Here another line of marked trees was found, the
course of which formed an obtuse angle with the one we had followed.
It kept on the top of the ridge for perhaps a mile, when it
disappeared, and we were as much adrift as ever. Then one of the party
swore an oath, and said he was going out of those woods, hit or miss,
and, wheeling to the right, instantly plunged over the brink of the
mountain. The rest followed, but would fain have paused and ciphered
away at their own uncertainties, to see if a certainty could not be
arrived at as to where we would come out. But our bold leader was
solving the problem in the right way. Down and down and still down we
went, as if we were to bring up in the bowels of the earth. It was by
far the steepest descent we had made, and we felt a grim satisfaction
in knowing we could not retrace our steps this time, be the issue what
it might. As we paused on the brink of a ledge of rocks, we chanced to
see through the trees distant cleared land. A house or barn also was
dimly descried. This was encouraging; but we could not make out
whether it was on Beaver Kill or Mill Brook or Dry Brook, and did not
long stop to consider where it was.
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