“Don’t worry about me,” Marian added lightly. She lifted a trim little foot. “These sneakers are the best—new and strong. I’ll manage.”
Judy said nothing but silently prayed those sneakers of hers would fall apart and expose her bleeding toes on the rocks.
They began to climb in single file. The first half hour was easy, a slow upward grade. Marian’s teasing voice could be heard.
“You call this a climb?”
She talked incessantly until Fran told her brusquely to save her breath. “You’ll need it,” he warned.
The next three or four hours were hard. Fran leaped ahead like a goat while Judy and her father, with set faces and their bodies bent forward, plodded steadily on. Breathing hard and frequently panting, they were glad of the rest periods Fran ordered at fifteen-minute intervals. The trail led over rocks and huge boulders, mud ankle deep from hidden springs. The trees grew more sparse, then disappeared altogether. In spite of herself, Judy was enjoying the climb, the exertion, the clear, exhilarating air, the sudden views of deep chasms that fell away a thousand feet.
Of Karl and Marian they saw nothing after the first hour. Every once in a while Fran would give his weird call, “Halloo,” and on hearing a faint answering “Halloo,” would say briefly, “They’re on the trail. O.K. Let’s keep moving.”
At one-fifteen the three stopped for lunch. They were on a plateau of smooth rock and before eating, they rested, lying down on the hard surface to dry their soaked shirts and perspiring bodies, then turned over on their stomachs, warming their backs in the hot rays of the sun. In five minutes they were completely refreshed and sat up to eat and marvel at the view.
Giant peaks cut into the sky, deep forests of black pine were far below, and in the distance a thread of silver shimmered, a river, perhaps unknown, uncharted on any map. In a craterlike hollow, barely seen at first, lay a lake of dazzling color, like a giant emerald, sparkling in the sun.
Mr. Lurie at last broke the silence. “You know,” he said in a meditative voice, “it’s hard to explain one’s love for mountain climbing to anyone who doesn’t share your enthusiasm. Most people see it as a foolhardy, backbreaking, unnecessary exertion. ‘Knock yourself out! For what?’ they ask with undisguised condescension, sometimes with a sort of incredulous contempt. And we lovers of the sport can’t explain.” He flung out his arms in a sort of ecstasy. “We say it’s the extraordinary view one gets as a reward for the struggle. No,” Mr. Lurie continued, letting his arms drop beside him, “you get an incomparable view from Pike’s Peak driving up in a car or bus. No, it isn’t the view alone.”