etly I was well pleased
to have it so. I was young enough to thrill at the chance of so
hazardous an experience.

Parson Lamb agreed that Friday morning would be a good time to start.
We were not superstitious, and it wasn't the thirteenth. The trip had
to be made on snowshoes, with which I was not very adept, but that only
added to its attractions. In order to cross the Divide, it was
necessary to descend from my lofty nine thousand feet elevation to
seven thousand five hundred, before starting to climb Flattop trail,
which led over to Grand Lake, the last settlement before reaching Oss's
place. By sundown I reached a deserted sawmill shack, the last shelter
between me and Grand Lake. It was six miles below the top of the
Divide, and twenty miles to the Lake. There I spent the night and at
dawn was trailing upward, in the teeth of a sixty-mile gale!

The first two of those uprising six miles were fair going, and took
only a little more than an hour. Thereafter the trail grew more
precipitous. The third mile required one hour, and the fourth, two
hours of exhausting work. The sun rose, but not the temperature;
powdery snow swirled around the heads of the peaks; clouds swept above
the ridges, flayed and torn; from above timberline came the roar of the
wind.

Dark glasses protected my eyes from snow and wind; and I was warmly
dressed. I left my bedding roll at the sawmill, to be picked up on the
return trip, for shelter could be had at Grand Lake. The light pack I
carried contained peanuts, chocolate, and a change of socks.

The higher I climbed the wilder became the wind. From timberline I
surveyed the prospect ahead and hesitated. Clouds and snow whirled up
in a solid mass, blinding and choking me. The cold penetrated my heavy
clothing. I went on. In a few minutes I was in the midst of the
turmoil, utterly lost, buffeted about. I tried to keep the wind in my
face for compass, but it was so variable, eddying from all directions,
that it was not reassuring. Near the top of the mountain a blast
knocked me down, and half smothered me with flying snow. I arose
groggily, uncertain which way to head; it was impossible to see even a
step in front. The staff I carried served me well, with it I went
tapping and feeling my way like a blind man. There I was on the top of
the world, thirteen thousand feet above sea level--and overlooking
nothing.

Flattop mountain is shaped like a loaf of bread, sloping of