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,