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 passed 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 dickens of a loud noise."

CHAPTER XXXIII

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, nobody'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 wea