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as Mount Madison where they had camped the night before, so the temperature remained slightly higher.
    The final day of the trip had the potential to be short, painless, and possibly even pleasant. They simply needed to descend Mount Pierce and both men would have cars waiting for them, one driven by Wizzy, the other by McGee. As they descended, the two actually made some small talk. “I remember we discussed the delightfully sunny weather, New Hampshire history, and that socialist cripple Roosevelt,” recalled Hoyt. “I would not go so far as to say we experienced a moment of liking each other, but for a short while, we felt our adversarial relationship may not be worth it.” These are surprising words from Hoyt given that in roughly two hours – should events continue unabated - he was going to be relieved of one hundred thousand dollars.
    Some time between that brief dialogue and the end of the trail, they became separated. Hoyt arrived at the trailhead but Junk did not. Whether Hoyt deliberately sped ahead is unknown to this day. Whatever the reason, Junk became lost in the woods with only a half-mile left. “I wandered like the Hebrews of old. There was no sign of a trail, a road, a human. I couldn’t follow any tracks because the low-lying area had flooded due to warm weather. The ground was slush, mud, and tiny rivers of run-off.”
    Junk was lost for several hours. When Hoyt and a team of local police found him, the sun was going down and Junk had already set up his ripped tent and was trying to start a fire with wet tinder. He was seething; convinced Hoyt had ditched him intentionally. “Junk said nothing to me, only to the police. I knew what he was thinking, and I was appalled. My parents raised me properly. Risking another man’s life in order to save oneself money is not what humans do. The man got lost due to his own sloth.”
    Nonetheless, the possibility did exist that Hoyt abandoned his foe unconsciously. One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money by today’s standards, but in the 1930’s, in the middle of the Great Depression, one hundred thousand dollars meant considerably more. Hoyt may have allowed himself to pick up speed at the end using some alternative reasoning, like “This is the final sprint.” That reasoning could work as an alibi when speaking to others and when carrying on an internal dialogue. And that is the alibi he used.
    When the party of police and climbers arrived at the road, Junk finally asked Hoyt about delivery of his winnings. Hoyt said there would be no money because Junk did not traverse the Presidentials successfully. He got lost and required aid to get out. Junk responded - loudly - that he was standing at the end of the trail at that very moment. No one had driven him there. No one had carried him. He had used his feet to go from one end of the trail to the other. The sheriff asked both the men to calm down, but it was no use. Hoyt yelled that the “Presidential Traverse” was the name of a trail and Junk had lost the trail, requiring the assistance of others to save him. What’s more, no one had shaken on the bet. They had both been confined to jail cells when the agreement had been made. “You lose, Aaron Junk. You lose.”
    Holding a crampon in his left hand, spikes out, Junk ran at Hoyt. He took one swipe at his target, but Hoyt was ready. “I grabbed the arm that held the crampon,” Hoyt said. “I then employed a move I had learned on a trip to the Orient. I turned around - the attacker now behind me – while putting the offending arm over my shoulder, elbow down. Pulling the arm downward and bending my back, the victim has no choice but to heave himself over me, in essence flipping himself. The alternative is to suffer a broken arm.” Junk was no exception from the laws of physics. He was lifted up over Hoyt and ended up on his back, looking up at his foe. But he was quickly on his feet, fighting again.
    The police descended. Had the two men