to fasten horses to. Nix on the hammocks here,” he added.
“What I was thinking about,” said Tom, “is that if somebody used to tie a horse here it must have been so’s they could go into the woods. The trail goes as far up as the brook. Maybe they used to tie their horses here and go fishing. There ought to be a trail from this tree to where the trail begins in the woods.”
“Probably there was—twelve years ago,” said Doc, dryly.
“The ground where a trail was is never just the same as where one wasn’t,” said Tom, with a clumsy phraseology that was characteristic of him. “It leaves a scar—like. When they started the Panama Canal they found a trail that was used in the Fifteenth Century—an aviator found it.”
“Well, then,” said Garry, cheerfully, “I’ll aviate to the top of this tree again and take a squint straight down.”