"Those letters were printed wrong way around in the mud up near that log when the turtle fell off the log upside down," Tom continued soberly.

"He fell all over himself, hey?"

"You didn't happen to notice those letters up there, did you?"

"Not guilty."

"It's best always to keep your eyes open," Tom said.

"Not always, Slady."

"Yes, always."

"When you're asleep?"

Tom was a trifle nettled. "Well, are you willing to help me or not?" he asked.

"Slady, I'm yours sincerely forever."

"Well then, meet me under Asbestos' elm tree at quarter of eleven, and keep your mouth shut about it. We're going to see if we can find Anthony Harrington, Jr."

"T. H.?"

"Tony is nickname for Anthony; you just said so in your song."

"When my soul burst forth in gladness, hey? The scout Caruso, hey, Slady? What are we going to meet under the elm tree for?"

"You'll see when we get there. All you have to do in the meantime is to keep still. Do you think you can do that?"

"Silence is my middle name, Slady; I eat it alive."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

SHERLOCK n.o.bODY HOLMES

Since Tom Slade, camp a.s.sistant, said it would be all right for Hervey to meet him at quarter of eleven under the elm tree, Hervey was only too glad to jump the rule, which was that scouts must turn in at ten thirty, directly after camp-fire. This stealthy meeting under the old elm tree near the witching hour of midnight was quite to Hervey's taste.

He found Tom already there.

"Now for the buried treasure, hey, Slady?" he said.

"I want you to promise me not to sing," Tom said soberly. "Now listen,"

he added, whispering. "That turtle came from way up in that mountain. It has T. H. cut on its sh.e.l.l, and I think the carving is new. That trainman said two men with a kid got out at Catskill. He said the kid had a jack-knife. His folks said he had a sweater. Maybe the men put the jacket on him--keep still till I get through. Maybe they wanted to disguise him.

"It's bad enough for detectives to make fools of themselves and get that kid's family all excited, without scouts doing it. Maybe I'm all wrong but we're going to make sure."

"Are you going up there, Slady?" Hervey whispered excitedly, as if ready to start.

"No, not yet. We're going to find out something about the sweater first."

"No one is in this but just you and I, hey?"

"And Llewellyn and Orestes. Now listen, I want you to climb up this tree and don't scare the bird whatever you do. You can climb like a monkey.

Don't interfere with the nest, but feel with your fingers and see if you can give me an idea what that red streak is made of. Don't call down.

All we know now is that Orestes and Llewellyn came from pretty near the same spot. Two little clews are better than one big one if they match.

Go on now, beat it, and whatever you do don't call down or I'll murder you."

Hardly a rustling of the branches Tom heard as the young scout ascended.

One silent leaf fluttered down and blew in his face. That was all. A minute, perhaps two minutes, elapsed. Then Tom saw the agile form slowly descending the dark trunk.

"I'd make a good sneak thief, hey?" Hervey whispered.

"You're a wonder on climbing," Tom said, with frank admiration.

"It's kind of like worsted, Slady," Hervey whispered, as he brushed the bark from his clothing. "It's all woven in with other stuff but it feels like--sort of like worsted. I put my flashlight on it, it's faded--"

"I know it is," Tom said, "but it was bright red when we first saw it and that's what makes me think it hasn't been in the nest long. I don't believe it had been there more than a couple of days or so when we found the nest. All I want to know now is whether it's wool, or anything like that. You think it is?"

"Sure it is."

"All right, then one thing more and we'll hit the trail. You meet me in the morning right after breakfast."

CHAPTER x.x.xII

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 gla.s.s.

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.