Part 48 (1/2)

This was done; and then the question arose--whereabouts on the glacier were they?

”I think I know,” said the guide, rather feebly.

”Yes: but you are not fit to move,” said Saxe.

”I must move, young herr,” replied the man sadly. ”To stay as I am means a terrible illness, perhaps death. But I shall fight it down.

The movement will send life into me. Now, have you the axes? Please to give me mine, and I shall creep along. We must get to the tent and a fire somehow.”

”But you cannot lead, Melchior.”

”I will lead, herr,” he replied, as he rested on Saxe's shoulder. ”Here in the mountains man must exert himself if he wishes to live. This way.”

To the astonishment of both he used his ice-axe as a walking-stick, holding it by the steel head, striking the spike at the end of the handle into the slippery floor, and walking slowly but steadily on along the edge of the creva.s.se.

Saxe felt a strong inclination to go back and peer down into the black depths again, but he had to resist it, and, carrying the lanthorn, he followed close behind Melchior, with one hand raised, ready to s.n.a.t.c.h at him if he seemed disposed to fall.

It was very dark now, and the light from the lanthorn was reflected in a faint, sickly way from the ghostly-looking ma.s.ses of ice as they threaded their way onward, the guide whispering to them to be silent and careful, as many of the huge pinnacles were unsteady.

But, in spite of their cautious procedure, one ma.s.s tottered over and came down with an awful crash just as Dale had pa.s.sed; and the falling of this meant the destruction of a couple of others, the noise of their splintering raising an echo in the narrow gorge which ran upward reverberating like thunder.

Melchior did not speak, but hurried on, and, turning the end of the creva.s.se, led them diagonally off the ice and down into the narrow stony way between it and the walls of the valley.

Here he let himself sink down on a smooth slope of rock, to remain seated for a moment or two and then lie right down upon his back.

”It is nothing, herr,” he said quietly,--”only weariness. May I beg for something?”

”Yes: what can we do!” cried Dale.

”Fill your pipe for me, herr, and light it. My tobacco is so wet it will not burn.”

”Of course,” cried Dale.

”Hadn't we better give him some more water?” whispered Saxe.

”No, herr,” said the guide; ”no more. That which you gave me brought life back to me: it would do no more good now. Let me rest and smoke awhile--not many minutes. Then I can go on.”

The pipe was filled and handed to the poor fellow, who held it with trembling fingers to the opened lanthorn; and as soon as he had lit it and begun to smoke, he said feebly--

”Have you matches, herr!”

”Yes, plenty.”

He blew out the light.

”We do not want that now,” he said, handing it back to Saxe, and lying back again, to go on smoking rapidly. ”The warmth is coming back to my limbs,” he continued. ”I shall be able to walk better, herrs, and it will be best for me.”

”Then you think you can reach the tent to-night?” said Dale.

”Oh yes: we will reach it, herr. It is not so very far now. There will be a fire, and hot coffee, and rugs to cover us from the cold. Oh yes: we are all faint and hungry.”