gone a half a mile the mountain behind ye, or this one would look entirely different and over its shoulder ye’d see another mountain and then When ye’d face to the front ye’d find someone had sneaked in more mountains, and if ye didn’t pay attention to the sun and got to turning round ye’d soon find a dozen mountains to choose from—and ye’d always choose the wrong one.”
“But not if you had one of the maps you spoke of,” reminded Stanley, smiling confidently.
“The map is good as far as it goes,” warned Abner, “but it’s drawn on a big scale. Say ye had one of the Rangeleys and started from Umbagog, intending to skirt Moose mountain and strike Upper Dam. Then, say ye veered off to the northwest a few miles and got off the map. Ye wouldn’t know where ye was. Ye might blunder ’round a couple of days trying to git back onto the map. Now, give me the hatchet, Bub.”
Bub, who had been an amused listener to this dialogue, passed over the small tool and Stanley was interested to note that Abner was making a back-blaze as they ascended a ridge.
After the veteran had chipped some half a dozen trees in passing the youth could not re-
