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Show 60 Knowing I was on my way to wealth eased my misery somewhat, and each morning I thought of that as I pushed my way into the line, I tried not to get behind someone packing a shovel or a whipsaw. Awkward loads caused problems for the man behind, and no one helped a man with a problem except his own partner. And mine was hiding in a tunnel in my tent, never to come out again. Therefore, I was surprised one morning when Tip strapped a twenty-five-pound pack on her back and headed for the stairs. I did not say anything; I just stepped in line behind her. And she left with me every morning after that for twenty-two days. One cold, windy morning as we inched our way up the steps, I tried to thank her. "From what I know of the family," I blurted out, "I» d say you have a pretty nice grandmother." "Thanks," she said, breathlessly. "I like coming down the slide." After our Yukon stove was packed up to the Summit, Tip and I spent our last night at The Scales in a tent hotel. The floor was so crowded we had to roll a couple of sound sleepers on their sides to make room for our sleeping bags. Tip held her nose and said she was going to choke to death-wet socks from the rafters again. "It's our last climb up the Golden Stairs tomorrow," I whispered. The men snored around us. "Our last climb." |