Chapter V: Part 5

He motioned the group to follow him. Individual kennels shaded by trees extended in all directions. The dogs, tied by long leashes, had a great deal of freedom. They looked at the visitors unmoved. None barked. Mr. Mace pointed out common characteristics: their large, long-haired bodies, the markings on their bodies, their intelligent faces, their long pointed ears and bushy tails. As Mr. Mace passed the dogs, he fondled them and those who were by chance overlooked snuggled up to him and their eyes begged for his caress.

“Let’s have a look at some of the very young dogs,” Mr. Mace said, the crowd at his heels. He picked up a beautiful furry puppy and held him in his arms like a baby.

“This Alaskan dog is only three months old. We know by this time that she will never do the work our dog teams must do.”

“How do I know?” Mr. Mace smiled at the man who asked the question.

“We have our way of knowing. When I decide that such is the case, we sell them as pets. They make good watch dogs and are gentle and affectionate.”

“What does it cost to buy such a puppy?” Allen asked in a low voice.

“About a hundred dollars, only what it cost us to raise and feed the dog for the three months.”

Judy looked at Allen, who was whispering something to Lynne.

In that momentary lull she could hear Lynne’s answering whisper, “But what would we do with him when you’re away on tour for eight weeks and I’m busy teaching?”

“When do you throw them the meat?” a little boy asked as they went on among the older dogs.

“We’re not in the zoo, my little friend. No lions or tigers here,” Mace replied with a grin. “These dogs are never fed any meat. Up in the Arctic regions, the dogs get walrus and chunks of seal. But here, it’s not necessary. See that box of food next to each kennel? When a dog is hungry, he goes over and eats what he wants of it. It’s a mixture of the best scientific foods these dogs require.” He pointed to the pans of water near each kennel. “They need lots of water during the summer months, but in the winter the snow is enough.”

“Gee, these dogs are kind of lazy—the way they just sit around.” Mr. Mace overheard the little boy’s complaint.

Mr. Mace smiled at the boy. “Don’t you think these dogs deserve a rest after working hard from November through April? This is their vacation, son,” he said kindly. “That’s how we keep them fit and happy.”

They were now among the full-grown dogs selected for their team work. “Eight, ten, sometimes twelve dogs make a team,” Mr. Mace explained, “depending on the distance to be traveled and the load to be pulled. The dogs are harnessed in pairs, but the leader runs in single harness in front. Teams must be well matched, not only for beauty and appearance, but in strength and size. But the leader is the prize of the pack—like this one here.” Mr. Mace bent over to pet him.

“He’s pure Malamute strain. That’s one of the best. See his powerful chest, his long bushy tail, like the others, only longer and bushier. Look at his feet, those powerful nails, the short hair cushioning the toes, the long hair between. He is sure-footed, intelligent, and has a fine sense of smell. Never forgets a road once he’s been over it, never forgets commands once they’ve been mastered. And he has character! Don’t laugh,” he smiled at Judy. “This dog has got character. He demands obedience from his team. Where he goes, the team must follow.”

Mr. Mace turned his attention to a large handsome dog that seemed unresponsive to his petting. “She’s Eskimo, and she’s brooding. We took away her puppies some days ago and she’s still unhappy.”

A little boy, more venturesome than the others, went over to her. “Don’t go near her,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s not vicious, none of them are, but she’s best left alone at present.”

The crowd moved on. The boy who had just been admonished stood in front of the kennel watching the sulky animal. As Judy tried to pass, the boy stood talking to the dog.

“What’s the use of being sore?” He stepped closer. “Come on, let’s shake hands.”

The dog lifted her leg and gave the boy’s chest a shove. He went down as if hit by a load of bricks. The boy lay there, stunned. Judy screamed, “Mr. Mace! Mr. Mace!”

It was her frightened call that brought Mr. Mace loping back. He picked up the frightened boy and said severely, “You’re not hurt, but I warned you to let that dog alone.”

Mr. Mace walked on and the group, a little sobered, followed.

“How much cold can these dogs stand?” Lynne asked.

“In the far north they can take a temperature that goes to sixty or seventy degrees below zero. We, of course, haven’t such extremes of cold here, but it’s plenty cold in the mountains in the winter. When we take people on our sledding trips over snow-covered trails, we stop overnight at a cabin we’ve built. Our riders enjoy a good fire, a comfortable bed and a meal.

“But,” he went on, “the dogs are just unharnessed, fed, and go to sleep in the snow. You’ve noticed these Huskies have thick coats of fur and nature further protects them with a wool matting close to their hide. So you see,” and he smiled at Lynne, “these dogs can stand all kinds of weather.”

“Look at that dog there,” a woman exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such a handsome dog! His black markings on the forehead and nose are so striking against his white coat!” All turned to look. “See how he stands there as if he enjoyed our admiration.”

“Of course, she does,” Mr. Mace said. “She’s our prima donna, one of our famous movie stars. She’s only completely happy when she’s in front of a movie camera.”

“Can she do some tricks for us now, please?”

“I’m afraid not. Our dogs have performed often right out here in these very mountains. You’ve probably seen them on your own TV’s at home, thinking they were made in the Arctic! But most often when Hollywood needs our dogs, we just board a plane and go there.”

There was more, much more. Eighty dogs are a lot of dogs to see and Judy must have looked as she felt, very weary. The tour was over.

As they neared the exit, Mr. Mace turned to the crowd still following him. “Like to hear my dog concert?”

“Sure!” everyone said.

“Kyloo,” Mr. Mace addressed a powerful Husky whose kennel was near, “how about some music for these nice people?”

Kyloo didn’t seem interested.

“Now come on, Kyloo,” Mr. Mace’s voice was coaxing. “Don’t be shy. I’ll start you off.”

Mr. Mace thrust back his head and a loud, prolonged wail came from his throat.

Kyloo didn’t need any more urging. He tilted back his head, opened his wide jaws and the same powerful, prolonged note issued from his throat. It re-echoed through the grove and grew in volume as the wail was taken up by the eighty dogs.

It was a strange, primitive call, high and piercing. Yes, it was a kind of song, the dogs’ farewell to the visitors, farewell in music.

While Allen stayed on to take some snapshots of the dogs, Lynne and Judy followed others into the Arctic Trading Shop, a lovely log cabin displaying rare and unusual things. When at last Allen joined them, they returned to the car to drive back to Aspen.

It was only as they drove through Main Street past the Ski Lodge and Chairlift that Judy suddenly remembered.

“Allen,” she said, putting her hand on the wheel, “aren’t we going up the Chairlift? You promised!”

“Judy, I hate to say it, but the answer is ‘no.’”

“Why?” she asked, unable to hide her disappointment.

“Well,” Allen said slowly as if to lessen the blow, “chiefly because Lynne and I went up last Saturday.”

“You went up?” Judy repeated, reluctant to believe such treachery, going up without her!

Allen nodded. “You see, a lot of Festival people planned the trip, getting some special rate and Lynne and I couldn’t resist a bargain! But, Judy,” Allen smiled sheepishly, “I think we’re sort of glad you weren’t along to witness our disgrace. We got off at Midway!”

“How could you get off when the chairs keep moving all the time? The machinery never stops. I’ve watched it a hundred times.”

“Well, it takes a bit of agility, but everyone has to get off at Midway for a few minutes. The mechanism changes direction at that point. You walk a few feet and leap on again. That’s where the chair immediately swings out over a bottomless chasm! I decided I had enough! Dangling like a clothes hanger from that slender cable was too much for me. I had no stomach to ride over that yawning abyss and then ascend to thirteen thousand feet!”

Judy looked at Lynne. “Is he joking? He gave up just like that?”

“We gave up, just like that,” Lynne said laughing. “Allen shouted to me, ‘I’m getting off at Midway. Not going further. You keep going if you wish, but I don’t think it sensible.’

“Jouncing along, my nerves a bit jittery, I guess I was secretly glad and yelled back, ‘I will too.’ My young campers were below me, swinging along, waving their hands and laughing. I knew we would have to brave their jeers, if not their scorn. But we did.” Lynne and Allen exchanged glances as if there were some reason for their lack of hardihood.

“So like a cautious young couple with good reasons for our caution,” again that special smile for Allen, “we walked down a steep mining road that took us back to Aspen. It was wonderful even if we didn’t get to the top.”

Allen patted Judy’s shoulder. “I guess it isn’t so bad when the mountains and the chasm are blanketed in snow. Leave something for another time or another year. You’ll be coming to Aspen again. Everyone does.”

“I hope so,” Judy said with forced resignation. Then she remembered Ashcroft and the dogs. “It’s been such a perfect day. How can I ever thank you!”

The car pulled up in front of Judy’s house. “I’m sorry we can’t stop in—marketing, and dinner still to get,” Lynne said. “We’ll see Mother and Dad in a few days—we have something very special to tell them.”

Judy wondered.

Lynne went on, “You know, Allen and I feel flattered. You didn’t mention Karl’s name once all day!”

“But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think of him. Everytime I looked at those gorgeous Eskimo dogs with their sad, dreamy eyes, I thought of Karl. Isn’t that strange?”

“Truth is stranger than fiction,” Lynne laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve got a real case! Good-bye, dear!”

“Good-bye!”

“Something special to tell them?” Judy repeated to herself as she slowly mounted the porch steps. “Maybe that’s why Allen didn’t want Lynne to go further on the Chairlift. After all, they are married two years—”

14
“CONFIDENTIALLY YOURS”

“... and so, dear Grandpa, I’ve brought you up on all the latest news. One or two things more. Mother is still hopeful for an early audition for the City Center Opera Company. Father continues to write incomprehensible notes on his music sheets—and literally walks on air when it goes well. Other times he just looks black and frustrated, staring into space as if listening. But his work at the school is fine. And his quartet is making a name for itself in this oasis we call Aspen. There! That’s enough about them!

“I can see you look at me in that way you have and say, ‘What about you?’

“That’s not so easy to answer. Part of me is getting along swimmingly. Lynne says I have a gift with children! Imagine, I who during those first days at camp felt like wringing their individual and collective necks!

“Happy as I am to have that wonderful job, that’s not the important thing in my life. Mother is blind and so is Father! The great change in my life—in me, has come since I’ve known Karl! When I first wrote to you about him, I told you of his looks, his love and knowledge of music, his almost unnatural devotion to his mother! But our friendship, oh so necessary to both of us, has deepened, has matured into something quite wonderful! Please don’t smile. I couldn’t bear it and somehow I know you won’t or I wouldn’t be writing as I do.

“When I see him, his nearness gives me a joy I can’t explain. We see each other nearly every day—if not at his Uncle Yahn’s Swiss Shop, then he drops in here. We never finish all we have to say. I know his character, his thoughts, his dreams. I weep for all his father has been through. Remember the prophets of the Old Testament you used to read to me? I listened with only half an ear. But Karl knows a lot of Jewish history and I’m learning fast. When Grandma hears of this phenomenon, she will be glad that all her efforts to fill the huge gap in my ignorance has at last born fruit. I’m beginning to glimpse what she used to call ‘our great heritage.’

“But Mother sees little of all this greatness in Karl. She treats him like any other music student.

“‘How are things going, Karl?’ Then she’s off to the kitchen or marketing or sometimes, more lately, to rest. Father is more interested, but he too is preoccupied with his own work. So I have become more necessary to Karl as he is to me.

“I love him! There, I have written the word. I dream of what he’ll be some day, how I can help and how I can become that which he seems to see in me. Will our discovery of each other in Aspen flower into something as wonderful as the present? Don’t tell me I’m young! Juliet was only fifteen! Happily for us, there are no Montagues and Capulets with their senseless feuds to try to keep us apart!

“I know my own feelings, but how can I know that Karl loves me? I do know he likes me a lot, but even so, there are complications!

“Karl works with a pianist and she’s fiendishly clever! She’s pretty, very superior, and treats me like a child! She’s old, at least twenty. For all that, she looks so dainty and petite. And I’m awkward, stupid and tongue-tied when I’m with her.

“Karl asked me to meet her. I was terribly curious about her and agreed although I knew in advance I wouldn’t like her. Twice was enough! I’ll not subject myself again to such humiliation. I asked him why he allowed her to order him around and make jokes about the most serious things?

“His only answer was, ‘She knows her piano. I don’t. I’m lucky to get that ribbing. It helps to keep one’s feet on the ground. Besides, she’s fun to be with!’

“He looked at me in surprise. ‘You used to have a sense of humor, Judy. What’s become of it? I hoped you’d enjoy Marian as much as I do.’

“I couldn’t tell him I never want to see her again! She stirs up the ignoble in me. I know, at least I feel, she’s trying to entice Karl, trying to get him in her clutches, away from me. Probably, she recognizes the genius he’ll become some day! I try not to think of her and often I forget her completely, especially when Karl and I are together, alone.

“Good-bye, Grandpa. Keep well and know I love you. This letter is for you only. I won’t mail it until I’ve written another for Grandma with all the concerts, lectures (ugh!), recitals and rehearsals—in short, with all the news that’s fit to print. O.K.?

Lovingly and confidentially yours,
Judy”

15
THE MOUNTAIN CLIMB

It was the middle of August and the season in Aspen was drawing to a close. In a little more than two weeks, the students of the Festival would begin to trickle back, some to college, others to jobs. The artists and faculty members were already speaking of their fall engagements to travel all over the United States, Canada, and South America.

But in the meantime, as if the planners of the Music Festival wished to end the Festival in a blaze of glory, life in Aspen increased to a furious tempo. Lectures, recitals, concerts, music in one form or another filled the days and nights. No one seemed to feel the strain except Judy. She wondered sometimes, did the nearby mountains ever tire of this constant paean of music?

One evening Mrs. Lurie casually announced at dinner, “We’re all going tonight to a lecture at the Seminar Building.” She turned to Judy. “You remember that attractive ultramodern building near the Tent? You loved the paintings exhibited there on those circular walls.” She shook her head meditatively, “Those paintings by American artists were given by Mr. Paepcke. He’s certainly been very generous.”

“Allen and Lynne are going to pick us up in their car,” her mother went on cheerfully. “Oh, here they are!”

After the usual greetings, Mrs. Lurie said, “Judy’s coming with us. The lecture will be over by ten.”

“What’s the lecture about?” Judy asked.

Her mother answered, “‘Modern Trends in Disharmony.’ It should be wonderful!”

Judy shuddered. She remembered other “wonderful lectures” through which she had sat bored and rebellious. In that brilliantly lighted hall one had not even the small luxury of being able to fall asleep!

“They’re playing a wonderful Western at the Isis,” Judy said desperately.

“A Western!” her mother and Lynne said. “They’re dreadful!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Allen said quite unexpectedly. “Daredevil riding on magnificent horses, hairbreadth escapes, mountain scenes like our Rockies—” His eyes flashed. “They’re packed with excitement—loads of it.”

Judy looked at Allen, then shifted her gaze to her father. In his eyes too there was more than a glint of interest.

“Come to think of it,” Allen went on, “it’s funny, we haven’t been to a movie all summer.”

“What’s funny about that?” Lynne asked with marked disappointment at Allen’s bourgeois taste in films. “Of course, we haven’t been to a movie, nor have we seen any television. And we certainly haven’t missed either.” She looked for encouragement to Mr. Lurie as she went on.

“Who wants to see gun-shooting, Hollywood cowboys tearing up and down mountains when one can enjoy a delightful evening listening to ‘Modern Trends’!” She smiled at John certain of his unqualified support.

Instead of an answering smile, he cleared his throat and said with a deprecating air, “I agree with Allen. There’s something to be said for these Westerns. The sight of horses leaping from crag to crag, men hurled from saddles, climbing inch by inch over backbreaking trails—” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “It fills me with a nostalgia.”

“But this lecture, John,” Minna said in a quiet, determined voice, “is by one of the foremost musicologists.”

“One of the greatest,” Lynne added.

Allen placed his large, friendly hands on Judy’s shoulders. “Have a heart, Lynne. This kid has listened to music and lectures without let-up for seven long weeks. Sure, it’s been great, but maybe she’d like a change of diet.”

There was a flurried consultation between Lynne and Minna. Then with a martyrlike smile, Lynne said, “Allen, dear, since you feel so strongly about Judy’s state of mind, of course, we’ll go to the Isis.”

Allen brazenly winked at John. Then everyone laughed. Judy was unable to see the joke. As they walked along the quiet streets, seeing her father and Allen in such high spirits, she wondered. Had they made all that fuss on her account or were they satisfying some secret desire of their own?

The very next day John Lurie announced his decision to climb Maroon Peak on Sunday. All summer he had been promising himself one good climb. The movie did it! As Judy phrased it, “The close-up of the mountain trails whetted his ‘blunted purpose,’” something she had culled from her favorite play of Shakespeare. Whatever the reason, John Lurie cleared his calendar and made his plans.

Fran accepted the role of guide, since he knew the trails well. Karl was invited “to please a certain nameless young lady,” he said. “Oh, Father!” came ecstatically from Judy at this bit of news. Minna was invited but refused as she didn’t feel equal to so difficult a climb and might spoil the day for the others.

The final arrangements were discussed. Extra jackets and sweaters were to be taken in their knapsacks as the summit was often bitterly cold, even in summer. Each one was to provide his own sandwiches and a drink of some kind or water in a canteen and heavy socks and shoes were to be worn. The agreed to meet at eight o’clock in the morning at the foot of the trail twelve miles from Aspen. Judy and her father were getting a lift through the kindness of a neighbor, but Fran cheerfully volunteered not only to get Karl and himself to the trail, but also to have a car meet them at seven that night to take them back to Aspen.

The night before the climb Judy lay in bed unable to sleep. A whole day with Karl ahead of her! She felt like a general mapping out her strategy. Her father would race ahead with Fran, but she, affecting an air of languor (lovely thought, she hoped she could bring it off!) would set a slower pace and Karl, with his usual consideration, would be beside her. She sighed luxuriously. There would be hours and hours to talk! And at the summit, resting amid the clouds, they would read poetry! She had slipped a volume of her grandfather’s poems into the knapsack, just in case—although she knew a few of them by heart.

As she tossed on her bed, the thought of Marian crossed her mind. Karl hadn’t mentioned her name in days, yet her pretty face still troubled Judy. Jealous! Of course not! That was over and done with. “Jealousy was degrading,” she muttered into the pillow, turning it for the tenth time. It was good to feel cleansed and serene. But a sweet and consoling thought lulled her to sleep. The words repeated themselves like a lullaby: “Marian would soon return to Chicago. Soon, soon—the sooner, the better!”

“Judy, you’re a fine one to depend on! I thought you’d be up at dawn.” It was her father, fully dressed, ready for their trip.

They reached the trail long ahead of the scheduled time. During the half-hour wait the crystal-clear air gave Judy such an appetite that she consumed a sandwich and was nibbling on a hard boiled egg when her father rescued what remained of her lunch and replaced it in his knapsack.

At the sound of a motor Judy jumped up, “Here they are!”

A beautiful, shiny, black convertible roared toward them, swung into the brush and came to a stop. She stared at it. Every car in Aspen was laden with weeks of dust. No one they knew ever bothered to clean a car that would get just as dusty an hour later.

Fran stepped out of the car and walked toward them. His face was shining, his heavy boots were laced to the knees, and a coil of rope and knapsack were jauntily slung over his shoulder.

“Where’s Karl?” Judy asked as he came nearer.

“He’s here. Like a real gentleman, he’s helping the lady.”

“The lady?” Judy repeated stupidly, her eyes fixed on the car.

Yes! There she was walking with Karl, a hand on his arm, a dainty figure in dark blue jeans, a cap to match and a bright red sweater. It couldn’t be—No!—that was impossible!

They approached slowly. Karl, with a battered old rucksack borrowed from his uncle, heavy-booted and heavy of tongue, smiled feebly, “I hope you won’t mind. Marian begged to come along.”

Marian gave Judy a little nod and held out her pretty manicured hand to Mr. Lurie. “I know I’m just an interloper, but to be in the heart of the Rockies and not able to boast of one little climb—” She gave Mr. Lurie a ravishing smile.

“Little climb,” Judy muttered under her breath, but she noticed that her father looked as pleased as Punch and said, “We’re delighted to have you come along.”

“That’s sweet of you, Mr. Lurie.” Then as if just remembering Judy’s existence, she said, “How are you?” And without waiting for an answer continued, “I bet you’re glad not to be the only girl in the party!”

“Well, let’s get started,” Fran said. “We’ve a novice with us,” he chuckled. “Marian may look like an ad for the ski patrol, but, brother, she’s never climbed a mountain except in a car. Well, there always has to be a first time. Besides, if we hadn’t Marian’s car, we would have had to hike the twelve miles to get here. The guy who was to take us found himself with five passengers for Denver. A break for him, but—”

Judy stood in the circle and except for a hollow “Hello, Marian,” had been too numb to say anything. Her heart was sore with all her useless, foolish planning. As her grandmother remarked when an irrepressible neighbor invaded her privacy with stupid visits and more stupid conversation, “This neighborhood was always so lovely. Now _she_ has to move next door. There’s always a fly in the ointment!”

Mr. Lurie was laughing at something Marian was saying. He turned to Fran, “Maybe you’re right about the stylish outfit, but why didn’t you tell Marian to wear heavy shoes?”

“I did tell her.”

“They both did,” Mirian said with a careless shrug. “But I don’t own a pair of delightfully sensible cowhide boots such as Judy is sporting.”

Only Judy noticed the subtle sarcasm, “delightfully sensible.” She looked at her thick socks, the mud-colored boots inherited from her mother’s climbing era. She clenched her teeth.

“Don’t worry about me,” Marian added lightly. She lifted a trim little foot. “These sneakers are the best—new and strong. I’ll manage.”

Judy said nothing but silently prayed those sneakers of hers would fall apart and expose her bleeding toes on the rocks.

They began to climb in single file. The first half hour was easy, a slow upward grade. Marian’s teasing voice could be heard.

“You call this a climb?”

She talked incessantly until Fran told her brusquely to save her breath. “You’ll need it,” he warned.

The next three or four hours were hard. Fran leaped ahead like a goat while Judy and her father, with set faces and their bodies bent forward, plodded steadily on. Breathing hard and frequently panting, they were glad of the rest periods Fran ordered at fifteen-minute intervals. The trail led over rocks and huge boulders, mud ankle deep from hidden springs. The trees grew more sparse, then disappeared altogether. In spite of herself, Judy was enjoying the climb, the exertion, the clear, exhilarating air, the sudden views of deep chasms that fell away a thousand feet.

Of Karl and Marian they saw nothing after the first hour. Every once in a while Fran would give his weird call, “Halloo,” and on hearing a faint answering “Halloo,” would say briefly, “They’re on the trail. O.K. Let’s keep moving.”

At one-fifteen the three stopped for lunch. They were on a plateau of smooth rock and before eating, they rested, lying down on the hard surface to dry their soaked shirts and perspiring bodies, then turned over on their stomachs, warming their backs in the hot rays of the sun. In five minutes they were completely refreshed and sat up to eat and marvel at the view.

Giant peaks cut into the sky, deep forests of black pine were far below, and in the distance a thread of silver shimmered, a river, perhaps unknown, uncharted on any map. In a craterlike hollow, barely seen at first, lay a lake of dazzling color, like a giant emerald, sparkling in the sun.

Mr. Lurie at last broke the silence. “You know,” he said in a meditative voice, “it’s hard to explain one’s love for mountain climbing to anyone who doesn’t share your enthusiasm. Most people see it as a foolhardy, backbreaking, unnecessary exertion. ‘Knock yourself out! For what?’ they ask with undisguised condescension, sometimes with a sort of incredulous contempt. And we lovers of the sport can’t explain.” He flung out his arms in a sort of ecstasy. “We say it’s the extraordinary view one gets as a reward for the struggle. No,” Mr. Lurie continued, letting his arms drop beside him, “you get an incomparable view from Pike’s Peak driving up in a car or bus. No, it isn’t the view alone.”

“It’s like a dare or a challenge, isn’t it?” Fran said. “You set out to do what you know is hard and tough. Maybe reach a peak no one ever saw before. You don’t go out for the pleasure of the kill as a hunter does. You’re making a new trail of following someone else’s who had dared before you. And when you’ve done it, boy, you feel good!”

“That’s about it, Fran. You’ve conquered one of the difficulties Nature constantly presents. You push yourself ahead, beyond endurance sometimes, but when you reach the summit, you want to shout, ‘Look, I’m here too! I share your lonely grandeur if only for a moment of time.’”

Then in a more matter-of-fact tone he said to Judy, “I guess you haven’t climbed enough to feel that way about it, but it’s that spirit in one form or another that has led to opening up parts of the world that would otherwise have remained unknown.”

“Oh, I agree with you perfectly, Father, but I was only wondering what happened to Karl and Marian.”

“Yes, where are they?” Fran said impatiently. “We’ve been here for half an hour.”

Mr. Lurie looked at his watch. “It’s only one-twenty-five. How long do you figure, Fran, it will take us to reach North Maroon Peak?”

“At least another hour. We ought to leave now.”

Fran gave his call and after repeating it several times, a faint answer could be heard. At last, they caught a glimpse of the two figures slowly toiling upward.

“They’re O.K. Come on, let’s push on,” Fran said, settling his rope and knapsack on his shoulder.

“I think we ought to wait for them,” Mr. Lurie suggested. “Marian looks as if she could use a little encouragement.”

Fran grudgingly agreed. “They’re holding up,” he grumbled, still chafing at the delay. They watched the slow, painful progress of the two climbers and noticed Karl at times pulling Marian by her hands over the large, smooth boulders.

At last they reached the plateau. Their faces were drawn, streaked with dirt and grime. They dropped down wearily and Marian stretched out flat on her back as if she never expected to rise again. Her eyes were closed as she groaned, “I ache in every bone, every muscle of my body. It’s going to be years before I feel human again.”

As for Karl, his weariness soon left him. He rested as the others had and sat up. Wordlessly, he looked at the magnificent range of peaks jutting into the sky. Then he murmured something: “What wonders He has given us this day to behold,” adding the Hebrew words.

“Is that a prayer of thanksgiving?” Judy asked quietly.

Karl nodded.

Fran, always practical, broke in, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” Karl said as if awakened from a dream. “I’m glad you reminded me. I’m hungry as a bear.”

He reached into his rucksack and took out a brown paper bag and a daintily wrapped box.

“Better have something to eat, Marian,” he said, placing the package beside her.

“Thanks. I don’t want anything.”

“Look, folks,” Fran said impatiently, “if we’re to make the top and get down before dark, we have to leave in ten minutes.”

“I’m ready to leave as soon as you say,” Karl answered, “but I can’t speak for Marian. Look at her right sneaker. The sole has been flapping for the last hour. It’ll be off entirely any minute.”

They examined the sneaker and even Judy hadn’t the heart to gloat or to say, “We told you so.”

Marian lifted her head from the stone. “Please, all of you, go ahead without me. You’ll find me here when you get back. I’ll drink in the view. In fact, I’ll do anything but climb another foot of this mountain. Unfortunately, I’ll have to climb down!”

Mr. Lurie laughed. “Marian, you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten and rested a few minutes longer. You’ll get your second wind.”

“Second wind!” She moved uneasily to a different position. “I used that up long ago. What I need is a pair of bellows to keep my lungs going, to say nothing of a relay of fresh, untrodden feet!”

Judy too couldn’t help laughing. She sat down next to Marian and fed her pieces of orange. She put a sandwich in her hand and coaxed her to take a bite, then another, until it was finished.

“You’ll be all right, Marian. I have an idea. Father has some string in his knapsack. Fran can wind it around your sneaker to reinforce it so that it holds.”

“Please,” Marian pleaded, “all of you, go ahead and that includes Karl. I’ll sleep here peacefully with the birds and beasts—and mountains, and dream peacefully of a hotel room with a hot, steaming bath!”

“No,” Karl said firmly, “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“It’s a darn shame,” Fran protested. “You’re the one, Karl, who wanted to see Maroon Peak most of all.” He turned dejectedly to Mr. Lurie. “What do you say, Professor?”

“I agree with Karl. We can’t leave Marian alone. There’s no actual danger. We don’t expect any landslide or sudden snow flurry.” He looked at the unclouded sky. “But,” he paused as he tried to hide his own disappointment, “maybe we should give up and all of us return together.”

Judy looked heart-broken. “Marian, I know you feel better now. Why don’t you let Fran fix your sneaker?” she urged. “I know it worked with a girl who went up Mt. Washington with me! We’ve gone three quarters of the way. To turn back now is to admit defeat! You’re spoiling everybody’s fun. Don’t you see!”

“No, I don’t see. But I don’t want to be a spoilsport either.” She dragged herself to a sitting position.

“Once I played in a golf tournament,” she went on. “At the end of eighteen holes the score was tied. I’d just gotten over the flu and I shouldn’t have played at all. I was all beat out but I played another nine holes before the match was finished. It didn’t kill me. All right, you win!”

Judy felt a new respect, almost an affection for this girl whom she had secretly called her “hated rival.”

Fran fixed the offending sneaker and then he announced in his best “guided-tour voice,” “Let everyone attend to his needs.” And with that command the boys and Mr. Lurie discreetly retired to a declivity and were quickly out of sight.

“Where are they going?” Marian asked.

“You know. You heard Fran. This gives us our chance too. I’ve learned on other mountain trips,” she said as she led Marian down to a deep cleft among the rocks.

16
NEAR TRAGEDY AND RESCUE

The last hour was brutal. Mr. Lurie took the lead with Karl and Judy close behind. On hands and knees they crawled over boulders until they secured a foothold. At one spot Judy was left dangling until her father and Karl inched toward her on their stomachs and pulled her to safety.

Marian’s role was more passive. The coil of rope that Judy had skeptically regarded as a showpiece for Fran now proved its usefulness. Tied under Marian’s arms, he hauled her over rocks and boulders she pluckily attempted but could not scale.

At last they reached the summit. Their salute to the mountain peak was brief. A sharp wind blew through their wet and clammy sweaters. Jackets and windbreakers were pulled from knapsacks. They stood awed and shivering, surrounded by the nearby peaks, silent in the vastness of its forbidding grandeur. Only the cairns, little heaps of massed stones, marked the path of retreat to a world of safety. Mr. Lurie put his arm around Judy and held her close. Fran, as moved as the others, relentlessly pointed to the slanting rays of the sun.

Ten minutes later, they began the descent. Fran rushed ahead with Karl and Judy followed him down the dizzying path. It was fun racing down at almost breakneck speed. The boulders that had defied them and were so hard to grip on the upward climb were friendly on the descent. They sat and slid down, the well-padded leather seats of their pants taking the punishment instead of their young, tough bodies.

Looking back at intervals, they saw Mr. Lurie patiently guiding Marian down the trail, supporting her as she slid down the slippery boulders. Still high above them on the trail, they looked unbelievably small silhouetted against a background of rock and sky.

With high spirits and exuberant bursts of laughter, the three forerunners reached the plateau they had left only an hour and a half earlier and were content to rest as they waited for Marian and Mr. Lurie.

“If you’re game, we can take another trail down,” Fran said. “It’s a little tough in places, but much shorter. We’ll see what they say when they get here.”

When Mr. Lurie and Marian approached and were within hailing distance, Fran called, “Hurry, I want to—”

He got no further. He and his companions eyed Marian with amazement. Her jeans were torn. Long strips of fabric hung in ribbons and light pink stuff showed through the rents of the once slick garment. Her cap was gone and Mr. Lurie’s leather jacket hung loosely on her shoulders. With her rumpled curls falling limply over her brow, she looked like a desperate young bandit.

“Well, here I am,” she greeted them, “a thing of rags and patches, minus the patches.” She flopped down beside them with an anguished “Oh!” as her knees crumpled under her.

Fran gave her a sad, appraising glance. “I was just saying, there’s another trail down. We’ll have to slide on some ice, but it’s nothing much and we can save an hour, maybe more.”

Mr. Lurie shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we better stick to the same trail even if it’s longer.”

Marian perked up, suddenly alert. “Fran, did you say we can save an hour? That would get us down by six or seven. Golly, what’s keeping us? It can’t be worse than what I’ve been through already!”

“No,” Fran said reassuringly, “in many ways it’s easier. Just a slide or two, nothing to it.”

“Good! I’m ready,” she said, getting up shakily. “The sooner this ghastly trip is over, the better.” She tenderly felt her mud-spattered, torn jeans. “If these rents get any worse, I may be very anxious for night to fall,” she said, still able to smile at herself.

In twenty minutes they reached a gully, crossed it, and came to what looked like an icefield. At one extremity it sloped precipitously and beyond it lay a stretch of flat land with scrub.

“From there on,” Fran gestured, “there’s a trail going straight down. I heard it was once the bed of a river made from centuries of melting snow from the mountain top. Anyhow, the trail’s pretty dry at this time of year. Steep all right, but short.”

He picked up a large, sturdy stick that lay discarded among the stones and walked on the ice, hitting it several times, testing it.

“Couldn’t be better.” He turned and faced his companions. “Each of us will in turn sit on this ledge of ice, getting as close to the very edge as we can. Then let yourself go. Slide down the ice. That’s all there is to it. I’ll go down first. Remember, the main thing is to let yourself go—easy like. There’s some brush that I’ll grab as I hit the bottom and break my speed. Then I roll over. But you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be there as you come down.”

He threw down the stick, adjusted his rope and knapsack, and sat down on the ice as if on his own toboggan. Without another word, he slid down the ice. It was over. Before they knew it, they saw him roll over, pick himself up, and wave. Mr. Lurie went next, then Karl. There were the three of them waving and smiling, urging Judy and Marian to follow.

Judy turned to Marian, “You want to go next?”

“No, you go. I want to see how you make out.”

Judy sat down as the others had, closed her eyes to block out the steep drop. She shot out like an arrow and before she knew it, she felt her father’s powerful arms grasping her.

She stood up now and waved with the others. “Come on, Marian, it’s nothing.”

“What’s she waiting for?” grumbled Fran.

Marian stood there, Fran’s discarded stick in her hand, looking like a statue contemplating the ice.

All yelled together, “Sit down! Slide! Don’t keep standing there!”

She heard them for her answer came clearly. “No, I can’t sit down on that cake of ice! It’s too cold. I’ll go down standing. I’ve got the stick.”

“You’re crazy,” Fran shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to make sure his voice carried. “Sit down! Don’t be an idiot! Sit!”

Before he could shout another warning, she stepped firmly on the icy slope, took another step—a terrifying shriek tore the air! They saw the stick fly from her hand. She pitched forward, doubled over, then rolled down the other side of the precipice.

Judy couldn’t look—was afraid to look. Fran’s practiced eye marked the direction and he and Mr. Lurie ran to where she fell. Karl and Judy, panting with fright, followed.

She lay there stunned—or dead. They didn’t know which. They could only hear their own heavy breathing. Fran was bent over her. Mr. Lurie was on his knees with Fran. They touched her hands, her face. She opened her eyes.

“That you, Professor?” She tried to smile but the pain in her badly bruised face made the smile a grimace. “You see, I got here on my own after all.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She tried to turn her head. “I just want to investigate—the damage.”

“Don’t move, Marian!” Mr. Lurie said quickly. His face was pale, his voice tense. “You may be badly hurt. At first one can’t tell ... shock, you know—”

“Nothing hurts, except—all of me.” Again, that grimace of a smile. “Ouch! My ankle!”

Fran looked stern. “You’re mighty lucky! If you’d rolled another hundred feet—there’s a sheer drop over there.” He shook his head, the picture of misery. “I’ll never understand why you did it.”

There was no further talk. Mr. Lurie and Fran made a carry out of Fran’s rope, cutting it and weaving it like a basket. They spread their jackets over the rope and carried Marian gently to a spot where shrub and a huge rock gave some shelter from the wind. Her ankle bulged big over the sneaker, which miraculously held together. Extra sweaters were piled on Marian, whose teeth were now clattering like castanets.

“I’ve got something to fix her up,” Karl said as he took a large thermos from his rucksack. “Hot coffee! Uncle Yahn’s idea.”

It was a godsend. Marian sipped it as if it were nectar and immediately felt warmer. Judy and the others had a few good swallows and nothing ever tasted half as good.

Mr. Lurie now took command. “Fran, go down the trail. Make as good time as you can and notify the ski lodge of the accident. They’ll send up relief. They always do. That’s the unwritten code among mountain climbers. Judy will go with you. Karl and I will remain with Marian. After the ski lodge has been notified, try to get Judy home. Her mother will start to worry. Oh, yes,” he said as an afterthought, “have you the keys to Marian’s car?”

Fran nodded.

“Good! That will help rounding up volunteers.”

Fran stood irresolute. “I think maybe you should go down the trail with me, not Judy. We can make better time and you’re the one who can get a rescue party together.”

“He’s right, Father,” Judy broke in. “Let me stay with Marian and Karl.”

After a moment’s hesitancy, Mr. Lurie agreed that this was the wisest thing to do. Without another word he took off his sweat shirt and made Judy put it on. Fran did the same, giving his to Karl. Neither of them now had any protection against the increasing cold and wind except their thin cotton shirts.

Judy protested but Mr. Lurie said, “Don’t worry about us. At the speed we’ll be going, we’ll keep warm enough.”

He stood there for a moment thinking. “It’ll be four or five hours, if we’re lucky, before anyone can get here. The cold’s going to get worse. Keep close as you can to each other. Your bodies will provide some heat. So long, kids. Keep your chins up!”

With that he and Fran were gone.

It was a long vigil. Judy and Karl sat huddled together close to Marian. Darkness fell quickly. They tried to pass the hours talking of school, their plans for the future. They sang snatches of songs and discovered to their surprise they dozed off while they thought they were still singing, only to wake, cramped and stiff with the cold.

They had no watch by which to measure the passing hours, but when the moon lighted up the dismal, fearsome darkness, they cheered! They knew how much the moonlight could ease it for those who, guided only by lantern, must make the steep, hazardous climb to reach them!

In one of the quiet lulls between sleep and wakefulness, Judy, no longer able to bear the increasing pangs of hunger as well as the weight of silence said, “I know a poem. It’s called ‘The Trail’ and it’s symbolic too. My grandfather wrote it for my grandmother.”

“Good,” Marian drawled from under her heap of jackets. “We’re the helpless victims. We’ll listen.”

“I’m not sure I remember it exactly—”

“So you’ll skip a few lines. We won’t know the difference.”

“Want to hear it, Karl?” Judy asked, suddenly feeling shy.

“Of course I do.”

“You know,” Judy said half defensively, “my grandparents climbed mountains all their lives, even went up Mt. Rainier.”

“Never mind the build-up. Just begin,” Marian ordered, like a stage manager.

Judy cleared her throat.

The rocky trail
Steep-periled cliffs and far below
The deep ravine where mountain torrents flow.
Stay for a moment on this extended ledge.
Look back the way we’ve come.
Far, far below the starting of The Trail
The distant lakes that lie like mirrors
To the Heavens.
The hush of silence, the stillness of the scene,
The circling hawk, the woods, the valleyed hills
A panorama of the world. One seems enchanted in a land of dreams
Come, come away. I ask no better trail than this;
Thy voice, thy love, thy hand in mind, thy kiss.

“It’s beautiful,” Karl whispered. “Do you think I’ll ever meet your grandfather?”

“Yes. He knows all about you.”

“But he left out a lot of things a realist like myself would have included,” Marian said with a sigh. “That’s the trouble with being a poet. What would rhyme with broken ankles or shredded pants!”

“I suppose,” Marian went on, as she cautiously tried to change her position, “you’ve sharpened a carload of pencils to carry on and maybe even snatch the mantle from your grandfather!”

Embarrassed, Judy muttered, “I’ve never been able to write even a jingle!”

She impulsively put her hand on Marian’s. “I know how you must feel, all that pain and probably starving too. Why don’t you lay your head on my lap—you tell her, Karl! That rock must be cutting ridges in her scalp!”

Marian took the proffered hand. “Why stop at the scalp?” she said lightly. “I’m certain it’s penetrated deep below the bony structure. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the brain was in danger! At least it certainly feels addled. No thanks, Judy dear, I’ll stay as I am. Besides, one pain offsets another. I didn’t know I was hungry until you mentioned it.”

It was the first time Marian had displayed any affection for Judy. There was a significant pause. Then Marian went on.

“I have to get something off my chest. For weeks I thought of you as an insufferable brat and,” she went on quickly before Judy could interrupt, “I know what you thought of me—a vampire trying to ensnare Karl! Don’t deny it! You gave yourself away more than once,” she gloated happily.

“Stop talking such rot!” Karl said, bristling with suppressed anger. “Between the two of you—”

But Marian went on serenely. “Now I take it all back. I like you, Judy, and I hope you like me.”

“Marian, you’re just the most,” Judy gulped. “I guess I was—I don’t know—maybe I didn’t take the trouble to understand you. I was awful,” she said, on the verge of tears.

“As for Karl,” Marian continued in a voice as if she had already joined the heavenly choir—“I have a Karl of my own. His name happens to be Charles, which is close enough. He’s very sweet—too much money for his own good—too much of a playboy—but very sweet,” she repeated sleepily. “And now I think I’ll take a little nap.” With that she closed her eyes.

When the rescue party arrived, they found the three fast asleep, fallen on each other, in a state of complete exhaustion. Awakened, they were given hot drinks and food. Marian was lifted onto a stretcher and covered with blankets. There were sweaters and coats for Judy and Karl, and friendly hands helped them down the mountain. By midnight they reached the foot of the trail. An ambulance waited there and in less than an hour Marian was in Pitkin County Hospital. Her mother and the impeccably dressed Charles flew in from Chicago the next day to visit the invalid. They found her holding court with two Appalachian mountain climbers, visitors in Aspen, a reporter from the _Aspen Times_, a photographer, and others.

For two issues the _Aspen Times_ featured the story as “Dramatic Adventure Up Maroon Peak.” Marian, looking very chic in her elegant lounging robe, was photographed with her broken ankle, chipped knee, lacerations, and bruises under the caption, “Lucky Girl.” Fran, Karl, Mr. Lurie, and Judy also came in for their share of glory.

But the real heroes, the _Aspen Times_ noted in its editorial, were the six volunteers who reacted immediately to the plight of those on the mountain.

“... there are no tangible rewards. No law requires them to undergo the physical hardship and possible danger to aid the injured girl.

“We are proud of the men who answer to an unwritten code, always present in the mountains, to go to the aid of his fellow man when in danger. The men who participated in the rescue are the real heroes and merit the gratitude of all.”

None subscribed more feelingly to this sentiment than did the little band of five who were the principals in this adventure on Maroon Mountain.

17
CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON

A letter from home! That was what Mrs. Lurie still called the much prized letters from her mother that arrived at regular intervals all through the summer. Minna herself was an indifferent correspondent and John occasionally scrawled a few lines with a program enclosed of past or coming events.

Yet the grandmother’s letters never held any reproach for the long silences. She related family events with gusto, the small or large happenings of her own household ... the guest who came for a week end and stayed the week. Frequently Minna was concerned, often annoyed.

“Mother’s incurably hospitable! It’s a shame, she never gets any rest—”

Mrs. Lurie seemed to have forgotten those years when she, her brothers and sisters filled the house with their guests. She never wondered then how her parents bore up under the strain. A feast or a snack, long past midnight, radio blaring, the rug turned back for dancing, late breakfasts and untidy bedrooms, bathing suits drying on antique chairs, dates and parties—and the tired voice, “Everyone in? Thank goodness. Try to keep quiet—Your father needs his rest.”

“Incurably hospitable!” Minna repeated, while John patiently waited to hear the letter so recently arrived and cause of his wife’s outburst.

“Listen to this, John! ‘I finally succeeded in getting Sam Sterling and Jennie Coleman to come down together for a week end. You remember Jennie? She’s been a widow for eight years, but is still hopefully looking over the field. I don’t blame her—she’s lonely.