Part 22 (2/2)

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 anch.o.r.ed 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 ma.s.ses 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 ma.s.ses that were mastered by sheer scrambling. Now and then an easy rock slope presented itself, or a gully between two b.u.t.tresses 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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mvented; 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 pa.s.sed.

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

”The herr remembers this?” Melchior said.

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