On one such blissful day in autumn, Rip wandered with Wolf into one of the highest parts of the Catskill Mountains. Late in the afternoon, he lay down to rest on a green knoll that crowned the brow of a hill. From an opening between the trees he could overlook the country below for many a mile. He spied in the distance the mighty Hudson moving on its majestic course into the blue highlands. On the other side of the hill he looked down into a deep glen, wild, lonely and scarcely lit by the ray of the setting sun.