The Washington times., 1938-09-05

~ %) !
but I wouldn't want to try it a
this time of year."
Have you ever climbed 1t
Jeff" she asked casually.
"Oh, sure, when I was young
ster, at camp up here" There wa!
something forced in his easiness
she thought-and the feeling wa!
intensified when he rambled on tc
tell the story of the man for whom
Chocorua was named-the last
Indian chief of the region.
Chocorua, the story ran, was
pursued by the settlers to the peak
that now bore his name. They
were bent upon his death because
they suspected him, unjustly, il
afterwards turned out, of having
murdered a youth in the settle
ment. Turning his piercing black
eyes upon them, the chief, with
his back to the sheer 2.000-foot
drop off the top cliff, delivered a
curse then leaped backward into
nothingness. His body was never
found.
"This Chocorua here has taken
a few" Jeff said, "but the big fel-
low we looked at today gets one
every year, they say. 1t won't be
you or me-if I can help it."
Suddenly she resented him and
the easy way that he spoke of 1t.
1t was as though he were afraid,
and took her own fear for granted
as well. She muttered an apology.
and left him, a rather puzzled
young man.
He was still puzzled when he
noticed that her light still burned
at II o'clock when he himself
turned in. But there was no heSi
tation the next morning when he
came out for breakfast, and was
told that Lois had gone before any
one was up, and had left a note
saying that she wouldn't return
until suppertime.
NOTE ON THE MAPS
1--WE found the note right here" ,"
Mrs. Hale remarked, ION top OF
these maps"
Lancey cast a swift glance at
the maps, and the suspicious he
had formed when they first told
him she had gone Immediately be.
came certainty. The map showed
the Appalachian Mountain Club
Trails over the big range.
Jeff didn't even stop to excuse
himself. Within five minutes he
was in his car headed north. beside
him on the seat the heaviest climb.
ing shoes the lodge could yield,
and an old mackinaw. jeff didn't
stop to explain.
He found her roadster at the
foot of the Beaver Trail-the hard
est on the mountain. Winding its
way up, he knew from study OF
the maps, it passed the head wall
at a precariously narrow margin,
wandered among the clouds. and
finally came to the last pull at
the peak.
Pulling on the heavy bootA he
started up the trail, easily follow
ing her footprints in the soft
earth of the lower slopes. He
cursed aloud at the thought. This
part of the trail was deceptively
easy.
The tall spruces and heavy un'
derbrush of the lower slopes gave
way to sparser foliage and more
stunted trees. At length he reached
the swath of scrub timber, and
knew that he was close to timber
line.
There, he knew, began the most
perilous ascent of the trail, a
climb from ledge to ledge up an
almost perpendicular wall. at one
spot developing into a climb
through chimney, or cleft in the
GILL, all OpcIdCAOA 1cNuAA A4S oPC
cial technique in mountaineering
easy to the experienced. but fre
quently fatal to the amateur.
He gathered himself for the rock
climb when he reached timber line
and started the ascent. Each foot
that he made without finding heI
brought hope that by chance she
might have won through-each
foot also brought the dark feal
that he would find her-too late.
sNOW-GALE STRIKES
He had made the first traverse
and was staring along the narrow
ledge that led to the chimney as
cent around the shoulder, when
one of the snow-ridden gales com
mon on the great mountain above
timber line struck with all its
fury. His fingers clutched the
rocks at his side, and his whole
body instinctively shranky towarc
the wall and away from the
depths on the other side, unseer
through the Swirling snow.