Years pass when no man can conquer and bestride "The Old Hag of the Alps"—the Matterhorn. Humpbacked, she towers, and her hump is a jagged ridge from which many have slithered down to death. About her hungry lightning tongues lick often, winds howl, and evil legends cluster grim and hoar. Sometimes, when a climbing-hatchet slips and sickening pebbles roll, it seems that the Hag chuckles. . . .

Yellow specks dotted the Hag's snow-flesh, last week, crawled and hacked their way upward from Zermatt. Wise tourists, bedded at luxurious Gornergrat, rose...

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