"I ought to add," the Scout Master went on, "that W. B. Curtis and his companion, Allen Ormsby, the two men who died, would not have perished, probably, if they had turned back when they first saw threats of bad weather, as they were warned to do, instead of trying to keep on, or even if there had been a shelter hut, as there is now, on the long, bare, wind-swept col between Monroe and the summit cone of Washington. They tried to build a shelter under Monroe, and then left that to press on to the summit. Curtis didn't quite get to the site of the present hut, but doubtless he would have if the hope of it had been there to spur him on. As it was, he evidently fell and injured himself, and Ormsby died some distance up the final cone, struggling in a mad attempt to get to the top and find aid for Curtis. He had fifty bruises on his body where the wind had blown him against the rocks. Curtis was thinly clad, and he was sixty years old. Two guides, descending, who met them on Pleasant, had warned them not to go on—that there was snow and terrible wind above; but they evidently didn't realize at all what they were in for."
"Oh, well, we've got blankets, and you know the way," cried Peanut. "What do we care? Guess we'll ride out anything that can hit us in July!"
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a sharp "S-sh!" from Art, who was leading. The
