mbing," 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 XXXII

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 glass.

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.