[C] They had climbed Cheyenne Mountain, height 9,407 feet, south of Pike’s Peak, which is 14,109 feet in height.
“And all our climb’s for nothin’, you say, sir?” wheezed John Brown. “We’re not on the Grand Peak at all?”
“No. But our climb had not been for naught. We’ve done our best, as soldiers.” The lieutenant’s tone was dull and disappointed.
“I don’t see how we made the mistake,” the doctor proffered. “We thought that we were at the true base.”
“We had no means of telling otherwise, doctor. This mountain looked to be a part of that other; but that other is separate, and twice as high. I judge it’s fully fifteen miles distant, now.”
“Shall we try for it, sir?” Terry Miller asked. “The day’s young, sir.”
The lieutenant shook his head decisively.
“Not this trip, Miller. ’Twould take a whole day to reach its base. You and Brown have no stockings, we none of us have proper clothing—no blankets, no provisions, and there’s little prospect of game. We’ve come so far, and taxed our strength to the limit. Comparing the height of that mountain with this, I believe that no human being can climb the Grand Peak and survive. It is a region of eternal snow, barred to all vestige of life. We’ll go back while we can. We have performed our duty, and we can see nothing from up here by reason of the cloud bank.”
He looked at his thermometer.
“Four degrees below zero.” Zero was the freezing-point.