"Just our luck!"
Gus Lafee finished wiping his hands and sullenly threw the towel
upon the rocks. His attitude was one of deep dejection. The light
seemed gone out of the day and the glory from the golden sun. Even
the keen mountain air was devoid of relish, and the early morning
no longer yielded its customary zest.
"Just our luck!" Gus repeated, this time avowedly for the
edification of another young fellow who was busily engaged in
sousing his head in the water of the lake.
"What are you grumbling about, anyway?" Hazard Van Dorn lifted a
soap-rimmed face questioningly. His eyes were shut. "What's our
luck?"
"Look there!" Gus threw a moody glance skyward. "Some duffer's
got ahead of us. We've been scooped, that's all!"
Hazard opened his eyes, and caught a fleeting glimpse of a white
flag waving arrogantly on the edge of a wall of rock nearly a mile
above his head. Then his eyes closed with a snap, and his face
wrinkled spasmodically. Gus threw him the towel, and
uncommiseratingly watched him wipe out the offending soap. He felt
too blue himself to take stock in trivialities.
Hazard groaned.
"Does it hurt--much?" Gus queried, coldly, without interest, as
if it were no more than his duty to ask after the welfare of his
comrade.
"I guess it does," responded the suffering one.
"Soap's pretty strong, eh?--Noticed it myself."
"'Tisn't the soap. It's--it's
that!" He opened his reddened eyes and pointed toward the
innocent white little flag. "That's what hurts."
Gus Lafee did not reply, but turned away to start the fire and
begin cooking breakfast. His disappointment and grief were too deep
for anything but silence, and Hazard, who felt likewise, never
opened his mouth as he fed the horses, nor once laid his head
against their arching necks or passed caressing fingers through
their manes. The two boys were blind, also, to the manifold glories
of Mirror Lake which reposed at their very feet. Nine times, had
they chosen to move along its margin the short distance of a
hundred yards, could they have seen the sunrise repeated; nine
times, from behind as many successive peaks, could they have seen
the great orb rear his blazing rim; and nine times, had they but
looked into the waters of the lake, could they have seen the
phenomena reflected faithfully and vividly. But all the Titanic
grandeur of the scene was lost to them. They had been robbed of the
chief pleasure of their trip to Yosemite Valley. They had been
frustrated in their long-cherished design upon Half Dome, and hence
were rendered disconsolate and blind to the beauties and the
wonders of the place.
Half Dome rears its ice-scarred head fully five thousand feet
above the level floor of Yosemite Valley. In the name itself of
this great rock lies an accurate and complete description. Nothing
more nor less is it than a cyclopean, rounded dome, split in half
as cleanly as an apple that is divided by a knife. It is, perhaps,
quite needless to state that but one-half remains, hence its name,
the other half having been carried away by the great ice-river in
the stormy time of the Glacial Period. In that dim day one of those
frigid rivers gouged a mighty channel from out the solid rock. This
channel to-day is Yosemite Valley. But to return to the Half Dome.
On its northeastern side, by circuitous trails and stiff climbing,
one may gain the Saddle. Against the slope of the Dome the Saddle
leans like a gigantic slab, and from the top of this slab, one
thousand feet in length, curves the great circle to the summit of
the Dome. A few degrees too steep for unaided climbing, these one
thousand feet defied for years the adventurous spirits who fixed
yearning eyes upon the crest above.
One day, a couple of clear-headed mountaineers had proceeded to
insert iron eye-bolts into holes which they drilled into the rock
every few feet apart. But when they found themselves three hundred
feet above the Saddle, clinging like flies to the precarious wall
with on either hand a yawning abyss, their nerves failed them and
they abandoned the enterprise. So it remained for an indomitable
Scotchman, one George Anderson, finally to achieve the feat.
Beginning where they had left off, drilling and climbing for a
week, he had at last set foot upon that awful summit and gazed down
into the depths where Mirror Lake reposed, nearly a mile
beneath.
In the years which followed, many bold men took advantage of the
huge rope ladder which he had put in place; but one winter ladder,
cables and all were carried away by the snow and ice. True, most of
the eye-bolts, twisted and bent, remained. But few men had since
essayed the hazardous undertaking, and of those few more than one
gave up his life on the treacherous heights, and not one
succeeded.
But Gus Lafee and Hazard Van Dorn had left the smiling
valley-land of California and journeyed into the high Sierras,
intent on the great adventure. And thus it was that their
disappointment was deep and grievous when they awoke on this
morning to receive the forestalling message of the little white
flag.
"Camped at the foot of the Saddle last night and went up at the
first peep of day," Hazard ventured, long after the silent
breakfast had been tucked away and the dishes washed.
Gus nodded. It was not in the nature of things that a youth's
spirits should long remain at low ebb, and his tongue was beginning
to loosen.
"Guess he's down by now, lying in camp and feeling as big as
Alexander," the other went on. "And I don't blame him, either; only
I wish it were we."
"You can be sure he's down," Gus spoke up at last. "It's mighty
warm on that naked rock with the sun beating down on it at this
time of year. That was our plan, you know, to go up early and come
down early. And any man, sensible enough to get to the top, is
bound to have sense enough to do it before the rock gets hot and
his hands sweaty."
"And you can be sure he didn't take his shoes with, him." Hazard
rolled over on his back and lazily regarded the speck of flag
fluttering briskly on the sheer edge of the precipice. "Say!" He
sat up with a start. "What's that?"
A metallic ray of light flashed out from the summit of Half
Dome, then a second and a third. The heads of both boys were craned
backward on the instant, agog with excitement.
"What a duffer!" Gus cried. "Why didn't he come down when it was
cool?"
Hazard shook his head slowly, as if the question were too deep
for immediate answer and they had better defer judgment.
The flashes continued, and as the boys soon noted, at irregular
intervals of duration and disappearance. Now they were long, now
short; and again they came and went with great rapidity, or ceased
altogether for several moments at a time.
"I have it!" Hazard's face lighted up with the coming of
understanding. "I have it! That fellow up there is trying to talk
to us. He's flashing the sunlight down to us on a
pocket-mirror--dot, dash; dot, dash; don't you see?"
The light also began to break in Gus's face. "Ah, I know! It's
what they do in war-time--signaling. They call it heliographing,
don't they? Same thing as telegraphing, only it's done without
wires. And they use the same dots and dashes, too."
"Yes, the Morse alphabet. Wish I knew it."
"Same here. He surely must have something to say to us, or he
wouldn't be kicking up all that rumpus."
Still the flashes came and went persistently, till Gus
exclaimed: "That chap's in trouble, that's what's the matter with
him! Most likely he's hurt himself or something or other."
"Go on!" Hazard scouted.
Gus got out the shotgun and fired both barrels three times in
rapid succession. A perfect flutter of flashes came back before the
echoes had ceased their antics. So unmistakable was the message
that even doubting Hazard was convinced that the man who had
forestalled them stood in some grave danger.
"Quick, Gus," he cried, "and pack! I'll see to the horses. Our
trip hasn't come to nothing, after all. We've got to go right up
Half Dome and rescue him. Where's the map? How do we get to the
Saddle?"
"'Taking the horse-trail below the Vernal Falls,'" Gus read from
the guide-book, "'one mile of brisk traveling brings the tourist to
the world-famed Nevada Fall. Close by, rising up in all its pomp
and glory, the Cap of Liberty stands guard----"
"Skip all that!" Hazard impatiently interrupted. "The trail's
what we want."
"Oh, here it is! 'Following the trail up the side of the fall
will bring you to the forks. The left one leads to Little Yosemite
Valley, Cloud's Rest, and other points.'"
"Hold on; that'll do! I've got it on the map now," again
interrupted Hazard. "From the Cloud's Rest trail a dotted line
leads off to Half Dome. That shows the trail's abandoned. We'll
have to look sharp to find it. It's a day's journey."
"And to think of all that traveling, when right here we're at
the bottom of the Dome!" Gus complained, staring up wistfully at
the goal.
"That's because this is Yosemite, and all the more reason for us
to hurry. Come on! Be lively, now!"
Well used as they were to trail life, but few minutes sufficed
to see the camp equipage on the backs of the packhorses and the
boys in the saddle. In the late twilight of that evening they
hobbled their animals in a tiny mountain meadow, and cooked coffee
and bacon for themselves at the very base of the Saddle. Here,
also, before they turned into their blankets, they found the camp
of the unlucky stranger who was destined to spend the night on the
naked roof of the Dome.
Dawn was brightening into day when the panting lads threw
themselves down at the summit of the Saddle and began taking off
their shoes. Looking down from the great height, they seemed
perched upon the ridgepole of the world, and even the snow-crowned
Sierra peaks seemed beneath them. Directly below, on the one hand,
lay Little Yosemite Valley, half a mile deep; on the other hand,
Big Yosemite, a mile. Already the sun's rays were striking about
the adventurers, but the darkness of night still shrouded the two
great gulfs into which they peered. And above them, bathed in the
full day, rose only the majestic curve of the Dome.
"What's that for?" Gus asked, pointing to a leather-shielded
flask which Hazard was securely fastening in his shirt pocket.
"Dutch courage, of course," was the reply. "We'll need all our
nerve in this undertaking, and a little bit more, and," he tapped
the flask significantly, "here's the little bit more."
"Good idea," Gus commented.
How they had ever come possessed of this erroneous idea, it
would be hard to discover; but they were young yet, and there
remained for them many uncut pages of life. Believers, also, in the
efficacy of whisky as a remedy for snake-bite, they had brought
with them a fair supply of medicine-chest liquor. As yet they had
not touched it.
"Have some before we start?" Hazard asked.
Gus looked into the gulf and shook his head. "Better wait till
we get up higher and the climbing is more ticklish."
Some seventy feet above them projected the first eye-bolt. The
winter accumulations of ice had twisted and bent it down till it
did not stand more than a bare inch and a half above the rock--a
most difficult object to lasso as such a distance. Time and again
Hazard coiled his lariat in true cowboy fashion and made the cast,
and time and again was he baffled by the elusive peg. Nor could Gus
do better. Taking advantage of inequalities in the surface, they
scrambled twenty feet up the Dome and found they could rest in a
shallow crevice. The cleft side of the Dome was so near that they
could look over its edge from the crevice and gaze down the smooth,
vertical wall for nearly two thousand feet. It was yet too dark
down below for them to see farther.
The peg was now fifty feet away, but the path they must cover to
get to it was quite smooth, and ran at an inclination of nearly
fifty degrees. It seemed impossible, in that intervening space, to
find a resting-place. Either the climber must keep going up, or he
must slide down; he could not stop. But just here rose the danger.
The Dome was sphere-shaped, and if he should begin to slide, his
course would be, not to the point from which he had started and
where the Saddle would catch him, but off to the south toward
Little Yosemite. This meant a plunge of half a mile.
"I'll try it," Gus said simply.
They knotted the two lariats together, so that they had over a
hundred feet of rope between them; and then each boy tied an end to
his waist.
"If I slide," Gus cautioned, "come in on the slack and brace
yourself. If you don't, you'll follow me, that's all!"
"Ay, ay!" was the confident response. "Better take a nip before
you start?"
Gus glanced at the proffered bottle. He knew himself and of what
he was capable. "Wait till I make the peg and you join me. All
ready?"
"Ay."
He struck out like a cat, on all fours, clawing energetically as
he urged his upward progress, his comrade paying out the rope
carefully. At first his speed was good, but gradually it dwindled.
Now he was fifteen feet from the peg, now ten, now eight--but
going, oh, so slowly! Hazard, looking up from his crevice, felt a
contempt for him and disappointment in him. It did look easy. Now
Gus was five feet away, and after a painful effort, four feet. But
when only a yard intervened, he came to a standstill--not exactly a
standstill, for, like a squirrel in a wheel, he maintained his
position on the face of the Dome by the most desperate clawing.
He had failed, that was evident. The question now was, how to
save himself. With a sudden, catlike movement he whirled over on
his back, caught his heel in a tiny, saucer-shaped depression and
sat up. Then his courage failed him. Day had at last penetrated to
the floor of the valley, and he was appalled at the frightful
distance.
"Go ahead and make it!" Hazard ordered; but Gus merely shook his
head.
"Then come down!"
Again he shook his head. This was his ordeal, to sit, nerveless
and insecure, on the brink of the precipice. But Hazard, lying
safely in his crevice, now had to face his own ordeal, but one of a
different nature. When Gus began to slide--as he soon must--would
he, Hazard, be able to take in the slack and then meet the shock as
the other tautened the rope and darted toward the plunge? It seemed
doubtful. And there he lay, apparently safe, but in reality
harnessed to death. Then rose the temptation. Why not cast off the
rope about his waist? He would be safe at all events. It was a
simple way out of the difficulty. There was no need that two should
perish. But it was impossible for such temptation to overcome his
pride of race, and his own pride in himself and in his honor. So
the rope remained about him.
"Come down!" he ordered; but Gus seemed to have become
petrified.
"Come down," he threatened, "or I'll drag you down!" He pulled
on the rope to show he was in earnest.
"Don't you dare!" Gus articulated through his clenched
teeth.
"Sure, I will, if you don't come!" Again he jerked the rope.
With a despairing gurgle Gus started, doing his best to work
sideways from the plunge. Hazard, every sense on the alert, almost
exulting in his perfect coolness, took in the slack with deft
rapidity. Then, as the rope began to tighten, he braced himself.
The shock drew him half out of the crevice; but he held firm and
served as the center of the circle, while Gus, with the rope as a
radius, described the circumference and ended up on the extreme
southern edge of the Saddle. A few moments later Hazard was
offering him the flask.
"Take some yourself," Gus said.
"No; you. I don't need it."
"And I'm past needing it." Evidently Gus was dubious of the
bottle and its contents.
Hazard put it away in his pocket. "Are you game," he asked, "or
are you going to give it up?"
"Never!" Gus protested. "I
am game. No Lafee ever showed the white feather yet. And
if I did lose my grit up there, it was only for the moment--sort of
like seasickness. I'm all right now, and I'm going to the top."
"Good!" encouraged Hazard. "You lie in the crevice this time,
and I'll show you how easy it is."
But Gus refused. He held that it was easier and safer for him to
try again, arguing that it was less difficult for his one hundred
and sixteen pounds to cling to the smooth rock than for Hazard's
one hundred and sixty-five; also that it was easier for one hundred
and sixty-five pounds to bring a sliding one hundred and sixteen to
a stop than
vice versa. And further, that he had the benefit of his
previous experience. Hazard saw the justice of this, although it
was with great reluctance that he gave in.
Success vindicated Gus's contention. The second time, just as it
seemed as if his slide would be repeated, he made a last supreme
effort and gripped the coveted peg. By means of the rope, Hazard
quickly joined him. The next peg was nearly sixty feet away; but
for nearly half that distance the base of some glacier in the
forgotten past had ground a shallow furrow. Taking advantage of
this, it was easy for Gus to lasso the eye-bolt. And it seemed, as
was really the case, that the hardest part of the task was over.
True, the curve steepened to nearly sixty degrees above them, but a
comparatively unbroken line of eye-bolts, six feet apart, awaited
the lads. They no longer had even to use the lasso. Standing on one
peg it was child's play to throw the bight of the rope over the
next and to draw themselves up to it.
A bronzed and bearded man met them at the top and gripped their
hands in hearty fellowship.
"Talk about your Mont Blancs!" he exclaimed, pausing in the
midst of greeting them to survey the mighty panorama. "But there's
nothing on all the earth, nor over it, nor under it, to compare
with this!" Then he recollected himself and thanked them for coming
to his aid. No, he was not hurt or injured in any way. Simply
because of his own carelessness, just as he had arrived at the top
the previous day, he had dropped his climbing rope. Of course it
was impossible to descend without it. Did they understand
heliographing? No? That was strange! How did they----
"Oh, we knew something was the matter," Gus interrupted, "from
the way you flashed when we fired off the shotgun."
"Find it pretty cold last night without blankets?" Hazard
queried.
"I should say so. I've hardly thawed out yet."
"Have some of this." Hazard shoved the flask over to him.
The stranger regarded him quite seriously for a moment, then
said, "My dear fellow, do you see that row of pegs? Since it is my
honest intention to climb down them very shortly, I am forced to
decline. No, I don't think I'll have any, though I thank you just
the same."
Hazard glanced at Gus and then put the flask back in his pocket.
But when they pulled the doubled rope through the last eye-bolt and
set foot on the Saddle, he again drew out the bottle.
"Now that we're down, we don't need it," he remarked, pithily.
"And I've about come to the conclusion that there isn't very much
in Dutch courage, after all." He gazed up the great curve of the
Dome. "Look at what we've done without it!"
Several seconds thereafter a party of tourists, gathered at the
margin of Mirror Lake, were astounded at the unwonted phenomenon of
a whisky flask descending upon them like a comet out of a clear
sky; and all the way back to the hotel they marveled greatly at the
wonders of nature, especially meteorites.
