“Storm King Mountain to the west; the other is known as Break Neck Hill,” explained Redfern.
“And it looks it,” said Jack. “Whew! Did you ever see such a pile of slippery-looking rock?”
“It’s about twice as high as the Palisades,” went on Redfern, unconsciously assuming the air of a tutor, “and got its name from the many accidents which have happened on its steep, rocky sides. Imagine the dangerous places which might be encountered by any one climbing it.”
“But why should any one wish to?” asked George.
Redfern laughed.
“Some people have a strange desire to conquer the seemingly impossible,” he said, dryly, “and, now and then, one pays the penalty.”
The boys surveyed the vast pile with interest. Stern and forbidding, it seemed to frown menacingly upon the quiet water below. Steep declivities, patches of barren rocks and precipices make this mountain strangely different from the verdured heights close at hand.
Civilization has encroached upon the wild grandeur of the scene. A railroad skirts the base of the hill; and now a train rattles along, the sharp blasts of its whistle being flung in a series of echoes from hill to hill.
Storm King Mountain is a great rounded pile, its base rising abruptly from the river.
The wonder and delight of the boys increased.