AVALANCHE
The party worked itself on up toward the summit, climbing doggedly,
single file—when suddenly a strange noise was heard.
Warner, in the lead, looked up quickly. A giant boulder was hurtling
down the steep mountainside, taking all before it.
“Stand where you are!” he shouted hoarsely. “Don’t move!”
As the great boulder bounded down the mountainside toward the Scouts,
they stood frozen. It was impossible to guess the exact course the big
stone would take, for it was careening wildly.
To run when the footing was so treacherous would have been far more
dangerous than to remain where they were. Craig Warner, an experienced
mountaineer, had made his split-second decision and his shout of warning
had been instantly obeyed by the Explorers. However, to remain
motionless as the massive rock raced toward them required almost more
willpower than they could command.
The crisis came quickly. The huge boulder, showering loose rock in all
directions, loomed above the boys. Then as quickly as the danger had
come, it was over. With the speed of an express train, the rock swept
past them. By scant inches it missed Ken, setting up a breeze as it
rushed by.
On rolled the big rock to crash hundreds of feet below in a tangle of
twisted pines.
“Wow! That was close!” Ken exclaimed when he had recovered speech.
Jack, breathing hard, asked shakily, “What started that rock rolling
down the mountain? An animal?”
“A two-legged one, I suspect,” rejoined Warner, his voice tight.
He adjusted his field glass to train it on the rocks high above them.
Lowering it after several minutes, he said: “No question about it. That
rock was dislodged purposely.”
“By whom?” Jack demanded.
“I glimpsed the fellow only for an instant when I first saw the rock
coming our way. Then he ducked back out of sight.”
“It wasn’t Walz?” Mr. Livingston asked.
“I don’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure,” the rancher returned,
squinting thoughtfully into the sun.
“Maybe it’s that same bird who stole our food,” Jack speculated. “For an
unpopulated mountain, this place seems to have quite a bit of activity.”
“Too much,” Warner tersely agreed.
The near disaster had slightly unnerved everyone. Both Mr. Livingston
and Craig Warner were puzzled, for the rancher said again that he knew
of no prospector who frequented Crazy Mountain.
“Why would anyone want to prevent us from reaching the pass?” he
speculated. “Walz would have a reason, but I doubt he ever got this far.
Even with Ranier he certainly couldn’t have made it.”
“Someone else may know about the cache of gold,” Jack suggested.
“It begins to look that way,” Warner agreed. “Either that, or we’re
dealing with a screwball. If a man lives too long alone—well, sometimes
his mind becomes twisted.”
After a brief rest, the party struggled on, the mystery unsolved. Warner
used exceeding caution, keeping almost constant watch of the ledges
above. But he didn’t get a glimpse of anyone.
Climbing was slow work, and the Scouts were hampered by the necessity
for keeping constantly alert for further trouble from above. A misstep
could have meant a bad fall because below were enormous cliffs and
breath-taking drops.
“With luck, we should soon reach the pass,” Warner advised the group.
“Our contour map doesn’t show it, so I’m depending entirely on that
memory sketch I made.”
“We haven’t sighted those two twin peaks Old Stony told us about,” Jack
said.
“That’s what bothers me,” Warner replied. “In taking his landmarks,
maybe he made them on the return trip from Headless Hollow.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Ken, startled. “In that case, everything would be
different from the way we’re seeing it.”
“Don’t forget, Old Stony may have drawn his map purposely wrong to throw
off anyone who might steal it,” Mr. Livingston reminded them.
“We’ll soon know,” Warner replied.
Settling themselves to a hard, relentless grind of climbing, the Scouts
followed their guide with dogged determination. Progress now was
painfully slow. An hour was required to make a few hundred feet.
Jack’s back had grown numb from the weight of the pack. His legs felt as
if they would buckle beneath him. Mr. Livingston likewise was showing
signs of fatigue, and so was Ken. Only their guide seemed utterly
tireless. But as the overcast sun began to lower behind the jagged
peaks, even Warner began to falter and show signs of strain.
His growing uneasiness began to be felt by the others. In the last few
hours, they had caught no glimpse of the mysterious enemy believed to
have dislodged the rock. In fact, they had half forgotten the incident.
But a greater worry now confronted them.
Night was coming on, and unless the pass soon materialized, they must
make camp. However, the narrow ledges provided little more than walking
space. At times the grades were fairly gentle, giving the party a little
breathing spell. Then again they became so steep it was hard to find
good footing.
Warner and Mr. Livingston pushed desperately on, hoping to find the pass
before darkness crept upon the lonely mountain. Though they gave no
verbal hint of their growing concern, Ken and Jack could tell by the
grim way the two men climbed that they were worried.
To add to the party’s mounting alarm, the sky was rapidly becoming
veiled with black clouds that clung around the mountain peaks, ugly and
threatening.
“We’ll have rain pretty soon,” Ken predicted, as he and Jack halted to
drop their packs briefly. “That’s all we need to make this day
complete!”
Jack was too weary to answer. But, scanning the darkening sky, he
nodded.
The day’s climb had been unbelievably hard, and seemingly it was
endless. How much longer, he wondered, would he be able to keep going?
He was glad Willie and War were safely on their way back to Elks
Creek—at least he hoped they were safe and comfortable.
“The pass shouldn’t be much farther off,” Warner said to encourage the
Scouts. “We ought to come to it within another half hour.”
“A half hour,” Ken repeated. “Well, let’s get the agony finished as fast
as we can!”