CHAPTER II 



THE HAYMAKER OF THE HEIGHTS 



THE first time I climbed Long's Peak 

 I heard a strange, wild cry or call repeated 

 at intervals. "Skee-ek," "Ke-ack," 

 came from among the large rocks along the 

 trail a quarter of a mile below the limits of tree 

 growth. It might be that of bird or beast. 

 Half squeak, half whistle, I had not heard its 

 like. Though calling near me, the maker kept 

 out of sight. 



A hawk flew over with a screech not unlike 

 this mysterious "Skee-ek." I had about de- 

 cided that it was dropping these " Ke-acks " when 

 a rustling and a "Skee-ek" came from the other 

 side of the big rock close by me. I hurried 

 around to see, but nothing was there. 



This strange voice, invisible and mocking 

 like an echo, called from time to time all the 

 way to the summit of the peak. And as I 

 stood on the highest point, alone as I supposed, 

 from somewhere came the cry of the hidden 

 caller. As I looked, there near me on a big 

 flat rock sat a cony. He was about six inches 



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