The last two words were roared out; and chip, chip, there came close upon one another the sound of two ice-picks being driven into the snow, the guide's like an echo of Dale's, for his axe was raised to cut a fresh step, but he changed the direction like lightning, drove it in high up the slope, and held on forward, Dale backward.

For, in the most unexpected manner, one of Saxe's feet had slipped as he stepped short, and down he went to lie helplessly a dozen feet from where he had stood, hanging suspended from the two ends of the rope— fortunately for him tight round the waists of his companions.

"Herr, herr!" shouted the guide reproachfully, as he looked back over his shoulder, "where's your ice-axe?"

"Here," said Saxe dolefully, raising it a little, and vainly trying to drive his toes through the hard crust, newly frozen in the night.

"'Here,' sir!" cried Melchior: "but it has no business to be 'here.' Strike! strike hard! and drive it into the snow."

Saxe raised it in both hands, and struck.

"No, no!" cried the guide; "take hold right at the end, and drive it in as high up as you can reach. Hah! that's better. Now hand over hand. It will hold. Pull yourself up as high as you can."

"That do?" said Saxe, panting, after obeying the orders and contriving to get a couple of feet.

"Yes," said the guide, tightening the rope in company with Dale. "Now then, again! A better one this time."

The boy struck the pick in again as hard as he could, and was more successful. The rope was tightened to support him after he had climbed higher; and after three or four minutes he stood once more in his old place panting.

"Wait till he gets his breath, Melchior," said Dale. "There, boy, it has been a splendid lesson for you, in a place where the worst that could have happened to you was a sharp glissade and some skin off your hands and face. That ice-axe ought to have been driven like lightning into the snow, or the pick held towards it downward. It would have ploughed in and anchored you."

"I'll try better next time," said Saxe. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

"The young herr did well," cried Melchior warmly. "Why, I have known men hang from the rope helpless and afraid to stir at such a time. Ready? Vorwarts!"

He started again, cutting a step here and there, but very few now; and a quarter of an hour later a long path took them to where the smooth slope gave place to piled-up masses of rock, which looked as if they had been hurled down from above.

Then came a couple of hours' toilsome climb over broken stones, and up masses that were mastered by sheer scrambling. Now and then an easy rock slope presented itself, or a gully between two buttresses of the mountain, as they won their way higher and higher. Only once was there a really dangerous place—a mere ledge, such as they had passed along on the previous day, but instead of a raging torrent beneath them there was a wall of nearly perpendicular rock running down for about a thousand feet to a great bed of snow.

But the distance was short, and Saxe stepped out bravely, perfectly aware, though, that his companions were keeping the rope pretty tight and watching his every step.

"Well done!" cried Melchior.

"Bravo, Saxe!" said Dale, as soon as they were safely across: "I see your head is screwed on right. Forward!"

"But he don't know what a weak screw it is," thought Saxe. "Why, they must have seen how white I was! I shall never dare to get back that way."

Three or four awkward bits were circumvented; a couloir or gully full of snow mounted; and then there was a long climb up a moderate slope toward where a ridge of rocks stood out sharply, with snow sloping down on either side, the ridge running up far into the mountain; but before they could get to this a deep bed of old snow—"firn" Melchior called it—a great sheet, like some large white field, had to be passed.

But this was mastered, and the climb began up towards the ridge.

"The herr remembers this?" Melchior said.

"No," said Saxe.

"Oh yes, you remember: that is the arete," said Dale.

"That? What! right up there?"

"Yes. Are you surprised?"

"Yes: I thought we had passed that, down below somewhere, hours ago."

"More faith in the size of the mountains," said Dale merrily. "Well, Saxe, how do you feel now? Will you sit down and wait!"

"No," said the boy, through his set teeth, "I'm going right to the top."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

SAXE GOES TO THE TOP.

"Ten minutes' rest, herr," said the guide.

"And lunch?"

"No, herr—only for a pipe;" and Melchior drew out his big tobacco holder and filled up, while Dale took out a cigar. "Here's a sheltered place to get a light," continued the guide, leading the way to a niche in the rocks and striking a match.

"Well," said Dale, "what do you think? Will he do it?"

"Shall I speak the truth, herr?" said the guide, puffing quietly away.

"Of course."

"He's horribly frightened, herr; but he would sooner die than show it."

"Exactly: you are right. Will he hold out?"

"That he will, if he is a long time doing it."

"Will you stand by me, Melchior?"

"Of course, herr. I am your servant, and I am more: we are all brothers in the mountains, ready to stand by each other to the end."

"Then, if he has the pluck that every English boy should have—the pluck that English boys always have had—he shall go right to the top, even if we have to sleep somewhere half-way down."

"If we can get him to the top, herr," said Melchior, laughing in his quiet, grave way, "never mind about the coming down. Bless him! I'll carry him down what you English call pig-a-back, if he's worn out."

"Then we'll take him. Is it a very stiff climb higher—dangerous?"

The guide shrugged his shoulders.

"The herr is a mountaineer, and sees as much as I do. I have never been up here, but the mountains are much alike on the whole. I think we can do it."

"Yes, alone: but with that lad?"

"Well, herr, if we come to a very dangerous bit I should say give it up for his sake. But we shall see."

They stood smoking and looking about at the different parts above them, marking out the way they would go when they had mastered the arete, and then returned to Saxe, who was lying down in the sunshine resting.

"Well. Saxe: ten minutes nearly up. Will you stop or go on?"

Saxe looked rather pale, but he laughed.

"Wait here, getting cold?"

"No! there will be plenty of sunshine."

"Yes, but—wait here hours while you two go up to the top and sit down, see the view and eat all the lunch. No; I'm coming with you."

"Right: you shall. Ready, Melchior!"

"Yes, herr. I think we'll have the rope again: I can give you both a bit of a haul sometimes."

"He means me only," thought Saxe, "and I won't let him."

"Now, gentlemen!" the guide went on, as he stood shading his eyes, "that snow's pretty firm, I think, and will not slip. We ought to master the arete in an hour."

"An hour to do that little bit!" thought Saxe, as he looked up; but he did not utter his thoughts; he was really beginning to understand that dots meant big rocks, and snow patches that seemed the size of the hand great beds.

"Vorwarts!" cried Melchior; and he began to climb with the activity of a monkey, getting up to the extent of the rope, and then seating himself and drawing it in as Saxe followed him and fully grasped now that it was like getting up the sloping ridge of some mighty roof all in vast ruins. For the rocks rose out of the snow which fell away steeply on either side—how far the curve prevented him from seeing; but once, when he took hold of a great projecting piece of rock about double the size of his head, it came away and went rolling down the slope to his right, carrying more and more snow with it, till all disappeared with a curious hissing rush, which was followed many seconds later by a low reverberating roar.

"I ought to have tried that stone," said the guide quietly. "That's right, herr: steady. Shall I pull?"

"No, no!" pleaded Saxe.

"Good! That block—now this. Well done! Get behind me and sit down and rest."

Saxe felt disposed to refuse; but he took his place, and in a minute or two Dale was up by them, and the guide went on again, repeating the slow cautious process.

It was necessary, for the way up grew steeper and some of the rocks looser and far larger than that which Saxe had started, gave way at the first touch of the guide, and had to be turned off sideways to prevent mischief to those who followed.

As they rose higher the slope down on either hand seemed more appalling; and once, as Saxe climbed to him, Melchior said, with a smile—

"Never mind the two snow slopes, herr."

"I don't—much," panted Saxe.

"Don't look at them, and don't think of them at all. Think of what you are doing. There is plenty of room for us, good foothold, and nothing to mind. That's the way: hook on firmly with your ice-axe. It is better than a hand."

Over and over was this slow process repeated up and up that arete—the little serrated blocks they had seen from below proving mighty masses worn by frost and sunshine till in places they were quite sharp. But, as Melchior said, they gave excellent foothold; and at last the snow above them, a great bed surrounded by rock, was gained, and they all sat down to rest while Dale drew out his watch.

"An hour and five minutes, Melchior," he said. "And good work, sir. That was a very stiff climb. What are you thinking, young herr?"

"Of how terribly steep the mountain seems from up here," replied Saxe, who was holding by a piece of granite and gazing down.

"No more steep than it was coming up, lad," cried Dale. "Now, Melchior! what next?"

"Right across this snow, sir. It is perfectly safe; and then we can take the slope above there, and we are on the shoulder. Then, as we arranged, we'll take to the rock or the snow again, whichever seems best."

"Ready, Saxe?"

"Yes," said the boy shortly; and for the next hour they tramped over snow like hailstones, and then zigzagged up a slope beyond it, where in the steepest places a little cutting became necessary; but this was all mastered in time, and the shoulder was reached, from which half a mile away the final peak arose—a blunt hillock with perfectly smooth snow on one side, bare rock, broken and rugged, on the other, while the snow at the top seemed to have been cut clean off perpendicularly.

Half an hour's rugged walk brought them to a point where they had to decide whether to turn north and climb the snow, or south and take to the bare steep rock.

"What do you say, Melchior?" said Dale, giving the guide a meaning look at the same time.

"The snow is too steep, and it looks dangerous there. It is now well on in the afternoon, and our weight might start it; and if it did—you know."

"What!" said Saxe excitedly. Dale was silent for a few moments.

"I do not want to scare you, lad, but you have to learn these things. If we started the snow at that angle, it would all go down with a rush into the nearest valley."

"And what would become of us!"

Neither of the men answered; but Saxe knew.

"That is going to be a stiff climb, Melchior," said Dale, after a few minutes' searching the place with his eyes.

"I dare say it will be, sir," replied the guide. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

They started again, taking to the rocky face where the steepness kept the snow from hanging. The sun was now shining full upon them, adding its heat to that produced by the exertion. The advance was slow and tentative for some time, resulting in several failures; and so painfully steep had the place become that Dale twice, to Saxe's great relief, suggested that it would be better to give it up, and the guide seemed to be unwillingly about to agree, when all at once a narrow rift opened out before them.

"We're at the top, herr," he cried joyfully; and, stepping out, he stopped in the furrow carved in the mountain's side, and prepared to climb.

"Can you get up there?" said Saxe, wiping his streaming face and gazing skyward.

"Yes, herr, and you can too. Once up there, the rest will be easy."

Dale looked doubtful, but he said nothing—only stood watching while Melchior crept right into the narrowest part and began to ascend, taking advantage of every crack and prominence, rising higher and higher without a moment's hesitation, though so narrow was their standing-place, that unless Dale and Saxe could stop him in case of a slip, the unfortunate man would glance off and shoot into space.

Melchior was still climbing on when this idea struck Dale, who turned sharply to his young companion.

"Why are you staring down there!" he said, as he noticed that Saxe had turned from watching the guide and was looking down the tremendous series of precipices stretching step-like from where he stood to the valley southward.

"I was thinking how deep it is."

"Think of how far it is to the top, and let the rest take care of itself. Here," he whispered, "stand close in with me. If he slips we must stop him somehow. Well," he cried aloud, "can you manage it?"

"Oh yes, herr; and so will you," cried Melchior. "It is not so very hard. This rift seems as if made on purpose."

The task looked very laborious all the same. But the man's climbing skill was wonderful; nothing seemed to daunt him, and at the end of a few minutes there came a triumphant jodel from the invisible spot to which he had made his way.

Directly after the rope fell in rings from above.

"Let the young herr fasten it round him before he begins to climb," cried Melchior; and he was obeyed.

"You will never climb that, Saxe," said Dale. "It was a hard task for him."

"But I must try," said the boy huskily; and he started at once, desperately and in haste.

"Bravo! one does not know what one can do till one tries," cried Dale. For with the rope always kept taut to help him and give him confidence, Saxe climbed on, his nerves in such a state of exaltation that he forgot how dizzy it had made him feel to see Melchior mount, but at the same time remembered almost exactly how he had planted his feet in the critical places.

This went on till he was three parts of the way up, where a projecting rock overhead had to be passed; and the boy now felt, as he rested for a few moments, that if he slipped there or failed to cling sufficiently tightly, he must fall to the broad shelf where Dale was standing, and rebound into the awful depths below.

In fancy he saw himself bounding from place to place, always gathering speed, till he lay a shapeless mass among the stones of the valley; and, in spite of himself, he turned his head and looked down.

The view was so appalling, as he clung there, that a low hoarse sigh escaped him; his nerves tingled; a curious sensation ran up his spine, and as he wrenched his head away from the sight which fascinated him, he closed his eyes.

A tug at the rope roused him, and brought him back to himself, just as Dale was pressing forward into the gash in the rock, ready to seize him as he fell.

"Come, herr," Melchior shouted, from his invisible resting-place. "Are you at that bit of sticking-out rock? Come along: it's very easy."

Saxe raised his arms, which had felt nerveless the moment before, took a fresh hold, and began to climb desperately. The first movements were horrible, and he felt the creeping sensation of horror once more, and stopped, clinging hard, thinking that he could do no more; but the rope was against his face, and as it vibrated he knew that even if he slipped it would hold him, and the cold, dank sensation passed away again as he got a good foothold and was helped by the strain on the rope; and just while he was saying to himself, "I shall never do it—I shall never do it!" a great hand seized the rope round his chest, and he was drawn right on to a rocky platform, where Melchior was seated with his legs widely apart, and his heels against two projecting corners.

"Well done, herr!" cried the guide, laughing, as he proceeded to untie the rope: "you and I will do some of the big peaks yet."

Saxe said nothing, but seated himself twenty feet farther up the rock, with his heels planted in the same way as the guide's, and letting the rope pass through his hands as it was gathered into rings.

"Ready, herr!" shouted Melchior.

"Yes," came from below; and the rope was thrown over the edge.

"Make it fast round your waist, herr," cried Melchior; and then, turning to Saxe, he said, with a smile meant to inspire confidence, "We can pull him up if he likes."

"Now!" came from below.

"Ready," shouted the guide; and then to Saxe—"Pull as I pull, herr, steady and strong, always keeping a tight grip, in case of a slip. It gives him confidence."

Saxe nodded; the rope was kept tight, and drawn in foot by foot, till, just as the lad was thinking of what a tremendous jerk it would be if Dale slipped, the latter's head appeared above the rock, with his ice-axe projecting over his shoulder, it having worked up in the climbing till it threatened to escape from the belt and fall.

"Take a good grip of the rope with one hand, herr," said Melchior quietly: "we have you. Now get hold of your ice-axe and push it on before you."

Dale obeyed without a word, as mountaineers do follow out the instructions one gives to another without question; and this done, he finished the climb and stood up.

"Rather a bad bit," he said; "that projecting rock was awkward."

"Yes, herr, it teased me a little," replied Melchior quietly, "but I found good hold for my feet. What do you think of it now?"

"Why, there's no more to do but walk quietly up this slope."

"And in ten minutes we shall stand on the snow at the very top."

Saxe drew a long breath full of relief as he looked behind him; and, gathering up the rope, Melchior trudged on ahead, picking the best path among the weathered and splintered rocks, till in a short time he climbed up over the last slope, dug his ice-axe in the thick stratum of snow, which began suddenly and sloped down toward the north, and uttered a loud jodel.

The others joined him directly, a peculiar sensation of nervousness still affecting Saxe, though the place was perfectly safe, and he could have run some distance in any direction without risk of a fall.

"Grand!" cried Dale, as he looked round. "What a view! and how strange that we should be able to stand here on the dividing line one foot on snow, one on rock. Well, Saxe, I congratulate you on your first ascent. You have done wonders."

"Have I?" said the boy nervously.

"Yes, wonders, herr. Bravo! Bravo!"

"Have I?" said Saxe faintly, as to himself he thought, "Oh, if they only knew!"

"Yes, my boy; but what's the matter?"

"I—I don't know," he panted; "I—I feel as if I had overdone it, and broken something."

"Eh? What? Where?" cried Dale, anxiously catching him by the arm.

"Here," said Saxe, striking his chest: "I can't breathe enough; it comes short, like that."

The others burst out laughing; and Saxe stared at them angrily: it seemed so unfeeling.

"Sit down, boy. Come, Melchior, lunch or dinner. We've got to descend. Why, Saxe lad, where's your school teaching?"

"My teaching?"

"Yes. Don't you know you are about eleven or twelve thousand feet above sea-level?"

"I know we are terribly high."

"Yes, and the air is so thin and rarefied that breathing is hard work. That's nothing. Now for a good rest and refresh. We must not stay up here very long."

"No, herr," said the guide, spreading the contents of the wallet on the rocks in the sunshine. "The weather changes quickly up these mountains. Look! yonder the mists are gathering already."

He pointed to the clouds hanging round the nearest peak, as they sat down and ate with mountaineers' appetites, till, just as they were ending, Melchior rose—rather excitedly for him.

"Look!" he said, pointing: "you do not often see that."

He pointed to where the landscape, with its peaks and vales, was blotted out by a peculiar-looking sunlit haze, in which were curious, misty, luminous bodies; and as they looked, there, each moment growing more distinct, were three gigantic human figures, whose aspect, in his highly strained state, seemed awful to one of the lookers-on.

"Change of weather, Melchior," said Dale.

"Perhaps, herr; but I think we shall have plenty of time to get down first."

"What is it?" said Saxe, whose eyes were fixed upon the strange apparition.

"Only our reflections on the face of that mist," said Dale. "Lift up your alpenstock and wave it."

Saxe did so, and the central giant did the same.

"Both hands."

This was imitated, and every other movement, in a weird fashion that was impressive as it was startling.

"It is only one of Nature's own looking-glasses," said Dale laughingly.

"But there are some of our people who look upon it as a warning," said the guide gravely. "They say it signifies that those who see it will soon die in the mountains."

Saxe turned pale. He was in such an exalted condition, mentally as well as bodily, that the slightest thing threatened to upset him; and at the guide's words a profound sensation of horror attacked him, making him feel utterly unnerved:

"They had all those dreadful places to descend."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A MOUNTAIN MIST.

"Hah!" ejaculated Dale, as he watched the strange phenomenon; "people will talk superstitious nonsense and believe in ghost stories, portents and other old women's tales. But don't you take any notice of them, Saxe. They will not do for Englishmen. Why, you have no faith in such things, Melchior?"

"Not much, herr," said the guide, smiling: "I have seen the 'spectre of the Brocken,' as people call it, twenty times at least. But I do fear mists."

"Yes; those are real dangers. And you think we shall have them here!"

"Yes, herr. I should like us to descend at once. We can do nothing in a fog."

"Come along, Saxe: we'll go down."

"Can't—can't we stop a little longer?" said the lad hesitatingly.

"No. You will have plenty more chances of seeing views like this, or finer. What is it, Melchior?"

"We were forgetting all about the rocks, herr. There are some curious bits here."

He picked up two or three fragments and handled them, but Dale threw them aside after a glance.

"Only very fine, hard granite, with scarcely a grain of felspar," he said. "What about this?"

As he spoke he stooped down over a narrow crevice running up a portion of the summit.

"Yes. There may be something here, but it would require blasting tools and power to open it out. Look here, Saxe!"

He pointed to the narrow split, in which it was just possible to get the end of his ice-axe handle; and as Saxe bent down he saw that the sides were lined with tiny quartz crystals, which grew bigger lower down.

"I want to find a rift in the mountains leading into a cavern where we may find crystals worth saving. Yes, Melchior, I will not waste time. These are of no value. Lead on."

The guide had been giving an anxious look round, for there was a faint sighing of the wind, and clouds were floating around them now and then, shutting off the sun.

"I should like to get well down, herr, before the weather changes. The young herr would find it terribly cold."

"Hadn't we better wait till it gets clearer," said Saxe, "and go down then?"

"If we did we might not be able to get down at all," said Dale quietly.

"Why?"

"We might be frozen to death. Come, Saxe, you must not be greedy. You've had a splendid ascent on a lovely day, and you will have others. Always pay respect to your guide's opinion about the weather. Come along."

Saxe could hang back no longer, though the sensation of dread he suffered from was terrible. Try how he would, there was the horror of that first bit of the descent before him; and, shuddering and feeling cold, he followed to the edge of the rock where he had found the guide sitting, and a fresh access of horror came over him as Dale said coolly:

"Now, Melchior, it is your turn to go first and have the use of the rope. I'll come last."

"We can all use it, herr," said the guide. "It will be quite long enough if I pass it round this block and let both ends hang down. I can draw it after us when we are down."

He threw the rope over a great block of granite, and proceeded to draw it along till the ends were equal, when he lightly twisted the rope and threw it over the precipice.

"Then I'll go first," said Dale; and, seizing the twisted rope, he lowered himself over the edge, hung in sight for a few moments, and then, as soon as his hands were clear of the edge, allowed himself to slide down, while Saxe's palms felt cold and wet.

He watched the rope intently and strained his ears, and then started, for Melchior gently laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"What is it?" cried Saxe excitedly. "Has he fallen?"

"No, herr; and nobody is going to fall. You are fancying troubles. I know. I have not led strangers up the mountains for twenty years without studying their faces as well as the face of Nature. I can read yours. You are scarcely yourself, and feeling fear where there is no need. Come now, take a long breath. Make an effort, and be calm. I'll draw up the rope and fasten one end round you, and lower you down."

"No," cried Saxe excitedly; "I can get down without. Is he safe yet?"

"Safe? He is down: look at the rope shaking. Shall I draw it up?"

For answer Saxe stooped down, and rose again to get his ice-axe well behind him in his belt. Then he stooped again, seized the lightly twisted rope, lay down upon his chest, thrust his legs over the edge of the precipice, worked himself back till he was clear, and began to glide slowly down.

He shuddered, for the rope began to twist; and directly after, instead of gazing at the rough granite rock, he was facing outward, and gazing wildly down at the step-like series of precipices below.

"Not too fast," came from Dale; and this brought him back to his position, and, twisting his legs about the double rope, he slipped down more slowly, wondering the while why the rope had ceased to turn and swing, till he saw that it was being held tightly now.

"Well done!" cried Dale: "you are getting quite at home at it. Right!" he shouted to Melchior, whose two legs appeared directly after, then his body, and he slid down rapidly, as if it were one of the most simple things in the world—as it really was, save that, instead of being close to the level, it was twelve thousand feet above.

As Melchior joined them, he rapidly untwisted the rope, held the two ends apart, and, as he drew with his left, he sent a wave along from his right, and threw the end up, with the result that the rope came away easily, and was rapidly coiled up.

The mists were collecting on the summit as they reached the snow bed, but they followed their old track easily enough; and when at last, in what seemed to be a surprisingly short space of time, they came to the head of the arete, the white, spectral looking fog was creeping down in long-drawn wreaths, toward which Melchior kept turning his eyes.

"Look as if they will catch us soon," said Dale quietly.

"Pray Heaven they may not till we are clear of this ridge, herr!" said the guide piously. "Now, quick—the rope! You will go first."

The rope was rapidly attached, and, as Dale started to descend, it seemed to Saxe that he was disappearing over the edge of a precipice; and as this was repeated again and again while they reversed the way by which they had ascended, the guide sitting fast and holding on till they were down, the place seemed far more terrible, and the snow slopes on either side almost perpendicular.

They made good way, however, Melchior keeping on inciting them to fresh exertion.

"Go on, gentlemen—go on!" he said. "I have you safe. The rope is good. Go on, herrs—go on!"

But the descent over those rugged knife-edged ridges was so perilous, that Dale went slowly and cautiously; and when he reached each stopping-place he held on till Saxe had passed down to him. Once the boy seemed to totter as he was passing from one of the rocks to the other, over a patch of snow between them; but the firm strain upon the rope gave him support, and he reached the rock and began to lower himself.

In spite of their hastening, that which Melchior had apprehended happened: a cloud of mist suddenly started in advance of the rest, which had formed upward, and now completely veiled the summit. This mist-cloud rolled rapidly down when the party were about two-thirds of the way down the ridge, and just as Saxe was being lowered down.

An ejaculation from the guide made the lad look up; and he saw the stern, earnest face for a moment, then the fog rolled over it, and the guide's voice sounded strange as he shouted:

"Go on, young herr; and directly you reach Mr Dale sit fast. Don't move."

Five minutes later Melchior was with them, and they crouched together, partly on rock, partly in snow.

"We must not move, herr," said Melchior. "It is unfortunate, but I was rather afraid. If it had held off for another quarter of an hour, I should not have cared."

"Will it last long?" asked Saxe.

"Who can say, herr! Perhaps for days. In the mountains, when the weather is bad, we can only wait and hope."

"Had we not better try to get down off this edge?"

"As a last resource, if the mist does not lift, herr. But not yet."

Dale uttered an impatient ejaculation; but the guide filled and lit his pipe, settling himself down quite in the snow.

"Wind may come later on," he said, "and then perhaps we can get down. It is a pity, for this is the worst place in the whole descent. But there: the mountains are mountains, and anything is better than an icy wind, that numbs you so that you cannot stir."

He was scarcely visible, close as he was; but he had hardly finished speaking when Saxe saw his head, at first faintly, then clearly—for the cloud of mist had been still descending, and literally rolled down past them, Saxe himself standing out clear, then Dale, and the rocks below them one by one as far as the curve permitted them to see.

It was bright sunshine now once more, and as the rays from the west shot by, it was between two strata of clouds, glorifying that which was below and lighting up that above.

"Quick, herr!" said Melchior, in an authoritative tone. "We have this bad piece to finish, if we can, before another cloud rolls down."

The descent was continued, seeming to Saxe almost interminable. Then they were hurrying along over the snow, after passing the morning's resting-place, and on and on till the shelf was reached with the precipice running down so steeply, just as mist came rolling down from above and also up from the depths below, meeting just where the party stood roping themselves together.

But, to the surprise of Saxe, the guide took no heed—he merely went on fastening the rope till he had done.

"You will not venture along that shelf while it is so thick, Melchior?" said Dale.

"Oh yes, herr. We must not wait here."

"But the danger!"

"There is scarcely any, herr," replied the guide. "The great danger is of going astray. We cannot go wrong here. We have only to go along the shelf to the end."

"But it is like going along the edge of a precipice in the dark."

"It is like darkness, and more confusing, herr; but we have the wall on our left to steady us, and where we are is terribly exposed. Trust me, sir."

"Forward!" said Dale quietly. "Keep the rope fairly tight."

Melchior stepped at once on to the ledge, and the others followed, all three going cautiously and very slowly through the opaque mist, which looked so solid at Saxe's feet that more than once he was ready to make a false step, while he wondered in himself that he did not feel more alarm, but attributed the cause rightly to the fact that he could not see the danger yawning below. To make the passage along this ledge the more perilous and strange, each was invisible to the other, and their voices in the awful solitude sounded muffled and strange.

As Saxe stepped cautiously along, feeling his way by the wall and beating the edge of the precipice with the handle of his ice-axe, he felt over again the sensations he had had in passing along there that morning. But the dread was not so keen—only lest there should be a sudden strain on the rope caused by one of them slipping; and he judged rightly that, had one of them gone over the precipice here, nothing could have saved the others, for there was no good hold that they could seize, to bear up against the sudden jerk.

"Over!" shouted Melchior at last. "Steady, herr—steady! Don't hurry! That's it: give me your hand."

"I can't see you."

"No? Come along, then, another yard or two: you are not quite off the ledge. That's it. Safe!"

"And thank goodness!" said Dale, with a sigh of relief, a few minutes later. "That was worse than ever. Saxe, my lad, you are having a month's mountaineering crowded into one day."

"Yes, herr," said Melchior; "he is having a very great lesson, and he'll feel a different person when he lies down to sleep."

"He will if we have anywhere to sleep to-night. It seems to me as if we must sit under a block of stone and wait until this mist is gone."

"Oh no, herr," said the guide; "we will keep to the rope, and you two will save me if I get into a bad place. I seem to know this mountain pretty well now; and, if you recollect, there was nothing very bad. I think we'll go on, if you please, and try and reach the camp."

"You asked me to trust you," said Dale. "I will. Go on."

"Forward, then; and if I do not hit the snow col I shall find the valley, and we can journey back."

For the first time Saxe began to feel how utterly exhausted he had grown. Till now the excitement and heat of the journey had monopolised all his thoughts; but, as they stumbled on down slope after slope strewn with debris, or over patches of deep snow, his legs dragged heavily, and he struck himself awkwardly against blocks of granite that he might have avoided.

The work was comparatively simple, though. It was downward, and that must be right unless Melchior led them to the edge of some terrible precipice right or left of the track they had taken in the morning.

But matters began to go easier and easier, for at the end of another hour's tramp they suddenly emerged from the mist, coming out below it, and after a few more dozen steps seeing it like a roof high above their heads.

Here the guide stopped, mounted a stone, and stood looking about him in the evening light.

"I see," he cried: "we are not half an hour out of our way. Off to the right we shall reach the snow, and then our task is done."

Melchior was right: in less than the time he had named they reached the place where they had left the great snow slope, up which they had had to zigzag; and after descending it diagonally for some distance, the guide proposed a glissade.

"The young herr shall come down behind me this time," he said; and after a few preliminary words of advice they started, and rapidly descended safely to the debris at the foot of the snow, from which the walk to the camp was not long.

Melchior soon had a good fire burning, with Gros standing near contemplating it solemnly, while Dale placed their provisions ready.

"Now, Saxe, my lad," he said, "I congratulate you on your display of honest English pluck to-day. I don't see that any boy of your age could have behaved better. Come along: coffee's ready. You must be half starved."

There was a pause.

"Ready, Melchior?"

"Yes, herr: the coffee smells heavenly, and I have an appetite for three."

"You shall satisfy it, then. To-morrow we'll go back and fetch all our traps, and then come over here again; for I do not think we can get a better part for our search. Come, Saxe, wake up."

But there was no reply: Saxe was sleeping with all his might after the tremendous exertions of the day.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

The mist on the mountain had not been without its meaning, and a heavy persistent rain kept them all the next day close in under the shelter of the rock, where the fire had to be lighted too, and after a great deal of difficulty this was accomplished by Melchior getting a few stout dead branches and bringing them under cover.

These he whittled into shavings, and these shavings served to start the green pine boughs which had formed their beds; and once a pretty good glow was obtained, with plenty of embers, the wetness of the branches brought under cover mattered very little, especially as the guide ranged them close to the fire to dry, ready against they were required; and had contrived that the blinding smoke should sweep right out at once, a few broad branched boughs stuck in the ground or propped upright helping to establish a draught.

The feeling of restfulness and the hot coffee were sufficient to make the first hour tolerable, in spite of the constant dripping of the trees and the rush of water down from the natural eaves of their shelter; but after a time it began to grow monotonous.

The outlook was not extensive either, for beyond the thick driving rain the hollows were filled with dense mist, and the mountains around were quite invisible; and Saxe turned from gazing out between two little shoots of water to look rather appealingly at Dale.

"What's the matter, Saxe?" said the latter.

"It's so horribly wet."

"Well, it's wet everywhere sometimes. Sit down near the fire and rest. You'll be all the better for it when the rain is over."

"But it looks as if it never would be over."

"But it will be. There: help keep up the fire, and be patient. We can't always be climbing."

"I say, look at that," cried Saxe, laughing; for just then the mule, which had been grazing a short distance away, troubling itself not in the slightest degree about the rain, came slowly towards them, with its shaggy coat looking as if it had been oiled, and the water trickling from it in streams, as if it were a walking reservoir filled a little too full.

It was evident that it considered the rain a little too heavy now, for it thrust its head under cover, and blinked for a few moments at the fire before giving itself a tremendous shake, sending the water flying from its ears, and then drooped them low down, as if holding them out to the fire to dry.

In this position its head was in shelter, but the rain streamed down upon its back and hind quarters, while a perfect deluge, like that from a waterspout, ran down a long gully in the overhanging rock right on to the spine just between the shoulders, and there divided to trickle on either side down the fore legs, and then run down through the pine needles, which formed too thick a bed for any of the water to make a pool.

To the surprise of all, the mule was perfectly satisfied so long as it could keep its head and ears in the warmth and shelter, and never once attempted to creep in nearer; and so another hour passed, only broken by the low murmur of Dale's voice as he talked to the guide, and the plash and rush of water. For the dripping was drowned now by the enormous amount which fell, and this went on increasing till there was quite a heavy roar, as of many falls.

"Is that anything?" said Saxe at last, as a low booming noise fell upon their ears—a sound which gradually increased.

"A waterfall," said Melchior. "The waters on the mountains are gathering together and plunging into the valley. Listen, and you can hear others," he continued, as he held up his hand.

From apparently close at hand what sounded like the echo of the first fall could be heard, and beyond that, farther away, another, and again another, and so on, fainter and fainter, till the whole valley seemed to be filled with the noise of rushing waters.

It was somewhat awe-inspiring, and suggested the possibility of a great flood coming down upon them to sweep everything away; but at the hint of such a catastrophe Melchior shook his head.

"Oh no," he said. "If we were on the bank of a big stream that might be, and we should have to climb up to a place of safety; but here the waters divide a hundred ways, and will never reach us. Hah!—snow."

He held up his hand as a rushing noise was heard somewhere high up among the dense mists. This rapidly increased to a terrific roar, followed by a deep booming crash; and so tremendous was the sound, that the noise of the falling waters seemed for the moment to be hushed. Then the thunderous crash rolled right away among the mountains, dying in faint echoes, and the rush of the waterfalls filled the air once more.

"A heavy avalanche, Melchior," said Dale.

"Yes, herr; there is a great deal of snow up in the mountains, and this will make more."

"What, this rain?" said Saxe.

"It is snow a thousand feet up, herr. When the clouds pass away you will see."

Melchior's words were correct, for toward evening the rain ceased quite suddenly, and the sun broke through the mists, which rolled their way up the mountain sides as if to reach the snow peaks. And all the lower slopes were now powdered with newly fallen snow, where they had been green on the previous day.

Every tiny-looking cascade had been turned into a furious torrent, whose waters came leaping and bounding down from far on high, one running into another, till the last was vastly swollen and plunged into the valley, to turn its stream into quite a large river for a few hours.

"Well?" said Dale, inquiringly, as he returned with Saxe from watching the rush of waters and the beauty of the fresh snow.

"Well, herr?" said the guide quietly.

"What do you think? Could we start back now and get to Andregg's chalet to-night?"

"It is not impossible, herr; but the walking would be slippery and bad, every stream so swollen that they would be dangerous to wade, and the distance is so great that—"

"Well, go on. Why do you stop?"

"I had forgotten the schlucht, herr. We could not get through there. It would be terribly swollen. The water is close up to or over the path, and—No, I should not like to be answerable for your safety. No, herr, we must wait till to-morrow."

"But we shall not have enough to eat," said Saxe.

"Plenty, though only simple," said Dale, smiling. "Come, Saxe, that's not like talking like a mountaineer. To-morrow morning, then: will that do, Melchior?"

"I think so, herr. I am sure about our way to the mouth of the schlucht. Then we can see."

The morning dawned with the different falls wonderfully reduced; and after a breakfast that was exactly what Dale had said overnight, an early start was made, so that they were well on their way by the time that the sun began to tinge the tops of the mountains, which, seen now from a different point of view, seemed more beautiful than before.

Then by degrees the various familiar parts came into sight, till they neared and descended into the open valley along which the river ran, and at last came to a halt close to the mouth of the gorge, where the fount gushed down and joined the water at their feet.

The horror and dread they had felt came back to their memories as they gazed down at the murky stream, rushing furiously along, now evidently many feet deeper than when they had passed that way; and Melchior drew their attention to the fact that it must have been much higher up the rocks on the previous day.

"What do you think of it?" asked Dale.

"There is a great deal of water, herr; but I think the path will be all clear. Now it is so full, the water will flow more quietly."

"But the mule: do you think you can get it through?"

"Oh yes, herr."

"But suppose it falls from one of these narrow places?" said Saxe excitedly.

"Oh, then we should have to go back and get it ashore, and try again, herr. Gros knows the way by water."

"But surely that animal will never get through, Melchior?"

"Oh yes, herr. Certainly he has no hands, but his feet are as true, or truer, than a man's. You will see he will get through. And I shall carry the basket; it is light now. You see I can shift it as I like,— he cannot."

"Well, you know best," said Dale. "How do you feel for the journey, Saxe?"

"Don't like it," said the lad bluntly, "but I'm ready. It isn't so bad as what we did up the mountain."

"No: you are getting your head, my boy, fast. Ready, Melchior?"

"Yes, unless the herr likes to sit down and rest for half an hour first."

"By no means," cried Dale. "We should be thinking of the ugly bit of work we have to do—eh, Saxe?"

"Yes, let's go on at once, please. I don't like waiting."

"How shall you go—leading the mule or driving it?" asked Dale.

"Neither, herr. I shall tell him to go on, and he will lead us."

The guide shouldered the basket, which was somewhat lightened by Dale and Saxe each taking out some of their belongings and slinging them on by straps. Then Melchior led the mule down to the ledge at the opening, said a few encouraging words, and waited.

The mule hesitated. The water was right over the track here, and the animal bent down, sniffed and pawed at it as if uneasy; but a few more words from Melchior made it go on a few steps very slowly, and continually trying its way, so as to get a good foothold before going on, and acting in a wonderfully human way by pressing itself very close to the rock.

"I hardly think we ought to venture, Melchior," said Dale.

"Oh yes, herr. We know the extent of the danger. Gros swims like a dog, and you know he was none the worse for the last fall."

"Go on, then."

The mule was already going on. Finding the water more shallow on the ledge, it progressed with a little confidence, for the ledge eloped upward, and it could see the damp stone clear of the water a short distance on.

"There, herr, you see," said the guide, after they had waded with the water just over their boots to the clear stone ledge along which the mule went on steadily now, "there is nothing to mind here."

"I am glad you think so," said Dale, shouting loudly, to make his voice heard beyond Saxe, who was between, and they were getting now within reach of the reverberating roar of the torrent.

Saxe glanced down as they passed the angles and gradually entered the semi-darkness, and saw that the surface of the water was smoother, and that, as they passed the waves formed by the water being hurled against the opposing faces of the rock, there was less foam and turmoil; but these places looked, if anything, more terrible than before, and the water, as it surged up so much nearer his feet, looked to his excited vision as if stealthily writhing towards him to lap round his legs like some huge serpent, and snatch him down into the depths.

Conversation was impossible, but the guide shouted a few words of encouragement to the mule, and from time to time waited for Saxe to come close up, when he shouted an inquiry or two in his ear.

"Yes, all right," cried Saxe, who gained encouragement from the calm matter-of-fact way in which the guide went on; while, just dimly-seen as the gorge curved and wound, the mule trudged on, twitching its ears and evidently caring nothing for the turmoil and rush just below.

"I half wish he had proposed the rope, though," thought Saxe, as they went on, with the various familiar parts seeming terrible enough, but very different to when he came through with the horrible feeling that Melchior was lost, and that at any moment they might see his body whirling round in one of the pools.

These were not so striking now, for in most of the places, as he peered down through the gloom and mist, the water was above the overhanging, cavernous holes, and the peculiar eye-like aspect of the one particular spot which had fascinated him so deeply was entirely hidden.

"It wasn't such a very great thing, after all, for Melchior to do," he thought, as they went on. "He has had plenty of practice, and had been before. I believe I could go through by myself."

"But I shouldn't like to," he added, after a few moments' thought; for he had to go along more carefully, in obedience to a sign from Melchior, the rock being slippery as they descended lower in the part they had now reached, and it suddenly dawned upon him that the water must have been over where he stood not perhaps many hours before.

It had the effect of coming up higher, and he was startled for the moment, fancying that the flood was rising; but he grew confident as he saw the mule clearly now, where the gorge wound off to the left and then turned again to the right, so that as the mule passed the corner and disappeared the water was only a few inches below its hoofs.

Then Melchior passed round and out of sight, and Saxe's own turn came, and he followed into one of the gloomiest parts of the rift. And here the ledge still descended slowly till the water began to wash over the path; then, as he looked anxiously forward, he could dimly see that at every step the water splashed beneath the animal's hoofs, and the next minute it was standing still, with the guide close up behind.

Saxe stopped short, after feeling his way for a step or two with the handle of his ice-axe, while he leaned a little against the steep wall; and Dale came up and touched his shoulder, bending down to shout in his ear.

"I can't see from here. Is the path more covered where they are?"

"I don't know,—I think so," Saxe shouted back, his voice seeming to be swept away by the rushing noise that appeared to accompany the water as it hurried along.

The guide's figure was indistinct in the mist of spray, and the mule's seemed lost in the rock, so similar were they in tone; but the spectators could just make out that Melchior was doing all he could short of blows to urge the mule on, and that it was stubbornly refusing to stir.

"You must go on, or let me pass you, Saxe," shouted Dale: "I want to speak to the guide."

"It gets deeper here," cried Saxe: "it's over my ankles, and the water feels like ice."

"Never mind,—go on; keep as close to the wall as you can. Shall I get by you?"

"No," said Saxe stoutly; "I'll try."

He waded along the shelf, with the water getting deeper still; and now he could feel the curious sensation of the rushing stream bearing against his legs, which were immersed half-way to his knees; and at every step he cautiously sounded, to make sure where he should plant his feet.

Before he had gone many paces, Melchior had returned to meet him; and as Dale closed up the guide shouted:

"I can't get him along, sir, and I dare not make him restive by a blow."

"No, no—of course not. But the water?"

"It is deeper farther on, herr—I think about a foot—and he will not move."

"It is impossible to back him, of course?"

"Oh yes, herr; and he cannot turn."

"Then we must get by him and go on and leave him to follow."

"Impossible, herr," yelled Melchior. "If we tried he might kick."

"Go and coax him."

"It is no use, herr. The poor beast is right. He says in his way that it is not safe to go on, and that we must wait."

"Wait in a place like this!" cried Dale. "The water is icy, and the noise deafening. Can you recollect how much the path goes down beyond the mule?"

"I don't think it goes down at all, herr."

"Then the water must be rising," cried Dale excitedly; and the guide nodded.

"We must not be caught in this terrible trap. I thought the water was sinking."

"It was, herr; but there must have been a fresh fall of rain at the other end of the lake, and it is rising now fast."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A GRAVE PERIL.

"Then we must get back at once. But the mule?"

"We cannot move him, herr. It is impossible to do anything, and he must stay. The water may not rise high enough to take him off his legs. If it does he must go down with the stream and get out himself below yonder. I would say stay, but if the water rises to our waists, we should not be able to stand against the stream."

"Try the mule once more," said Dale. "We may get through."

The guide waded carefully back along the ledge-like path, and they could dimly see him patting and coaxing the beast, but with no effect whatever; and they stood there impatiently waiting till he returned to them, but not before both Dale and Saxe were painfully aware that the water was slowly creeping up toward their knees and the position growing perilous.

"It is useless, herr," cried Melchior, as he rejoined them. "You will lead back, sir; but wait a minute,—we will have the rope."

He took it from his shoulder and rapidly passed one end to Dale, who knotted it about his waist, while the middle was once more tied round Saxe, and finally the other end to the guide, who then made a sign, and Dale began to retrace his steps toward the lower mouth of the gorge.

Even in that little time the difference in the level of the water was very evident; and as Saxe waded along, with the stream rushing by him and seeming to give him quite a series of pushes, he could not help an excited feeling of dread filling his breast, and he wondered whether he should get out of the place alive if some sudden rush of water came down in a wave and swept them off the ledge.

It was slow work for a few minutes, till the path rose once more, and then they progressed pretty quickly till the shelf ran down again; and as Saxe went on through the gloom, feeling that the rope was kept fairly taut, another sharp bend was turned, and they came in view of the facing wall of rock, against which the stream rushed and rose up now in such a body that Melchior raised his voice loudly:

"Stop, herr!" he cried: "don't try to pass."

"No," said Dale, as Saxe and the guide closed up, "the water has increased there terribly. We should be swept away."

"Then we're shut in!" cried Saxe.

"Yes, herr; but only for a time. The waters rise quickly and fall as quickly in the schluchts. Let's get back to the highest part, where we can be dry. If we could only have reached farther on!"

He said no more, for it was hard work to make the voice heard in the midst of this terrific reverberating war of the fierce waters, but he turned and led the way back round the corner they had so lately passed, to where the ledge was fully four feet above the stream.

Here he calmly seated himself on the damp stone, with his legs hanging down toward the dark rushing water, took out and filled his great pipe, and then looked up at his companions, as if inviting them to be seated too.

There was but little temptation to follow his example, and sit down on the humid rock; but it offered rest, poor as it was, and Saxe and Dale both followed the example set them, while Melchior calmly lit his pipe and began to smoke and wait patiently for the water to go down.

But Saxe's nature was too impatient for this, and before he had been seated there many minutes he began to strain his neck in looking up to right and left.

Melchior leaned over to him and shouted in his ear, he having divined the boy's thoughts from his actions.

"No, herr, no—not here. There is one place where, with a hammer and plenty of iron spikes to drive in the cracks of the rock, we might perhaps get to the top; but it would be impossible without. We should want ten times as much rope too."

"Is the water going down now?" shouted back Saxe, after a pause.

Melchior looked down and shook his head.

"Will it come with a sudden rush, like a river?"

"Oh no. It may rise very quickly, but not all at once. Of course it all comes from the lake, and the waters of the lake swell from hundreds of streams and falls. No, herr, it will not come down with a rush."

"But it is rising very fast," said Dale, who had caught part of their conversation. "Are we on the highest part that we can reach!"

"Yes, herr; and I am sorry I have brought you in. I try to be a perfect guide, but there is no such thing. I ought to have been prepared for another rise after the storm we had. Forgive me."

"You think, then, that the water will come up above where we are sitting."

The guide nodded, and pointed to a dimly-seen mark upon the wall, quite level with their heads.

"Then we must find some other ledge upon which we can stand," cried Dale, rising to his feet.

Melchior shook his head. "There is none," he said.

"You have not looked."

"Herr, I searched the wall with my eyes as we went and returned. A guide studies the places he passes, and learns them by heart, so that they may be useful at some time, should he want them. Look above you: the wall hangs over all the way. Nothing but a fly could stand anywhere along here."

It was undeniable, as Dale could see; and he leaned back against the rock and folded his arms, gazing down sternly at the rising water, till the guide spoke again, as he finished his pipe, knocked out the ashes, and replaced it in his breast.

"It would be wise to take off the rope," he said quietly.

"Why?" cried Saxe excitedly.

"Because, if we are swept down with the stream, it would be in our way— perhaps catch in some rock below, or tangle round our legs and arms."

"You feel, then," cried Dale, "that there is no hope of the waters going down, and that we shall soon have a chance to get through?"

Saxe, whose brain had been full of horrors suggested by the guide's last words—words which had called up visions of unfortunate people vainly struggling to reach the surface beyond the reach of the strangling water, but held down by that terrible rope—now sat listening eagerly for Melchior's next utterance, as the man began deliberately unfastening the rope.

"I can say nothing for certain, herr," he replied. "We are in the hands of the great God, whose children we are, and we must be patient and wait. I hope we shall get out safely,—perhaps I think we shall—but it is our duty to be ready. The young herr swims, I know, and so do you, herr; but if we have to make for the lower end of the schlucht, try and remember this: Don't struggle to get to the surface, for it is waste of strength. You cannot swim properly in this water, for all torrents are full of bubbles of air, and these do not bear one up like still water. What you must do is, to get a fresh breath now and then, and let the stream carry you along."

Saxe looked horrified, and the guide interpreted his thoughts.

"You will easily do it. The stream is swifter now than when I went through, and I had all the distance to journey. You will only have half. It looks very horrible, but after the first plunge you do not mind. Now, herr, let me untie you."

He turned to Saxe, who submitted to the operation without a word, and then watched the guide as he carefully laid up the rope in rings upon his left arm. Meanwhile, Dale had unfastened his end, and stood waiting to hand it to the guide, who secured it round the coil before hanging it across his breast.

He then carefully examined the level of the water by bending downward and noting where it now ran against a crack in the rock.

"Sinking?" cried Saxe eagerly.

"Rising," replied the guide laconically.

Then there was a long silence, during which Saxe, as if doubting that the guide was right, carefully examined the walls of the chasm, but always with the same result: he could see rifts and places in plenty where he could have climbed high enough to be beyond reach of the water even if it rose thirty or forty feet; but they were all on the other side, which was slightly convex, while their side, as the guide had pointed out, was concave, and would have matched exactly if the sides had been driven together.

"No, herr," said Melchior quietly, "I should not have stopped so still if there had been a chance to get away. I should like to say one thing more about the water rising: if we are swept down, try both of you not to cling to each other or me for help. One is quite useless at such a time, and we should only exhaust each other."

Dale nodded, and Saxe felt as if one prop which held him to existence had been suddenly struck away.

There was another dreary pause, during which they listened to the waters' roar; and Melchior bent down again, and rose to his feet once more, with his brow rugged.

"Rising," he said hoarsely; and then he leaned back against the rock with his arms crossed and his eyes half-closed, silent as his companions, for talking was painfully laborious at such a time.

An hour must have passed, and every time Melchior bent down he rose with the same stern look upon his countenance, the darkness making it heavier-looking and more weird. Both Saxe and Dale could see the difference plainly now, for it must have been a foot higher at least, and they knew it was only a matter of time before it would reach their feet.

And as Saxe stood there, miserably dejected, he began thinking and picturing to himself the snow melting and trickling down thousands of tiny cracks which netted the tops of the mountains, and then joined together in greater veins, and these again in greater, till they formed rushing streams, and lastly rivers, which thundered into the lake.

Then he began thinking of his school-days, and then of his life at home, and the intense delight he had felt at the prospect of coming out to the Alps with Dale, the pleasures he had anticipated, and how lightly he had treated all allusions to danger.

"I'll be careful," he had said: "I can take care of myself." And as he recalled all this, he dolefully asked himself how he could be careful at a time like this.

He was in the midst of these musings when Melchior bent down again, and rose once more so quickly, that Dale shouted to him.

"Rising? Shall we jump in and swim for it at once."

"No, herr; we must wait."

"Ah! look—look!" cried Saxe, pointing downward.

"Yes, yes: what?" cried the others in a breath.

"The poor mule—the poor mule!"

"What?"

"I saw it roll over. Its leg came out, and then I saw its back for a moment, and it was gone."

"Poor old Gros!" cried Melchior; and he hurried along the shelf as far as he could go, and knelt down.

He soon returned, looking very sad.

"I just caught a glint of its back in the water, and it was gone. Poor beast!" he said; "he did not seem to be struggling. I'm afraid he is gone."

This was a bad omen, and Dale looked very hard, and then Melchior once more went down on his knees and peered into the stream, to measure it with his eyes.

"Hah!" he exclaimed, as he got up and began to fumble for his pipe and matches.

"Risen much?" Dale's eyes said, as he turned them upon the guide.

"No, herr. Heaven be praised! The water is down a hand's breadth since I looked last. It is falling fast."

Dale turned sharply round and caught Saxe's hand, wringing it so hard that he gave him pain. Then, extending his hand to Melchior, the guide took it and held it for a few moments in silence.

"Yes, herr," he said cheerily; then, "I dare say we shall be through in an hour. The waters flow swiftly, and once the flood is passed the lake soon gets down again. But I'm sorry poor old Gros is gone."

"I will pay Andregg handsomely for his loss," said Dale quickly; but the guide shook his head.

"No money will pay for the loss of old friends, herr. Gros has been looked upon as a companion by Andregg for these many years. It will be a bitter thing to go and say he is dead."

He was silent for a few minutes. Then, raising his voice, he said loudly:

"It seems strange to you English gentlemen; but you come from great cities where people are many, and you can hardly count your friends. Out here in the deep thals, where men are shut up by the snow for weeks together, with only their cows and mules and goats, they grow to look upon the animals about them as friends, just as the poor animals themselves look to their masters for their care, and run to them for help and shelter when the great storms come down. Why, herr, you have seen they live in part of the house. The chalet is built up with a warm shelter beneath for the little flock or herd. Poor Gros! Andregg will nearly break his heart; and," added the guide simply, "he will not even have the consolation of saving the skin."

This last notion, in the reaction he felt, sounded so droll to Saxe that he turned away his head for fear the guide should see him smile.

But Melchior saw nothing; and stooping down again, he rose.

"Going down very fast, herr. In another hour I think we may venture to start again."

The torrent tore along so furiously that in the time specified the little party made a start, and then paused again as they reached the place where the ledge descended into the water. For the stream rushed along heavily as Melchior began to wade; and he once more uncoiled and passed the rope.

"It is heavy going," he shouted; "but every minute it will be better, for after a little while the path rises quite high."

They started again, and Saxe felt his heart beat heavily as the water rose to his knees and he could feel its soft strong push against him; but he forgot all this the next moment, on hearing Melchior give vent to his feelings in a long, loud jodel, which sounded strange enough in the awful rift, with an accompaniment of the noise of rushing waters, but not half so strange as the curious whinnying half-squeal, half-neigh, that came back from a little way ahead.

For there, dimly-seen, was the mule, standing just as they had left him; and as they approached he signified his joy by a very near approach to a bray.

"And you said you saw him swept by!" cried Dale.

"I saw a leg and a bit of back," said Melchior; "but it might have belonged to any poor drowned beast swept out of the lake. Why, Gros! old Gros!" he cried, wading up to the mule, "this is the grandest sight I've had these many days!" while the mule literally squealed and stamped, sending the water flying in its delight at hearing human voices again.

But a good hour passed before the cautious animal—as if assured by its own instinct that the way was safe—began to advance, and in a short time was upon the clear ledge, trudging steadily along, Melchior following with his load, till the bright daylight was seen ahead, and they came to a halt on the platform whence Gros had fallen and dragged in his leader.

The rest of the journey was easily performed, Gros bearing his lightened load on along the edge of the lake, and past the place where Dale had searched for gold, till the vale at the foot of the great glacier was neared, when the mule set up a loud squealing, which was answered by the donkey's bray and a lowing from the cows.

Then Melchior jodelled, and it was responded to from the chalet, where Andregg, his wife, and Pierre were standing watching, and ready to prepare a comfortable meal and usher Gros into the shelter in the lower part of the place.

In another hour Saxe was lying upon his bed of sweet-scented hay half asleep, thinking of all he had gone through since he last lay there, and ready to ask himself whether it was not all a dream. Then suddenly consciousness failed, and he was really in the land of dreams.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

SAXE TAKES A SHOWER-BATH.

The musical tinkling of bells roused Saxe at daybreak; and, as he listened to the pleasant sound produced by quite a large herd of goats, their leader's horn was heard from time to time collecting stragglers who were disposed to stop at intervals to begin breakfasting on the way.

"We haven't done much in finding crystals yet," thought Saxe, as he lay. "I wonder what he means to do this morning. I feel as if I should like a day or two's rest; but I don't know—I'm not so very tired."

He lay very still for a few minutes, listening to the tinkling chime of the goat-bells, gradually growing more distant as their wearers made their way up the side of the valley; and as he listened he could tell as well as if he were watching when one of the goats broke away from the herd and leaped and bounded among the rocks to some tempting patch of young green grass,—for there was a sudden splash, so to speak, in the stream of sound; and again when two or three young kids rose on their hind legs and butted and danced at each other.

The picture Saxe painted in his mind made him restless, and the morning love of another half-hour being chased away, he determined to rise and get out in the clear, fresh air.

"Time they woke up," thought Saxe at last, as the pale dawn stole in through the chinks. "Tired, I suppose."

He lay listening now to the low murmuring sound of the cowbells, whose chime was silvery and pleasant, and trembled and vibrated in the air; and again he pictured the soft-eyed, meek, lowing creatures, slowly picking their way among the great mossy stones which had been tumbled down from the mountain.

"Oh, I sha'n't lie here any longer," said Saxe to himself. "I say!" he cried: "Mr Dale! Ahoy! It's to-morrow morning. Oh, what a noddle I am!" he muttered. "It's broad daylight, Mr Dale. Are you coming for a dip?"

No answer.

"I say, Mr Dale! Time to get up."

All was silent, and Saxe raised himself on his elbow and peered through the darkness at the heap of hay beside him.

"He must have been tired last night," he muttered, "and old Melk too. I say, Mr Dale! do you know what you say to me sometimes?"

"No: that he doesn't," thought Saxe. "He is sleeping fast, and if I wake him he'll turn rusty. I don't care. Here—hi! Mr Dale. Breakfast!"

Still no reply.

"Oh, I must rouse him," cried Saxe, and, springing up, he went to where his companion slept, and then gave the hay an angry kick.

"What a shame!" he cried. "I do call that shabby. They've been up ever so long, and gone somewhere without me. It's too bad!"

He hurried out of the great loft-like place, and encountered the sour-looking man Pierre.

"Here!" he cried, in atrociously bad German, bolstered up and patched with English: "where's the herr, and where's Melchior?"

Pierre, whose hair was full of scraps of hay, took off his cap and scratched his head.

"Where is the herr and where is the guide?" said Saxe, a little louder and with a worse pronunciation.

Pierre opened his mouth, let his head hang forward, and stared at the lad in a heavy, stupid way.

"I say, William Tell," cried Saxe—in plain English now—"can't you understand your own language?"

The man stared more heavily than before.

"Regardez donc: parlez-vous Francais?"

The stare continued.

"Well, you are a lively one," muttered Saxe. "Here, I'll have another try at you. 'Wollen Sie mir.' Let's see: 'wollen Sie mir'—what's 'have the goodness to tell me which way the guide and Mr Dale went?'— You don't understand? No more do I how you can stand there like an ugly bit of rustic carving. I say, stupid! Can you understand that? Oh, I'm as stupid as he is. Get out of the way, old wooden wisdom, and let's find your master."

Just at that moment voices fell upon the lad's ear, evidently coming from a rough building formed of pine logs built up log-hut fashion.

He hurried towards it, and found old Andregg standing at the door looking in, but ready to turn and salute him with a pleasant smile and the friendly "good morning" of the Swiss people.

"Ah, Saxe! that you?" said Dale, who was busy with Melchior repacking some of the things which had been brought up the valley by Pierre during their absence. "Had a good night's rest?"

"Yes. But why didn't you call me when you got up?"

"I did, and so did Melchior; but you were so sound that I thought I'd let you sleep. Well, all the traps are right, and I've been packing up what we want to take."

"Where?"

"Into the heart of the mountains."

"And when do you start?"

"As soon as ever we have done breakfast and put together a good supply of food. Had your bath?"

"No. I meant to go with you."

"Go and have it, and by that time we shall be ready for breakfast."

Saxe went off rather dissatisfied, towel in hand, to pass their landlord's wife and receive a nod and smile. Then he went on towards the place which he had visited before; and now, one by one, the cold-looking peaks began to turn rosy and brighten, the scene changing so rapidly to orange and gold that Saxe forgot his dissatisfied feelings, and at last stopped to look round in admiration, then in dismay, and at last in something approaching rage; for not a dozen yards behind him was the heavy, stolid face of Pierre, his mouth looking as if it had not been shut since he spoke to him.

The man had stopped when Saxe stopped, and he continued his heavy stare.

"Oh! I do wish I had paid more attention to my jolly old French and German at school," muttered Saxe, as the man's stare quite worried him. "I wonder what 'be off' is? Allez-vous en he would not understand. 'Gehen!' That's 'to go.' But you can't say 'to go' to a fellow, when you want him to be off. And you can't say 'go to,' because gehen's only one word. I know: 'Gehen sie Jericho!' I'll let that off at him if he follows me any farther."

Saxe nodded at the man, said "Morgen," and went on.

"'Morgen!' Well, that's 'good morning.' He must understand that; but I don't believe he understands it as we do when one says 'good morning' to a fellow and means he's to go. Oh! I say, what are you following me for? I know. He is a dirty-looking beggar. He's coming for a wash. But after me, please, mein herr. I'll have first go. Ugh! I'd rather have a bath after a pig."

Saxe went on rapidly; but the man still followed, walking when he did, and timing his pace to keep up; stopping when he did, and provoking such a feeling of irritation in the English lad, that he suddenly faced round and fired the speech he had prepared, but with lingual additions which ornamented and certainly obscured the meaning.

"Here, I say! you, sir!" he cried: "old what's-your-name—Pierre? 'gehen Jericho!'"

The man still stared.

"I say, 'gehen Jericho!' and if you will, 'danke schon,' and good luck to you. Oh, I say, do shut that ugly mouth of yours. What's the good of keeping it open if you're not going to speak! There's no breakfast here."

Pierre still stared, and Saxe swung round again and went on.

"It's too bad to be bothered by a foreigner like him," he muttered. "I meant to have a regular natural shower-bath,"—he glanced up at the beautiful spray fall beyond him as he said this to himself—"but now I can't have it, with this fellow watching me, and it'll only mean a scrub and rub."

He stopped and turned round again, to find Pierre in his old position just the same distance behind.

"I tell you what it is, old chap: if you don't shut up that mouth, I shall be tempted to pitch a round stone into it; and if it wasn't for fear of getting up war between England and Switzerland, I'd come and punch your head. Here, I say! Do you hear? Be off!"

Pierre stared.

"Oh! I know what you are," grumbled Saxe: "you're a cretin—an idiot. I suppose there are lots of you in the valleys. Here—hi! Catch!"

Saxe took a twenty-cent nickel coin from his pocket, and took aim.

"I'll pitch it right into his mouth," he said to himself. "There you are, old chap! Don't swallow it!"

He threw the coin so truly, that if Pierre had stood still it would, in all probability, have gone where it was aimed. But the man's action was as quick as that of a monkey. With one sharp dash of the hand he caught the piece, scowled as he found that it was not half a florin, and then thrust it into his pocket and stared.

"Oh my!" muttered Saxe as he went on; "he's worse than that lost dog, who came and said to me that I was his master, and that he'd never leave me as long as I lived. I hope this chap isn't going to follow me all the time we're here."

He stopped once more.

"I say, old chap, do you want anything?"

No answer but the stolid stare.

"Don't you know that it's very rude? Bah! I might as well discuss Euclid with old Gros. Just you wait till I've had my tub and got back to breakfast, and if I don't set old Melchior at you I'm a Dutchman."

Fully determined to take no more notice of the man, Saxe went on to the pool, had a comfortable wash in the sparkling water, which was invigorating to a degree, scrubbed himself dry, and all the time battled hard with an intense desire to throw stones at Pierre, who stood watching every act some ten yards away.

"Thank you," said Saxe at last, as he opened a pocket-comb, and began to use it to his wet hair: "I've quite done, thank you; but if I might give you a bit of advice, I wouldn't wash much this morning. Do it by degrees. If you made yourself quite clean, you might catch cold; and besides, the cows and goats wouldn't know you. 'Morgen' once more."

Saxe started to return, leaving his stolid companion behind and fully expecting to hear him splashing in the pool; but two minutes later he exclaimed:

"No fear of his catching cold or frightening the cows. I don't believe he has had a wash for a month. Why, if he isn't following me again! Well, he shall run."

It was not a very satisfactory place for running, encumbered as it was with stones; but Saxe was as active as most lads of his age, and he started off dodging in and out among huge blocks of granite, leaping from smooth glacier ground rock to rock, making good speed over the patches of level grass and whin, and sending the blood coursing through his veins in the bright morning air; but to his intense annoyance he found that his activity was nothing to that of the heavy, dirty-looking being who kept up easily close to his heels, for every now and then the man leaped from rock to rock as surely as a goat. But growing a little out of breath, and thinking at last that it was of no use to tire himself so soon in the morning, the boy slowly settled down into a walk just as a loud jodel came echoing from the sheltered hollow where the chalet stood.

"Hallo!" said Saxe, whose good humour came back at the thoughts connected with that cry. "There's old Melk ringing the breakfast bell;" and once more he stopped, placed his hand to the side of his mouth, and jodelled.

"There, old chap, what do you think of that?" he said, looking back at Pierre, who stood rooted there with quite a different expression upon his countenance. The heavy, vacant look had given way to one of utter astonishment, wonder flashed from his eyes, and as Saxe grasped the reason he swung himself round in dudgeon.

"Oh, you ignorant donkey!" he muttered: "it was as good a jodel as old Melk's. I said you were an idiot, and this proves it: never heard an Englishman jodel before?"

Five minutes after he was enjoying the steaming hot coffee and delicious milk, butter, eggs and bread, discussing—often with his mouth too fall—the plans of the coming day's work.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

SAXE HAS SUSPICIONS.

"Do we go the same way?" said Saxe, as they started up the track out of the valley, Gros far more heavily laden this time—having, beside food enough for some days, a handy tent just large enough to shelter three; waterproof sheet, rugs, ice-axes, and a coil of new English rope which made the guide's eyes glisten.

"No, herr," Melchior answered—"only for a short distance. Then we shall strike up to the east and go over the Carvas Pass into the Urs Thal."

"Urseren?" said Dale quickly.

"Oh no, herr! not a bleak green hollow like that, but a wild ravine in the heart of the mountain. It lies next but one to the valley beyond the peak you climbed."

"Ah! that sounds better. Is it much visited?"

"Never, herr, except by the chamois hunters, and very seldom by them."

"And you think we shall find what I want there?"

"I cannot say, herr. Such crystals as you seek are not often discovered. They are very rare. But we shall see. Steady, Gros, steady! Don't hurry, boy. Slow and sure: these stones are slippery."

"Slippery! Yes," cried Dale, stepping forward quickly, and then giving a glance up to right and left at the walls of rock rising on either side. "Look at this, Saxe: we must not pass things like these without notice. Wait a minute, Melchior."

"Yes, herr; but there are bigger and smoother pieces farther up the valley."

"Do they extend far?"

"Right up to the top of the pass, herr, and down the other side."

Saxe looked over at the huge mass of smoothly polished stone across which the mule had been picking its way, taking longer steps to get its hoofs on the narrow cracks and places where veins of a softer kind of rock had in the course of ages corroded away.

"Why, I thought you said that very few people came along here?" said Saxe suddenly, as Dale bent down here and there to examine the stone.

"I did, herr. Nobody uses this pass. There is no need. It is very difficult, and leads away up to the everlasting snow."

"Then, Melchior, how is it that the stones are worn so much?"

The guide shook his head.

"It is as if a river had run along here," he said. "I suppose it is the rain that has slowly worn it so."

"No," said Dale, with the voice of authority, "it is the ice."

"No, herr; there is no ice here. A great deal of snow comes down from the great stock up yonder, and from the valley between Piz Accio and Piz Nero, here on the right—avalanches of snow. We could not walk along here in March; it would be madness. But it soon wastes, and is washed away."

"No, Melchior, it is not snow or water that has smoothed all this, but ice. There must have been a huge glacier all along here."

The guide shook his head.

"Look, man," cried Dale, "it is written on the stones;" and he pointed to those beneath them, and then to others high up, which presented the same appearance.

"The stones and rocks are worn smooth, herr; but I never heard my father or grandfather speak of ice in this valley."

"No," said Dale quietly, "and your grandfather never heard his ancestors speak of it, nor they in turn, right back to the most remote times of history; but, all the same, a huge glacier must have filled the whole of this valley, sixty or seventy feet above where we stand."

"A very long time ago, then, herr."

"Who can say how many ages? Glaciers shrink and melt away in time. The one in the other valley has retired a good deal."

"Ah, yes, herr—hundreds of yards. Old people say it once came nearly to Andregg's chalet."

"To be sure; and how do the rocks look where it has retired?"

"Rubbed smooth, like this, herr."

"Of course; and there is no denying this fact. It must have been a mighty glacier indeed."

They went after the mule up the valley, content to follow the animal's guidance; and invariably, as Melchior pointed out, Gros picked out the best path. As they went right on the valley contracted, and the sides, which towered up more and more perpendicularly, displayed the peculiar, smooth, polished look, just as if masses of stone had constantly ground against their sides.

"Now, Saxe, look here," cried Dale, suddenly pausing by a great mass of grey stone. "Here is a proof that I am right."

"Is it? I don't see."

"Do you, Melchior?"

"No, herr. The stone is very big."

"Yes. How did it come here?"

"Oh, it must have rolled down from the rock up yonder."

"If it had rolled down from the rock up yonder, it would have been a piece of that rock!"

"Of course, herr. Here are plenty of pieces," and he touched them with the handle of his ice-axe.

"Yes, you are right," said Dale, picking up a great fragment; "and you can see this is the same kind of stone as that which towers up here over our heads."

"Yes, herr."

"But this great block is a different kind of stone, is it not!"

Melchior looked at the vast mass, and said at once:

"Yes, herr, of course. It is the grey hard stone that they use for building bridges."

"Well, where did it come from! There is none up here to right or left."

"No, herr—none."

"It could not have been brought here by man."

Melchior laughed.

"No; a hundred horses could not have dragged it along a hard road."

"But it has been brought here, you see, all the same. Now, where is the nearest place where we could find stone like that!"

"Oh, on the Domberg, herr, at the head of the pass. We shall go beneath it six hours from here."

"Exactly, Melchior," cried Dale. "That proves what I say. This huge mass of granite must have fallen from the Domberg on to the glacier which once filled this limestone valley, and have been gradually carried down and left here. Such a glacier as the one which polished all these rocks could easily have brought down that block; and when in bygone ages the ice melted, this block was left here. I dare say we shall find more like it."

"Oh yes, herr, there are many," said Melchior, thoughtfully examining the stone and then picking up other pieces to compare with it. "The herr's words seem like truth, but I should never have thought of that."

"It took, too, long thought and study of some of our greatest men to find it out," said Dale, "and I am glad to have come to a valley which shows all we have read so plainly."

"Stop! take care!" shouted Melchior, as a strange rushing sound was heard high up on their right; and directly after a large stone came bounding down the slope, fell on the smooth rocks before them, and smashed to atoms.