“Yes, that’s one of the places,” said Whistler; “but we have a pretty distant prospect from our house,—fully equal to this, I should say.”
“How far can you see?” continued Clinton.
“Well, I can’t say exactly,” replied Whistler, with the utmost soberness; “but I believe we can see about ninety-five million miles, in the day time, and considerably further in a clear evening.”
“I’ll knock under,—I don’t think even Bald Peak can beat that,” replied Clinton, with a laugh.
After resting themselves, the boys, suddenly remembering that they had started in quest of strawberries, concluded to go down to the foot of the hill on the side opposite to the one they ascended, where Clinton thought they should find some berries. They had not proceeded far, when the sharp crack of a musket was heard not far off.
“Halloo! somebody’s gunning about here! I wonder who it can be?” said Clinton.
“Are there many houses over this way?” inquired Whistler.
“No; there isn’t one nearer than our house,” replied Clinton. “There isn’t a road within two or three miles either, except a logging-road through the woods.”
“Then it must be somebody from Brookdale,” observed Whistler.
“I suppose so,” added his cousin.