Where's The Path?

I convinced Sue to try camping on the Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire. She's a good sport.

"Jon, The quiet is amazing," Sue said.

We camped on a hilltop overlooking a green valley.

The night was clear. I built a fire. Sue unpacked pre-cooked beef stew, and a fresh bread loaf for dipping and wiping plates.

The campfire made a circle of light; a friendly place as darkness fell.

"This is nice, but there could be anything out there," Sue said. No quiver in her voice.

"Not to worry Hon," I replied, not sure of myself.

Then, the sound of something struggling came from one side of the campsite.

"What's that?" Sue whispered.

I grabbed my camera, opened the flash, aimed it toward the noise, and fired a picture.

"A hurt fawn?" Sue questioned. She grabbed the bread and ran into the darkness. Suddenly, I heard her scream "No!"

I rushed after her. Never saw what knocked me out.

As I struggled back to conciseness, enough light from the breaking dawn showed crushed undergrowth leading away from the campsite. I followed the trail.

The undergrowth gradually died out, leaving a smooth surface. Where should I go next?

Suddenly, an answer, from one of Sue's favorite stories. I rushed ahead.

Near the edge of a ravine, I heard voices.

"Help us," a male voice said.

"We don't mean you no harm," a second added.

Sue was on the other side. She laughed, and waved to me.

"These clowns fell into the ravine, and can't get out," she said.

Leading the "clowns" away, one of the police asked "how did you find them?"

"The Hansel and Gretel trick," Sue laughed. "The birds didn't eat the bread crumbs this time."

"Here's a picture of the two sneaking up on our campsite," I offered.