guide conducted the party to a wooden slab
standing unpainted, weatherbeaten, bearing this inscription:

Here
Carrie J. Welton
Lay to Rest
Died Alone
Sept. 28--1884.

It was in a spot at the base of the "Key Hole" where the rocks stood on
end and seemed to disappear into the boulders, that made up that vast
boulder bed. From a prayer book, which Jack carried, he read the
following tale of the awful tragedy:

PERISHED ALONE.

From the Half Way House at break of day
A maiden gaily strode away,
To climb the heights of Long's Peak bold,
With guide to show the trail, I'm told;
For there's no path and the way is steep,
And death lurks 'round that grim old peak.

'Twas at the dawn of an autumn morn,
The pine trees soughed as if to warn
As two climbed o'er the boulder bed.
"Come back! The storm! 'Twill come," he said.
"On to the summit," she made reply.
"Why need we falter, you and I?"

Then upward climbed to view the sight
Of raging storm on Long's Peak height,
And saw ambition's fixed star
On guard, within the gates ajar,
Lest mortal man should enter in
Before absolved from venial sin.

The solitude of those drear crests
No welcome gives to lingering guests
When storm king vies with mid-day sun
In battle, 'til the conquered one
Retreats for days, perhaps for weeks,
And gloom reigns o'er the lonely peaks.

The wild wind shrieked as in snow and hail
They undertook the downward trail.
She brav'd the cold and murmured not,
As they groped their way from spot to spot;
Her wondrous strength succumbed at last
While yet the "Keyhole" must be passed.

The stalwart guide in his arms then bore
Her fragile form, and ponder'd o'er
The waste of rocks beneath the "Key;"
For his strength was failing rapidly,
And night clouds dimm'd the tortuous way
Which few e'er tread e'en at mid-day.

"You may go for help," she moaned at last,
As through the "Key" they slowly pass'd.
"The rocks will shelter me," she said,
And sank to rest on the boulder bed.
He covered her with the coat he wore,
Then hastened to the "Half Way" door.

Another dawn of an autumn morn
In the eastern sky had been born,
As stalwart guides, with throbbing heads,
Toiled wearily o'er the boulder beds;
'Midst cruel crags and waist-deep snow
They battled on against the foe.

Up, up, they climb'd that dreadful night
And brav'd t