Part 9 (1/2)
”The young herr speaks like a gentleman Irlandais who was with me last year. He made John Bulls, his friend said.”
”Irish bulls, Melchior,” said Dale, smiling.
”Ah, yes, the herr is right, they were Irish bulls; but I do not quite know. Are you ready?”
”Yes,” said Dale, preparing to descend the precipitous piece.
”Better keep your face to the rock here, herr. Go on. Take hold here, young friend. That's it. The rope just touching, and the hands ready to tighten at the slightest slip. Confidence, herr. But I need not speak. You can climb.”
Dale reached the ledge below without a slip, unfastened the end of the rope, and Melchior began to attach it to Saxe.
”But, I say,” cried the latter, ”how can you get down?”
”There?” said the guide, with a little laugh. ”Oh, that is not hard climbing: I can easily get down there.”
”I wish I could without thinking it was terrible,” said Saxe to himself, as he prepared in turn to descend, for in spite of the confidence given by the rope about his chest, he found himself fancying that if the knot came undone by the jerk he should give it if he slipped from one of those awkward pieces of stone, he would go on falling and bounding from rock to rock till he lay bruised and cut, perhaps killed, at the bottom of the mountain.
”It's no good to stop thinking about it,” he muttered; and lowering himself down, he began to descend steadily, with the feeling of dread pa.s.sing off directly he had started; for the excitement of the work, and the energy that he had to bring to bear in lowering himself from ledge to ledge, kept him too busy to think of anything but the task in hand; so that, in what seemed to be an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time, he was standing beside Dale.
Then came a warning cry from Melchior, who threw down his end of the rope, and directly after began to descend with an ease that robbed his task of all aspect of danger. Every movement was so quietly and easily made, there was such an elasticity of muscle and absence of strain, that before the man was half down, both Dale and Saxe were wondering how they could have thought so much of the task, and on Melchior joining them, and after descending a little farther, roping them for other steep bits, they went on easily and well.
And now for about a couple of hours Melchior took them on rapidly down and down and in and out among bluffs and mountain spurs which he seemed to know by heart, though to those with him the place grew more perplexing at every turn. There was a gloomy look, too, now, in the depths of the various gorges, which told of the coming of evening, though the various peaks were blazing with orange and gold, and a refulgent hue overspread the western sky.
”Is it much farther?” said Saxe at last. ”I am getting so hungry, I can hardly get one leg before the other.”
”Farther!” said Melchior, smiling. ”Do you not see? Up there to the right is the foot of the glacier; there is the hill from which you saw the top, and yonder is the patch of forest. Andregg's chalet is just below.”
”I am glad!” cried Saxe. ”I thought I was hungry, but it's tired I am.
I shall be too weary to eat.”
”Oh no!” said Melchior. ”The young herr will eat, and then he will sleep as we sleep here in these mountains, and wake in the morning ready for another day. The herr still wants to hunt for crystals?” he added, glancing at Dale.
”Yes; if you can take me to them,” said the latter eagerly.
”I will try, herr; but they have to be sought in the highest solitudes, on the edge of the precipices, where it is too steep for the snow to stay, and they say that there are spirits and evil demons guarding the caverns where they lie.”
”And do you believe them?” said Saxe st.u.r.dily.
”The young herr shall see,” replied the guide. ”Ah! there is Andregg.
The cows have just been brought home, and here come the goats. I heard the cry in the mountains. We shall have bread and milk and cheese, if we have nothing else. Do I believe that about the demons who guard the crystal caves?” he continued thoughtfully. ”Well, the young herr shall see. Hoi! hola, Andregg! I bring you friends!” he shouted to a grey-haired man standing in the evening twilight, which was declining fast, just outside the plain brown pine-wood chalet, with two women and a boy leisurely milking cows and goats.
”The herrs are welcome,” said the man gravely. ”It has been fine among the mountains to-day. I was fearing we should have a storm.”
CHAPTER FIVE.
STRANGE QUARTERS.
Milk, bread, b.u.t.ter and cheese in the rough pine verandah, seated on a homely bench, with the soft pleasant smell of cows from beneath, and the melodious chiming tinkle of many sweet-toned bells--not the wretched tin or iron jangling affairs secured to sheep or kine in England, but tuneful, well-made bells, carefully strapped to the necks of the cattle, and evidently appreciated by the wearers, several of which stood about, gently swaying their heads, blinking their great soft eyes, ruminating, and waiting their turn with the brawny milkmaid, who rose from her crouching position from time to time, taking her one-legged stool with her, fastened on and projecting like a peculiar tail.