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Kansas University Weekly.
LITERARY.
A Tragedy of Long's Peak.
"I tell you, Miss Raymond, you will endanger the guide's life as well as your own if you persist in making the assent so late in the season," remonstrated the proprietor of L. ranch, frowning impatiently at the young woman who confronted him, unyielding determination in every line of her face.
"That is his affair and not mine," she answered coldly. "He has agreed to take me up and we shall start this afternoon. It is useless for you to try to dissuade me. Please have the luncheon put up at once, Mr. Sprague."
Turning to the window, she looked long and wistfully at the range of snow-capped mountains, above which towered Long's Peak, the Mecca of her proposed pilgrimage, half hidden from view by shifting purple vapors. After a moment of silence she turned again to Mr. Sprague, saying half apologetically:—
"You know papa pays me ten dollars for every mountain I climb. And besides, every one tells me that the view from the top is beautiful. So you see, 'laughingly,' it is from a desire to gratify my aesthetic nature, as well as from mercenary motives, that I am about to venture on what it pleases you to call a 'fool-hardy undertaking.'"
Mr. Sprague shook his head dubiously, but refrained from further remonstrances.
Despite her rather alarming disinclination to heed the advice frequently proffered her, Alice Raymond was a charming young woman, and, during her short stay at the ranch, she had contrived by many winning arts to endear herself to all with whom she came in contact. When, therefore, one day early in September, she declared her intention of climbing Long's Peak. Mr. Sprague was greatly troubled, realizing as he did the danger of being caught on the bleak mountain top in one of the snow storms so frequent at that season of the year.
Finding all remonstrances quite useless, he was obliged to content himself with giving minute directions to the guide, a sturdy young fellow of fine physique, generally considered the most trustworthy guide in Estes Park.
Having received a little really good advice, which she forgot, and a great deal of advice, all of which she remembered, Miss Raymond set out on foot with her guide, early in the afternoon of the tenth of September, 18. By nightfall they reached timber line, where they passed the night, lulled to sleep by the murmurs of a foaming mountain torrent, and the mournful voice of the wind among the pines. Before sunrise the next morning they were on their way again, and an hour's climb brought them to Boulder Field, a vast inclined plane covered with huge rocks. Here began the real difficulties of the ascent. Miss Raymond sprang lightly from rock to rock, without deigning to accept any assistance from the guide. When Boulder Field had been left behind and they had passed through the keyhole, a jagged, irregular opening in a wall of rock, the guide scanned the horizon with troubled intentness.
"I think we ought to go back," he said at last. "I don't like the looks of those clouds. A great many people think this view finer than the one from the top, so you won't miss so very much."
With her eyes still fixed on a lovely green lake in the valley many thousand feet below them, Miss Raymond answered abstractedly:—
"You may go back if you want to. I shall go on."
She never for a moment entertained the idea of turning back. The guide started on without another word.
The path which they now followed extended along a narrow ledge of rock, often obstructed by loose boulders. A single misstep meant instant death. Miss Raymond went steadily
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