Part 71 (1/2)

The axe handle was agitated while these words were spoken; and as Saxe replied, the efforts of the guide were renewed, and he cut and chopped away at the compressed snow, sending the sparkling crystals flying, and toiling hard; while a word or two were exchanged from time to time, the guide's being so full of encouragement and promise that the boy grew more and more hopeful.

At last the fragments of snow began to crumble down more rapidly; and, in spite of Melchior's efforts to keep the way clear, the snow rose about Saxe's face, so that very little more of it would have meant suffocation. The boy fought hard with his left hand to keep the snow clear, but there was no s.p.a.ce sufficient for him to sweep it right away; and the moments grew more and more anxious as Melchior's axe cut and chipped, and he tore out great pieces from the hole he was making and hurled them down the slope.

And all the while the prisoner gazed up through his pinched-together eyes, for the fragments and ice dust fell fast, till at last the point of Melchior's axe appeared suddenly, and was as quickly withdrawn.

”How far was that from your face, boy?” whispered Melchior.

”Nearly a foot.”

”Hah! that's well,” cried the man; and the blows of the axe fell merrily now, till a great piece of the impending snow was suddenly lifted out, and the prisoner breathed freely as he gazed wildly up past the guide's body at the glowing evening sky.

This piece removed, the guide's next effort was to clear the loose enow crystals and chips of ice away from the prisoner's face, and to chip off other pieces of the snow which had roofed him in. Then, getting himself into a better position, he bent down and grasped the boy's hands.

”I just saw the head of your axe,” he said. ”There, keep heart of gold in you, lad: you will soon be out now. I think if I place your axe across for you to drag at, and I try too, we shall be able to draw you right out. A minute's rest first, though. Now you can breathe. I am breathless too.”

”Where is Mr Dale?” panted Saxe; but there was no reply, and Saxe read the worst in the barely seen face bent over him in the rough well-like hole that had been cut so energetically.

A few minutes only were allowed to elapse, and then the guide took the ice-axe to which Saxe still clung from the boy's hand to lay it aside.

”Now,” he said, ”close your eyes while I cut a couple of holes.”

The boy obeyed, and tried hard not to wince as the hard chips flew and struck him again and again in the face; while making the implement flash as he struck with it energetically, Melchior cut deeply into the sides of the hole, and just at a suitable distance for the object he had in view.

This of course was to place Saxe's ice-axe across, with head and b.u.t.t resting in the two holes, and he had judged so accurately that the head went in with not half an inch to spare after he had thrust in the b.u.t.t spike at the opposite side.

”Now,” cried the guide, ”take well hold of that, while I stoop down and get my hands under your arms and locked across your breast. Then, as I give the word, we must heave together.”

He got himself into position as he spoke, but had to use the spike at the end of his axe handle to form a place for his feet on either side.

Then, throwing down the axe, he planted his feet firmly, bent down nearly double, clasped his hands round the boy, and after seeing that he had a good grip of the ashen handle above his head, called upon him to heave.

Then began a slow, patient struggle, with Saxe tugging at the cross-bar formed by his ice-axe, till it bent more and more into a bow, while Melchior brought his powerful muscles to bear in a steady strain, till Saxe gasped forth--

”No, no! Stop!”

”Did I hurt you?” said Melchior.

”Only seemed as if you were pulling me right in two,” groaned the boy.

”It's of no use; you can't get me out.”

”I can, and I will,” said the guide firmly.

”I would go on cutting you out, only it would take so many hours, and I am afraid--”

”Of what?” said Saxe faintly, and speaking more for the sake of gaining time than anything else, so terrible had the strain been for him.

”I am afraid of loosening the snow and starting it again by my blows,”

replied Melchior. ”It takes so little sometimes to begin an avalanche, and we know how the snow hangs lightly on this side of the mountain.”