"Wave your red hat when he goes," Ted directed. "I'll see that and wait
for you, and we can figure our next move afterwards."
Unencumbered by an older companion, Ted half-ran down the opposite slope
of Hawkbill and started swiftly up Burned Mountain. He had no hope of
seeing the buck, but just going to the bed where it had been lying was
within itself no easy task. Viewed from the summit of Hawkbill, various
parts of Burned Mountain had various distinguishing characteristics. But
once on the mountain itself, everything looked alike. Ted emerged from
the forest into the briers, crashed a way through them, and when he
thought he was very near the place where the buck had bedded, he turned
to see John Wilson waving his hat.
Ted sat down for what he was sure would be a long wait. He had climbed
to this place in twenty-five minutes, but he was eighteen years old.