THE HEART OF THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS 39 



the table, and, placing one hand upon one side and 

 the other upon the other, said: " There Slide lies, 

 between the two forks of the stream, just as my hat 

 lies between my two hands. David will go with you 

 to the forks, and then you will push right on up." 

 But Larkins was not right, though he had traversed 

 all those mountains many times over. The peak we 

 were about to set out for did not lie between the 

 forks, but exactly at the head of one of them; the 

 beginnings of the stream are in the very path of the 

 slide, as we afterward found. We broke camp early 

 in the morning, and with our blankets strapped to 

 our backs and rations in our pockets for two days, 

 set out along an ancient and in places an obliterated 

 bark road that followed and crossed and recrossed 

 the stream. The morning was bright and warm, but 

 the wind was fitful and petulant, and I predicted 

 rain. What a forest solitude our obstructed and 

 dilapidated wood-road leu us through ! five miles of 

 primitive woods before we came to the forks, three 

 miles before we came to the " burnt shanty," a name 

 merely, — no shanty there now for twenty-five years 

 past. The ravages of the bark-peelers were still vis- 

 ible, now in a space thickly strewn with the soft 

 and decayed trunks of hemlock- trees, and overgrown 

 with wild cherry, then in huge mossy logs scattered 

 through the beech and maple woods; some of these 

 logs were so soft and mossy that one could sit or 

 recline upon them as upon a sofa. 



But the prettiest thing was the stream soliloquiz- 

 ing in such musical tones there amid the moss- covered 



