"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 a.s.sumed 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."

"You're a wonder, Slady!"

"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?"

"No, we're going up the front way," Tom smiled. "Llewellyn came down the back way."

"He's a peach of a scout, hey?"

"The best ever."

Hervey had soon a pretty good demonstration of the advantage of using the brain first and the hands and feet afterwards. And he had a pretty good demonstration of the particular kind of scout that Tom Slade was--a scout that thinks.

They hit into the road about fifty yards from the boat landing and followed it through a valley to where it ran along the foot of the mountain.

"Are you sure this is the right mountain?" Hervey asked. "They all look alike when you get close to them."

"Yop," said Tom; "what do you think of it?"

"Oh, I'm not particular about mountains," Hervey said. "They all look alike to me."

Following the road, they watched the bordering woods on the mountainside carefully for any sign of a trail. Several times they clambered up into the thicket supposing some tiny clearing or spa.r.s.e area to be the beginning of the winding way they sought.

Hervey was thoroughly aroused now and serious. Once they picked their way up into the woods for perhaps a dozen yards, only to find themselves in a jungle with no sign of trail. Tom returned down out of these blind alleys, his hands scratched, his clothing torn, and resumed his way along the road doggedly, saying little. He knew it was somewhere and he was going to find it.

Suddenly he paused by a certain willow tree, looking at it curiously.

"What is it?" Hervey asked excitedly.

"Looks as if a jack-knife had been at work around here, huh? Somebody's been making a willow whistle. Look at this."

Tom held up a little tube of moist willow bark, at the same time kicking some shavings at his feet. "Looks as if they pa.s.sed this point, anyway," he said. "Ever make one of those willow whistles? I've made dozens of them for tenderfeet. If you make them the right way, they make a d.i.c.kens of a loud noise."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

THE CLIMB

At last they found the trail. It wound up and away from the road about half a mile farther along than where they had found the shavings.

"I guess no one would have noticed those but you," Hervey said admiringly; "I guess the detectives would have gone right past them."

"A lot of little clews are better than one big one," Tom said as they scrambled up into the dense thicket. "The initials on the turtle, the new jack-knife, the willow shavings, all fit together."

"Yes, but it takes Tom Slade to fit them together," Hervey said.

"Maybe we might be mistaken after all," Tom answered. "Anyway, n.o.body'll have the laugh on us. We didn't talk to reporters."

Their journey now led up through dense woods, but the trail was clear and easy to follow. Now and again they caught glimpses of the country below and could see the majestic Hudson winding like a broad silver ribbon away between other mountains.

"Hark!" Tom said, stopping short.

Hervey paused, spellbound.

"I guess it was only a boat whistling," Tom said.

"It's pretty lonesome up here," Hervey commented.

The side of the mountain which they were ascending was less precipitous than the side facing the camp, and save for occasional patches of thicket where the path was overgrown, their way was not difficult.

"But I think it's longer than the trip would be straight from camp,"

Hervey said.

"Sure it is," Tom said; "Llewellyn proves that; he went down the shortest way. He might have come down this way to the Hudson, only he hit a bee line for the nearest water."

After about three quarters of an hour of this wearisome climb they came out on the edge of a lofty minor cliff which commanded a panoramic view of Temple Camp. They were, in fact, close to the edge of the more precipitous ascent and near the very point whence the eagle had swooped down.

From this spot the path descended into the thicket and down the steep declivity. Below them lay Black Lake with tiny black specks upon it--canoes manned by scouts. The faintest suggestion of human voices could be heard, but they did not sound human; rather like voices from another world.

Suddenly, in the vast, solemn stillness below them a shrill whistling sounded clear out of the dense jungle. It might have been a hundred yards down, or fifty; Tom could not say.

He was not at all excited nor elated. Holding up one hand to warn Hervey to silence, he stood waiting, listening intently.

Again the whistle sounded, shrill, clear-cut, in the still morning air.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV