y-four hours hence, but he remembered it then, and
that is saying much for him. He tried to improve upon the formula by
experimenting with his eyes cross-eyed, but it didn't work. Skirting the
lower western reach of the mountain and beyond, in the comparatively
flat country, he kept squinting away at old Crows Nest and its shadowy,
black mass guided him. "Slady's got the right dope on mountains," he
said to himself.

The race was about as Tom had said; four miles for the horses, against a
mile and a half for Hervey. Both routes were bad, Hervey's the worse of
the two. All things considered, hills, muddy roads, trackless woodland,
swampy areas, it should take the heavily loaded team a little over an
hour to reach the bridge. By Tom's calculation it must take Hervey at
least an hour and a half.

So there you are.

Going straight north, Hervey would have that dim black mass, hovering on
the verge of invisibility, to guide him. Traveling a little west of
north he might have reached the road at a nearer point. But here the
traveling was bad and the danger of getting lost greater. Tom had
weighed one thing against another and told Hervey to go straight north.

Hervey found the first half hour of his journey very difficult, picking
his way around the base of the mountain. Beyond the country was flat and
comparatively open, being mostly sparse woodland. The wind was very keen
here, since there was no mountain to break its force and the rain blew
in his face, almost blinding him.

Again and again he wiped his dripping face with his sleeve and plodded
on, picking out his beacon now and again in the darkness. It was
surprising how easy it was for him to do this by the little trick of
which Tom had told him. His eyes would just catch the mountain for a
second, then it would evaporate in the surrounding blackness, like
breath on a pane of glass.

Suddenly, something happened which quite unnerved him. He was hurrying
through a patch of woodland when, not more than ten feet ahead of him,
he was certain that he saw something dark glide from one tree to
another.

He stopped short, his heart in his mouth. The minutes, he knew, were
precious, but he could not move. The wind in the trees moaned like some
lost soul, and in his stark fear the beating of the drops on the leafy
carpet startled him. He heard these because he was standing still, and
the ceasing of his own footfalls emphasized the steady patter.
Somewhere, in all that st