Still
no result. The sun was up by that time, and I judged that it was about
noon. It was only six-thirty.
A sort of desperation took possession of us all. We would keep up with
Mr. Fred or die trying. And then, suddenly, we were on the very roof of
the world, on the top of Cloudy Pass. All the kingdoms of the earth lay
stretched out around us, and all the kingdoms of the earth were empty.
Now, the usual way to climb Cloudy Pass is to take a good businesslike
horse and sit on his back. Then, by devious and circuitous routes, with
frequent rests, the horse takes you up. When there is a place the horse
cannot manage, you get off and hold his tail, and he pulls you. Even at
that, it is a long business and a painful one. But it is better--oh,
far, far better!--than the way we had taken.
Have you ever reached a point where you fix your starting eyes on a
shrub or a rock ten feet ahead and struggle for it? And, having achieved
it, fix on another five feet farther on, and almost fail to get it?
Because, if you have not, you know nothing of this agony of tearing
lungs and hammering heart and throbbing muscles that is the
mountain-climber's price for achievement.
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