Just Under the Summit

Just Under the Summit By Jay Y. Tipton

One of the chief silver mining towns in the west lies on two sides of a road, the bottom of a long, narrow gulch. At the upper end of town the road leads gently up until it surmounts the top of a ridge. From this point it descends, straight as an arrow and narrow as a city sidewalk, in a long, steep decline, bringing up at a turn and trailing off in a winding, level country road. Looking down from the point where the road surmounts the ridge, one inevitably would be struck with the dangerous character of the descending road. To one side a precipitous cliff rears itself; on the other side the cliff continues some five or six hundred feet in a dizzy drop. Great jagged rocks jut out from the face of the cliff, both above and below. On a summer day, such as this, a person surely would have paused at the summit of the ridge to look about at the scenes which greet the eye from this point. And if, perchance, one's eyesight were exceptionally good, one would have seen, away off down the twisting, level, country-trail, leading to the Dugway Road, a cloud of dust moving along with the breeze. It would have taken very good eyesight, indeed, to distinguish the cause of the cloud of dust. Shortly, however, the cloud floated off and dissolved in the summer atmosphere. The vehicle that had caused it had reached the bottom of the long ascent up the Dugway road, the surface of which was so hard it yielded no dust. By this time an observer, had there been one, would have been able to make out the nature of the conveyance. It was an automobile; the kind so well advertised from one end of the country to the other by all manner of jokesmiths. An observer of more than passing knowledge of automobiles, and the hills they can successfully negotiate, would have wondered how the little car was going to reach the top. Surely its driver was not very considerate of his car, or, maybe it was a borrowed one. Most assuredly he was not familiar with the country thereabouts, or he must have known that there was a much better road further around the hills to the north, a road that was not only of easy grade but the surface of which was

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always in excellent condition, as a result of the care given it by the state, and the amount of traffic it accomodated. Nobody ever took the Dugway road since the new road had been completed. Notwithstanding the adverse conditions, the little car came steadily up the narrow, steep road. When about fifty yards or so from the crest, near enough for an observer to have easily determined that its only occupants were two young boys, it began to act strangely. Probably it was protesting, in its inanimate manner, at the harsh treatment it was receiving. At any rate it stopped. Suddenly! So suddenly that it began to roll backward before the brakes could be brought into use. "Now, isn't this just our luck?" cried the young chap at the wheel. "Get stalled on a hill like this, when we're already an hour late! What will dad say?" "What d' you s'pose is matter with 'er, Cal?" said the other boy, who, by his appearance, was about a year his companion's junior. "Don't know," replied Calvin. "Suppose it's just the nature of the beast. Get out, Curt, and block up a wheel. This emergency brake's a joke." Curtis did as he was told. Then the other lad also got out, lifted up the hood and began to tinker with the engine. "Got 'nough gas?" asked Curt. He always spoke as if speech was an effort to be avoided as much as possible When- .

ever he could he chopped off the prefixes or the suffixes, and sometimes the middles of his words. "Jes' so folks get y'r meanin'," was his oft expressed attitude on the necessity of speech. "Gas! Sure we've got enough gas. Didn't we put in three gallons back there at that what's-its-name burg?" Cal retorted sharply. If an observer had been watching and listening from the summit of the hill he certainly would have caught the tone of petulant annoyance in the speech of the boy known as Cal. It was not missed, either, by Curtis. Most obviously the older boy was in no mood for pleasantries.. Had there been a quarrel between the two traveling companions? Or was Calvin merely aggravated by the forced delay while he determined and remedied the cause of the sudden stop of the car on the long, steep hill? "If you hadn't insisted on coming out here in this forsaken country on such a fool errand, there wouldn't have been all this trouble," said Calvin, his face flushed as he looked at the other. "I can't find what's the trouble with this dinged thing."

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"Why, Cal!" said Curt, in some surprise. "You wanted to come 's much 's I did." "Did not," flashed back the older fellow. "Lot of nonsense, coming way up here just to see a crowd of crazy campers. Hot day like this, too. Ought to have stayed home and sat in the shade." "Thought you knew the country 'round here like a book," Curt remarked, teasingly. "Fine road you picked out." "Aw, shut up. Fine mess we're in. Dad said to be home before dark. Wanted to use the ol' tub himself tonight. And we've got a swell chance to make it at this rate." "Turn 'er 'round an' coast back down the hill. Try other road," suggested Curt. At this Calvin said nothing. As a riiatter of fact, this same idea had popped into his head, but he had delayed suggesting it. Now, if he acted on it, it would seem as if he were following the lead set by Curtis, and his nature balked at this. He was one of those high-strung boys, possessing a fine intellect, it is true, but who can't endure to see anyone else assert leadership in even the most trifling matters. So Calvin said nothing, but went on trying this thing and that in an attempt to locate the cause for the car's refusal to function. He measured the gasoline in the tank with a measuring stick, and found there was approximately two gallons left. Then the thought occured to him that probably the small pipe leading from the gas tank to the carburetor was clogged. He spent a precious half hour disconnecting this, only to find d^ trace of foreign matter in it. Another half hour was consumed in replacing the gas line. "Come on," Cal ordered. "Let's turn 'er around and coast down the hill. Plenty of gas, but it won't feed up to the motor on this grade." Together the boys set about the task of turning the car around. Anyone located at the summit of the ridge, some fifty yards above them, would have been quite apprehensive about the success of this maneuver. As already pointed out, the road was very narrow, scarce wide enough to permit the passing of two vehicles, even if the utmost care were exercised. The cliff frowning above, and the abrupt chasm yawning below lent a risk to any such enterprise as turning an automobile around, that would have given considerable pause to men of more mature judgment. But the young fellows were desperate. This was the last resort, unless theywanted to spend the night on the hill, and, even if they did this, morning would bring no greater promise

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of an outlet to their dilemma. So they set about the task of turning the machine's head down the hill. Cal's temper had not improved with the passing time. He — chafed at the lateness of the hour the sun was just sinking behind the ridge and there was a twenty-mile drive from this place to his home, a drive that must be accomplished before dark. "I'll get in and steer her," said Calvin, "and you push when I say ready." "Righto," Curt answered. At this point in the proceedings, a conscientious observer would have interfered. He would have seen the danger of the move the boys were about to make. He would have been willing to stake almost everything he possessed that the car would roll off the road, down the five or six hundred feet of jagged chasm below, carrying with it one of the boys, if not both of them. For Cal, in the car, had twisted the front wheels around so that, when started, the car would describe a quarter turn backward toward the brink of the Dugway. This move would have been most certainly interfered with by an observer with any sort of a conscience. But it happened that there was no observer present, either with or without a conscience. "All right," said Cal. "Steady. Push 'er a little now." Curt did so, and Cal, with foot on break lever, eased the car back until the rear wheels were within a foot or two of the edge. Then he brought it to a stop, twisted the steering wheel the other way and motioned to Curt to push the machine forward. In this way, after two or three backward and forward moves, the car was turned halfway around. Its head now faced the cliff above, its rear overlooked the chasm below. "About two more tacks and we'll have 'er done," said Cal. He was too busy just now to indulge in sarcastic or ill-tempered remarks. "Yeh," was all the reply that came from the perspiring Curtis. Curtis gently applied force to the front end of the car, to push it back two yards or so while Cal guided it. But the car remained steadfast, even when Curt increased his force. "Well, come on. A little muscle there!" cried Cal, impatiently. "Don't go to sleep on the job." Curt said nothing. A fair-minded observer standing on the summit of the ridge above them, would not have blamed Curt for then and there quitting and leaving Cal to extricate himself as best he could. It is never a pleasure to work for a person who doesn't appreciate our efforts. And this applies

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to everyday work as well as to the work incident to pleasure trips. Curt didn't go to sleep on the job. Smarting under the lash of Cal's last remark he put his shoulder to the wheel and exerted a mighty effort. The car stuck for an instant, then, all of a sudden it loosened and began to roll slowly toward the brink. Cal pressed his foot on the service brake. It yielded, but had no effect on the car's motion. Cal became frightened. The brakes were failing. What now would stop the car from rolling on, over the terrifying brink of the chasm? Cal thought of jumping. Too late! The car had only a yard to go. He thought of prayer, and letting go the steering wheel, he lifted his eyes to the heavens and silently, with trembling lips, made his plea. Curt was quick to see the plight of his friend. He, too, became frightened, unspeakably frightened. His face paled to the color of the gray shale on the road. He looked about, in a flash, for a stone to wedge under a wheel. One came to his gaze, but it was too far away. The car moved steadily, maddeningly on. What would stop it? Nothing, thought Curt. He was about to turn his face from the sight that was about to meet his eyes, the sight of his friend being carried to oblivion. But it is just as such times that a little spark of intuition will come, just a little idea, God-sent inspiration. It came then to Curtis. With its coming to his frantic mind, came also the impulse to action. One jump, and he was beside the front wheel of the car. A slide, and his legs were under the wheel. The tire came down on his thighs with a slow, increasing pressure. The momentum of the car carried it on. Curt wondered if it ever would come to a standstill. It did. As a matter of fact, it stopped very shortly after Curt's slide. His trousers were in shreds. His skin smarted where it had been scraped raw over the shale road. But the car was stopped. Calvin got out, still shaking and trembling like one with the palsy. Without a word he picked up a stone and wedged it under a wheel. Then he came over and helped Curt to his feet. No word was spoken. Curt hobbled up and helped Cal push the machine back on the road a safe distance. Then he removed the seat and unscrewed the cover of the gas tank. Placing his lips to the hole he blew air into the tank. Cal understood, turned the crank, and, in a few seconds the engine was chugging merrily. Curt's lung power had forced the gaso-

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line up into the carburetor, acting on the same principle as the force-feed systems on most of the larger cars today. An observer, standing on the summit of the ridge, wouldn't have failed to notice the change that had come over the chap who was driving, the lad known as Calvin, as they passed over the top and began the gentle descent into the silver mining town on their way home. Kindness had taken the place of annoyance and harshness in his features. Kindness also crept into his demeanor and his voice, when, after some miles had been traveled in silence, he said: "Curt, old scout. I — just can't say much. But you know I what I'm thinking. Give me your hand, Curt." Salt Lake City, Utah.

Bravery Medal to Boy Scout

Early in February, 1921, Harry C. Harper, 17 years of age, a charter member of Salt Lake Troop, number 51, Boy Scouts, was awarded a bronze medal by the National Court of Honor because of his courage and quick action in saving the life of fiveyear-old Ernest Bourne, son of E. Leroy Bourne, of 561 5th Ave., Salt Lake City. The heroic act performed by the scout took place March 21, 1920, near the Harper home, when the little boy, alone in his father's automobile, loosened the breaks, and started the machine towards the embankment. The child frantically screamed to stop the car. This was heard by Harper who rushed from the front yard of his home, mounted the running board of the car and succeeded in stopping the machine just as it reached the edge of the embankment where it balanced for a moment on two wheels. Had it gone a few inches farther, both boys would doubtless have been crushed to death under the wreckage of the car. Harper graduated from the West High School last June, and has many credits for splendid work in Troop 51. During the war time he sold $5,300 worth of war saving stamps and was presented with an Ace medal, with five silver palms, for his exceptional success. The medal awarded him is accompanied by a letter from Chief Scout Executive of the United States, James E. West, who highly commends the lad for his courage and reminds him that he is one of the few persons to whom the medal has been presented.