Mystery of the Sassafras Chair by Alexander Key

he felt sorry for them.
    Timor got to his feet. The thing to do, he decided, would be to hide the chair at a convenient spot near the road, then hike to the Forks. He and Nathaniel could pick up the chair later in the jeep.
    Only, where was he now?
    He turned slowly around, trying to get his bearings. He couldn’t be very far from the cabin, perhaps only a few hundred yards. Had he gone upstream? No, he must have taken the path that led to the spring, and left it somewhere when the going got too steep. The creek, surely, would be down the slope on his right.
    Somewhere he could hear water running. Strangely, though, the sound seemed to be coming from his left.
    Again he turned around. From where he stood the ground sloped away in two directions, then shot up on all sides to heights unseen through the dense forest growth. He could not recall ever having been in this spot before. But surely that must be the familiar creek he heard. He hoisted the chair upon his back and began making his way downward toward the sound.
    A few minutes later he stopped, bewildered, blinking at a small waterfall that came tumbling over a ledge. From it a tiny stream gurgled away through a dark tangle of rhododendrons.
    Hadn’t Wiley once mentioned a waterfall somewhere over beyond his shack? This must be it. But where was Wiley’s place from here?
    It was impossible to guess. This was such strange up-and-down country, full of hidden coves and little twisting valleys that ran in every direction. Wiley had cautioned him about going on hikes and straying too far from any familiar area. “Take the wrong turn,” Wiley had once said, “an’ a feller can get himself lost in no time. ’Tain’t like the flat lands down on the coast. Up here, once you lose sight of the main valley, you ain’t got no roads or nothin’ to guide you. It’s mainly national forest, an’ some of it’s mighty wild.”
    This part of it looked very wild, and it seemed incredible that he could be so near his uncle’s place and not know where it was. In his flight he must have taken too many turns and come farther than he’d thought. He placed the chair on the edge of a mossy log, so that it sat level, and looked at it with sudden hope.
    â€œMr. Pendergrass?” he called.
    After a few minutes of calling and waiting, he knew it was no use. Anyway, how would Wiley know where to find him? If the old man had to use shank’s ponies and hitch rides to get around, he was probably miles away.
    Timor sat down in the chair and tried to think. Wouldn’t the sun give direction? He glanced up through the green tangle, but all he could see was a tiny patch of darkening sky. It looked like rain.
    Well, there was another solution. Water runs downhill, and Wiley had said if you followed any stream long enough you were bound to come out near a road. And didn’t all the streams in this area run into the same creek? Of course!
    With the chair hoisted on his small shoulders, the back of it resting on his head, Timor began following the curving stream. He had to stay on the slope well above it to avoid the tangles, and the going was hard and painfully slow. There was no trail, and the ungainly chair was forever bumping into trees and shrubs. More than once, as it became heavier with passing time, he considered leaving it under a tree and returning for it later. But that would never do. If he lost it, he might search for days without finding it.
    Timor did not have a watch and it was hard to judge the creeping hours, but finally there came a moment of exhaustion when he felt he could go no farther. He dropped the chair and sank down beside it, shivering in the drizzling rain that was beginning to fall. It had been chilly when he got up this morning, and fortunately he had put on a heavy shirt. Yet it was little protection against rain.
    â€œ Hari busuk! ” he muttered, lapsing disconsolately into Malay with an expression