"Many years ago an Indian appeared at Albany bearing samples of a wonderfully rich iron ore. But few deposits were known in this country at that time, and the ore samples created excitement. A party of exploration was organized, and for a sufficient quantity of 'firewater' the red man conducted them far into the heart of the Adirondack Mountains, where a vein of unusually fine ore was discovered. A company was formed, in which Joseph Bonaparte, the former King of Spain, was largely interested, and preparations were made to open a mine. Transporting the ore itself was out of the question, so smelters were built on the spot, and the pig iron was carted down the rudest of mountain roads to civilization. A hamlet of five hundred souls sprang up in the midst of the forest, and the roar of the blast was never silent until, one gray afternoon, William Henderson, the manager, shot himself, whether accidentally or not no one will ever know, on a little island in the middle of Calamity Pond. Like magic all work ceased immediately upon the news of his death. The iron company collapsed, the five hundred busy workers vanished, and to-day the visitor to the Upper Tahawas Club house is shown the tawny brick cupolas, with damper still in place, and the company houses so strangely and suddenly deserted sixty years ago. The land owned by the company lay unmolested until 1875, when a party of New Yorkers, Dr. Wheelock among them, leased the whole ninety-six thousand acres for hunting and fishing purposes. This was the start of the Adirondack Club, one of the most exclusive and conservative organizations in the country.

"When Mrs. Roosevelt concluded that her two children, just from the hospital, would thrive better in pure mountain air, the suggestion of Mr. McNaughton, an old friend of the family, that they should occupy his cottage at the club, was gladly accepted. Here, at the root of Mount Marcy, the giant of the Adirondacks, Mr. Roosevelt's family were quietly living, while in the busy world below great and terrible events were happening, and the first strands of the invisible, yet irresistible, web of fate were cast around them, to drag them-most unwillingly, all accounts agree-out into the brightest limelight of publicity.

"How Mr. Roosevelt hastened to Buffalo at the first news of the murderous attack on President McKinley's life is current history. It was only after he had been positively assured by three of the President's physicians that Mr. McKinley would almost certainly recover that he felt he might safely leave to visit his family. There is something cruelly unjust in the stories that Mr. Roosevelt went on a hunting trip while the stricken President battled bravely against death. It is a fact beyond dispute that not once during his stay at the Tahawas Club did he suggest hunting. His grief at the assassin's deed was as sincere and outspoken as all his other acts, and he was in no mood for even his favorite sport.

"Mr. Roosevelt's position in Buffalo was, under the circumstances, a peculiarly difficult and delicate one. Whether he should go or stay, there were sure to be critics in plenty. The thought of his sick children urged him to go. Before leaving Buffalo, however, he arranged with two persons in whose cool judgment he felt he could trust to telegraph to him if any change should take place in President McKinley's condition.

"On Wednesday evening, September 11, Mr. Roosevelt reached the Upper Club House, where his family was stopping. It is always spoken of as 'the Upper Club House,' although the building rightfully entitled to that name is merely a general meeting place, with a special dining room for all the ten or more cottages scattered around. Everything that was heard from President McKinley was still in the highest degree encouraging; and on Thursday morning Mr. Roosevelt planned a little trip up as far as Colton Lake with Mr. McIntyre, the two Robinson boys and his family. It is a good five-mile tramp over a rough trail up to the lake from the Tahawas Club House, but Mrs. Roosevelt shares her husband's love of stirring exercise, and with the exception of the two youngest children, the entire family made the trip. Two guides, Edward Dimmock and Noe La Casse, accompanied the party. The plan was to spend the night at the open camp belonging to the club on the lake and return the next morning. Still, there was no thought of hunting, and the only gun in the party was carried by Mr. Robinson.

"In the meanwhile, many miles away the silent poison had begun its fatal work. Friday morning the country hung around the bulletin boards, all the first fears reawakened by the ominous news of the change for the worse in the President's condition. At a quarter past eight o'clock in the morning two messages from Secretary Cortelyou reach North Creek, the terminus of the telegraph line, saying that the President was in a precarious condition and gravest results were apprehended. Two telegrams from Mr. Roosevelt's secretary also were received, one that he was coming on a special train for Mr. Roosevelt and the other that at six o'clock that morning the President's condition was slightly improved. These dispatches were hurried over to the tiny central office of the North Creek telephone systems, from which a slender wire, the only link with the outer world, stretched to the lower Tahawas Club house, or, as it is better known, 'Hunter's.'

"A little after ten o'clock, the unemployed guides were sitting around the roaring fire in their room in the 'Upper Club House,' swapping the usual yarns, when a team from Hunter's, covered with mud from the ten miles of wretched road, dashed up. A wondering silence fell over the company. David Hunter, the superintendent of the club, arose from his seat and went out. In a few moments he returned, and, looking around the room, said:

''Boys, there is bad news from the President. Who will carry the message to Mr. Roosevelt ?'

"Slow of speech, but quick of thought and action, are the Adirondack guides. It was hard to tell which of the party arose first.

"The task fell to Harrison Hall, tall, thin, weather beaten. Every one of his swift, noiseless movements, as he quietly made ready for the trip, revealed the trained woodsman. By half-past ten his swinging stride carried him over the tiny foot bridge across the Hudson river, here scarcely twenty feet wide, and into the forest on the trail of Lake Colton. Half way up he met the women of the party, in charge of Dimmock, returning to the club house. They told him that Mr. Roosevelt had been tempted to climb up Mount Marcy, and that the rest of the gentlemen had joined him. The swinging stride was hardly broken, and on up the trail Hall pushed toward his destination.

"From the club to Lake Colton the path was plain and clear. Beyond there, it had been rarely used, and the fallen deadwood clogged every step. Still, with the same sure, catlike stride, too wise to hurry, too eager to slacken speed, he pushed on through the black tangle of primeval forest. Many strange sights had those huge old gray pines beheld, many tragedies of hunter and hunted, but this spectacle of the silent messenger, with the fateful slips of paper in his hand, was new to them. New, also to the world, for never before had so strange a courier borne notice to a man of destiny that his time of ruling was at hand.

"In the meanwhile every breath of fresh air had improved Mr. Roosevelt's spirits. In spite of the rain, in spite of the difficulties of the trail, the outlook grew brighter and brighter to him as the day wore on. He even insisted on carrying one of the packs a part of the way, so as to do his share. Finally, about half-past one o'clock, the party reached the prettily named Tear of the Clouds. High up on the side of Mount Marcy-in fact, the highest body of water in the State, 4,500 feet above the sea level-this beautiful sheet forms the source of the Hudson river. The rain had turned the high grass around the margin into a marsh, and there was much good natured grumbling before the edge was reached. Once there, however, lunch was quickly spread, and all hands fell to it with a will. Mr. Roosevelt had made a joking remark about exercise being needed to keep Vice-Presidents alive, when a crackling twig caught the quick ear of La Casse, their guide.

"The whole party turned instinctively to follow his gaze, and there, swinging through the marsh, with the same unswerving stride, grim visaged and grizzled, an ideal messenger of fate, appeared Harrison Hall, the yellow slips still in his hand. This was about a quarter past two o'clock in the afternoon. Silently Mr. Roosevelt received them. In profound silence he read them. There were no questions asked. Somehow everyone seemed to understand.