Tom had gone when we arose in the morning and there were no questions
asked. He often went to Harkness and sometimes to the sawmill at Rogers
Gap and was gone all day, so there was nothing remarkable about his
absence. I dare say no one even knew that he had not gone in the
flivver.
In the light of subsequent happenings how vividly I recall that day! The
early morning was cold and the roofs of the cabins covered with frost.
But soon the sun dispelled this chilliness and the air was filled with
the balmy fragrance of spring. We had a pretty good illustration of the
effects of long and heavy rains on the mountain lakes of that region,
and I was impressed with Tom’s wisdom in not building any cabins too
near the shore. Every little gully on our camp land was a running
stream, and every depression a miniature pond. There was one place where
it was clear that every storm would transform a certain irregular hollow
(which we had not even noticed) into a broad and rushing torrent. So
Brent and Tim and I spent the day in throwing up a couple of rustic
bridges at convenient spots across the course of this occasional outlet.
At suppertime Tom had not returned and Brent and I thought he must have
made a discovery. Nothing in particular was said about his absence. We
played cards with the boys for a while and then they went to their
cabin. Brent and I sat up till midnight, puzzled and a trifle concerned.
Still I cannot say that we were greatly worried, Tom was so thoroughly
at home in the woods. I did think it possible that he might have got
lost in the darkness on that wild mountain. Acting on this thought we
hung a lantern in the window and I fixed a sheet of shiny tin (such as
is used to lay beneath shingles in certain parts of a roof) behind it so
as to throw the glare toward the mountain. “He ought to be able to see
that from any part of the slope,” I said. Then, comforting ourselves
with the thought that this belated beacon would guide him, we went to
bed for we were very sleepy.
I must have been dozing when I thought I heard him tiptoeing on the
balcony and I slept the better for that assurance that he had returned.
But in the morning we found him still absent and we were greatly
perplexed. Here was something added to the mystery of that uncanny
place. The lantern, still burning in the window, seemed to emphasize the
strange non-appearance of our comrade. It was still very early, for
Brent had aroused me at dawn, and as he lifted down the lantern with its
makeshift reflector, it cast a glow upon the footprint in the cement
hearth. For just a moment this stood out in bold relief in the
surrounding gray of early morning.
“What had we better do?” I asked. “For my part, I can’t go to work with
Tom absent like this. Should we arouse the boys and tell them? Surely
something is wrong; he wouldn’t have stayed up there all night unless
something had happened.”
“I don’t like the idea of talking about these matters with the crew,”
Brent said. “If Tommy is just lost of course it would be all right,
though I suppose they’d wonder why he went up the mountain. Blame it
all, it’s hard to know _what_ to do. Trouble is, I have a feeling--I
just can’t help it--that something is going to come out about this
place, that something is going to happen. What kept Tommy away all night
with that lantern burning in the window? It would be pretty tough, after
all the work that’s been done here, if anything happened to give the
place a black eye. People are queer, when you come right down to it.
There’s many a good house standing empty because it has the reputation
of being haunted.”
His thoughtfulness made me thoughtful also. “Sure enough,” I agreed. “If
anything happened to hurt the prospects of this camp it would be a
harder blow for poor Tom than any personal mishap that could befall
him.... I tell you what let’s do, Brent. Let’s go right now, before any
one is about, and drive the flivver out into the road and down a little
distance. Then they’ll think that you and Tom and I went to Harkness
early; they won’t think twice about it. We can cut up through the woods
and get into the mountain trail that way. We’ll be out of sight before
they’re out of bed. We can follow the trail up, and if the worst comes
to the worst, and we find that something _has_ happened, it will be time
enough then to tell them. What do you say?”
This seemed to be the best plan and we were soon cutting up through the
woods approaching the sheltering rocks from a new point. It was hard to
reach them by this route, but they stood out in plain view so we had
them to guide us through the dense, trailless thicket. No one was
stirring about the camp when we looked down from this romantic spot. A
mist lay over the lake and my thoughts recurred, as they so often did
(especially in early morning), to the shocking accident which had
occurred there.
There was but one little sign of Tom at this spot. On the edge of a
certain flat stone was a sort of stained or scraped area which Brent
said was where a knife had been sharpened. This supposition was soon
confirmed by the blazings on trees above the rocks. Evidently Tom had
found no trail beyond this point and had plunged into the thicket,
blazing his way as he ascended, so that he might be guided on his
return. This made our own progress easy, or at least enabled us to
follow his own path on up the mountain.
After about half an hour’s climbing through bramble and thicket and up
minor precipices and rocky ledges, Brent suddenly reached forward laying
his hand on my shoulder.
“Shh! _Listen!_” said he.