Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.On the Rope.“I say,” cried Saxe, after they had gone on crunching through the snow, which was soft and melting fast.“Yes: what is it?”“Don’t you feel as if we were horses haltered together for market?”“I might answer, sir— Don’t you feel like a donkey being led?”“No. Why?”“Because you ask such an absurd, childish question, and that at a serious time.”Saxe was silent.“Mr Dale needn’t be so gruff,” he said to himself, as he tramped on, looking up at the rocky sides of the valley, which grew more and more snow-clad as they went on, and giving himself greater trouble by missing the footsteps of his leaders. Once he nearly stumbled and fell, giving a jerk to the rope; but he recovered himself directly, and tramped on in silence, finding the going so arduous that he began to wish for the time when they would leave the glacier and take to the rocks.But he could not keep silence long.“Shall we have to go back along the mountain?” he said. “Or will there be some other track?”“I expect we shall cross the ridge into a similar valley to this, and go down another glacier; but— Ah! Hold tight!”He threw himself backward, tightening the rope, and as soon as he could get over his surprise at the suddenness of the accident, Saxe followed his companion’s example. For all at once Melchior disappeared, passing through the snow, and a hollow, echoing, rushing noise fell upon their ears.“Haul away, gentlemen!” cried the guide’s voice; and as they dragged at the rope, they saw his arms appear with the ice-axe, which was struck down into the snow, and directly after the man climbed out, rose from his hands and knees, and shook the snow off his clothes.“We wanted the rope, you see,” he said quietly. “I ought to have known by the snow that this part was dangerous. No harm done, gentlemen. Let’s strike off for the side.”“But you went through,” said Saxe excitedly. “Was it a crevasse?”“Yes, of course,” said the guide, smiling.“Was it deep?”“Deep? Oh yes! Would you like to look?”Saxe nodded, and the guide drew back for him to pass, but took hold of the rope and held it tightly.“Go on,” he said encouragingly. “I have you fast.”“But how near can I go?” said Saxe, hesitating.“Nearly to where I broke through the snow crust. You will see.”Saxe went on cautiously, still seeing nothing till he was close upon the hole, which was a fairly wide opening, a quantity of half-frozen snow having given way as the guide’s weight rested upon it, and dropped into the black-looking rift, which was lightly bridged over on either side by the snow.“Lean over if you like, and hang on by the rope,” said Melchior, “if you want to look down.”Saxe could not say he did not want to look down, for there was a strange fascination about the place which seemed to draw him. But he resisted, and after a quick glance at the thick snow which arched over the crevasse, he drew back; and Melchior led on again, striking the shaft of his ice-axe handle down through the crust before him at every step, and divining, by long practice and the colour of the snow, the direction of the crevasse so well, that he only once diverged from the edge sufficiently for the handle to go right down.“We can cross here,” he said at last.“Are you sure?” said Dale.The guide smiled, and stamped heavily right across.“We are beyond the end of the crevasse,” he said; and once more they went on upward.“These cracks make the glacier very dangerous,” observed Dale, after a few minutes.“Not with a rope and care,” said Melchior, as he trudged on, shouting his words and not turning his head. “But what will you? See how much easier it is. It would take us hours longer to keep to the rocks. There is a crevasse here: walk lightly—just in my steps.”They followed him carefully, without realising when they were passing over the opening, the difference in the appearance of the snow being only plain to the guide; and then onward again till the place was opposite to them where they were to leave the ice river and climb to the rocks.“One moment,” said Dale: “let’s take one look round before we leave this part. Look, Saxe! the view is magnificent.”“Yes; and you can see better from here,” cried the boy enthusiastically, as he stepped forward a few yards.“Ah! not that way!” cried Melchior.The warning came too late, for Saxe dropped through suddenly, tightening the rope with a jerk which threw Dale forward upon his face, and drew him a little way on toward the crevasse, whose slight covering of snow had given way.But Melchior threw himself back, and stopped farther progress, as Saxe’s voice came up from below in a smothered way—“Ahoy! Help! help!”“Get to your feet,” cried Melchior to Dale; “I’ll keep the rope tight.”“Yes,” cried Dale, scrambling up; “now, quick!—both together, to draw him out.”“Draw him out? No,” said the guide quietly. “Now plant your feet firmly, and hold him till I come to your side.”Dale obeyed at once, and shouting to Saxe that help was coming, he stood fast, waiting for the guide.Meanwhile, Saxe, who had felt the snow suddenly drop from beneath him, and had been brought up breathlessly with a sudden jerk, was swinging slowly to and fro, clinging with both hands to the rope, and trying vainly to get a rest for his feet on the smooth wall of ice, over which his toes glided whenever he could catch it; but this was not often, for the ice receded, and in consequence he hung so clear, that the line turned with him, and he was at times with his back to the side from which the rope was strained, gazing at the dimly-seen opposite wall, some six or seven feet away. Above was the over-arching snow, which looked fragile in the extreme.Far below him as he fell he heard the snow and ice he had broken away go hissing and whispering down for what seemed long after he had dropped; and this gave him some idea of the terrible depth of the ice crack, and a cold chill, that was not caused by the icy coldness of the place, ran through him, as he wondered whether the rope, which now looked thin and worn, would hold. Then he thought that it might possibly cut against the sharp edge, and after a sharp glance upward, to see nothing but the blue sky, he could not keep from looking down into the black depths and listening to the faint musical gurgle of running water.He shuddered as he slowly turned, and then strained his ears to try and make out what his companion and the guide were doing. But he could hear nothing for some minutes. Then there was a vibration of the rope, and a slight jerking sensation, and to his horror he found that he was being lowered down.Saxe was as brave as most boys of his years, but this was too much for him. It struck him at first that he was being lowered; but the next moment it seemed to be so much without reason that he jumped to the conclusion that the rope was slowly unravelling and coming to pieces.An absurd notion, but in the supreme moments of great danger people sometimes think wild things.He was just in the agony of this imagination, when the small patch of light twenty feet above him was darkened, and he saw the head and shoulders of Melchior, as the man, trusting to the strain upon the rope maintained by Dale, leaned forward.“Can you help yourself at all?” he said quietly.“No, no!” cried Saxe hoarsely.“Be cool, my lad,” said Melchior. “I shall drive the head of my axe into the ice, and leave the handle so that you can grasp it when you are drawn up.”Saxe made no reply, but he heard a dull sound, and directly after the rope began to move, and he knew by the jerks that it was being hauled in hand-over-hand by the guide.A minute later, and the lad’s head was level with the snow, and he saw the handle of the ice-axe, which he grasped. But it was almost needless, for Melchior caught him by the portion of the rope which was round his chest, and by a quick exercise of his great strength raised him right out of the crevasse, to stand trembling there, as Dale now ran up and grasped his hand.“Saxe, my boy! What an escape!”“Oh no,” said the guide quickly. “It was nothing. The rope is good and strong, and all we had to do was to draw him out. It would have been dangerous for one man—he would have died—but we are three, and we help each other; so it is nothing.”The two travellers exchanged glances, wondering at the man’s coolness; but they were given no time to think, for Melchior quickly examined the knots of the rope which secured it about Saxe’s chest, and strode on again, so that they were obliged to follow.A few minutes later they had reached the rocky side of the glacier valley, and a stiff ascent was before them. Here they found more than ever the value of their guide, for his climbing powers seemed almost marvellous, while almost by instinct he selected the easiest route.But the easiest was very hard, and every now and then he threw himself back against the rock in difficult places, planted his feet firmly wide apart, and steadily hauled upon the rope, making the ascent of the others much more facile than it would have been.This was repeated again and again till they had reached the top of the ridge, which had seemed the summit from below on the ice; but here a fresh slope met their eyes, and Melchior made straight for a rift which ran up into the mountain, and, being full of snow, looked at a distance like a waterfall.“We will go up this couloir,” he said; “it will be the best, and it will give the young herr his first lesson in climbing snow.”“But we have been climbing snow,” said Saxe, whose trepidation had now passed off, and who was feeling once more himself.“Walking upon it,” said the guide, smiling; “not climbing.”“Rather a steep bit, isn’t it, Melchior?” said Dale, looking upward.“Yes, it is steep; but we can do it, and if we slip it will only be a glissade down here again. The rocks are harder to climb, and a slip there would be bad; besides, the stones fall here sometimes rather thickly.”“But they’ll be worse down that couloir,” said Dale.“As bad—not worse, herr; but I will go which way you like.”“Go the best way,” said Dale quietly.Melchior nodded, and strode on at once for the foot of the narrow rift, which looked like a gully or shoot, down which the snow fell from above.“Use my steps,” he said quietly; and, with the rope still attached, he began to ascend, kicking his feet into the soft snow as he went on, and sending it flying and rushing down, sparkling in the sunshine, while the others followed his zigzag track with care. There were times when the foothold gave way, but there was no element of danger in the ascent, which did not prove to be so steep as it had looked before it was attacked. But the ascent was long, and the couloir curved round as they climbed higher, displaying a fresh length of ascent invisible from below.As they turned the corner Melchior paused for them to look about them, and upward toward where the gully ended in a large field of snow, above and beyond which was steeply scarped mountain, rising higher and higher toward a distant snowy peak.“But we are not going right up that mountain, are we?” cried Saxe, panting and breathless.“Not to-day,” replied the guide. “No: up to the snow yonder, and along its edge for a little way, and then we descend on the other side, where it will be all downward to Andregg’s chalet. Hah! Down close! Quick!”He set the example, flinging himself upon his face and extending his hands above his head, as a whizzing sound was heard; then a dull thud or two and directly after there was a crash on the rocky side of the couloir a few feet above their heads, followed by a shower of slaty fragments which fell upon them, while a great fragment, which had become detached far above, glanced off, struck the other side of the gully, and then went downward, ploughing up the snow.“Take care!” again cried the guide. “No,” he said directly after, “it is only a few bits.”The few consisted of what might easily have been a cartload of snow, which passed them with a rush, fortunately on the opposite side of the gully.“I say, Mr Dale,” said Saxe, rather nervously, “if that piece of slate had hit either of us—”“Hah!” ejaculated Dale, drawing in his breath with a hiss, “if it had hit us—”They neither of them finished their sentence; and just then Melchior started once more, lessening the difficulty of the ascent by zigzagging the way.Snow was dislodged, and went gliding down the gully, and for a moment a great patch began to slide, taking Dale with it, but a few rapid leaps carried him beyond it; and tightening the rope as soon as he had reached a firm place, Saxe was able to pick his way after the snow had gone by him with a rush, but only to stop a little lower down.Another climb of about a quarter of an hour’s duration brought them to the edge of the field of snow, which Melchior examined pretty carefully, and ended by rejecting in favour of a rugged ridge of rocks, which they had hardly reached when there was a quick roar like thunder, and the guide cried sharply—“Look!”He pointed upward toward the snow peaks, which seemed to be a couple of miles away; and as they followed the direction of his pointing hand, toward quite a chaos of rock and ice to their left, and about half-way to the summit, they looked in vain, till Dale cried—“There it is!”“Yes: what?” cried Saxe eagerly. “Oh, I see: that little waterfall!”For far away there was the semblance of a cascade, pouring over the edge of a black rock, and falling what seemed to be a hundred feet into a hollow, glittering brilliantly the while in the sun.They watched it for about five minutes; and then, to Saxe’s surprise, the fall ceased, but the deep rushing noise, as of water, was still heard, and suddenly the torrent seemed to gush out below, to the left, and go on again fiercer than ever, but once more to disappear and reappear again and again, till it made one bold leap into a hollow, which apparently communicated with the glacier they had left.“Hah!” ejaculated Saxe, “it was very beautiful, but— Why, that must have been snow! Was that an avalanche?”“Yes; didn’t you understand? That is one of the ice-falls that are always coming down from above.”“I didn’t take it,” said Saxe. “Well, it was very pretty, but not much of it. I should like to see a big one.”Dale looked at Melchior, and smiled.“He does not grasp the size of things yet,” he said. “Why, Saxe, my lad, you heard the clap like thunder when the fall first took place?”“Yes, of course.”“Then don’t you grasp that what looked like a cascade tumbling down was hundreds of tons of hard ice and snow in large fragments? Hark! there goes another.”There was a deeper-toned roar now, and they stood looking up once more, with Saxe troubled by a feeling of awe, as the noise came rumbling and echoing to where they stood.“That must have been a huge mass down,” said Dale at last, after they had looked up in vain, expecting some visible token of the avalanche.“Yes, herr: away over that ridge. The snow falls at this time of the day. We shall not see any of that one. Shall we go on!”“No, no!” cried Saxe excitedly, “I want to see another one come down. But did you mean there were hundreds of tons in that first one, that looked like water?”“Oh yes—perhaps much more,” said Dale. “That fall was a couple of miles away.”“Here, let’s go on, sir,” said Saxe, who seemed to have changed his mind very suddenly. “It all puzzles me. I dare say I’m very stupid, but I can’t understand it. Perhaps I shall be better after a time.”“It is more than any one can understand, Saxe,” said Dale quietly; “and yet, while it is grand beyond imagination, all the scheme of these mountains, with their ice and snow, is gloriously simple. Yes,” he added, with a nod to Melchior, “go on,” and an arduous climb followed along the ridge of rocks, while the sun was reflected with a painful glare from the snowfield on their left, a gloriously soft curve of perhaps great depth kept from gliding down into the gorge below by the ridge of rocks along which they climbed.The way was safe enough, save here and there, when Melchior led them along a ledge from which the slope down was so steep as to be almost a precipice. But here he always paused and drew in the rope till those in his charge were close up to him; and on one of these occasions he patted Saxe on the shoulder, for there had been a narrow piece of about fifty feet in length that looked worse at a glance back than in the passing.“That was good,” he said. “Some grown men who call themselves climbers would have hung back from coming.”“That?” said Saxe. “Yes, I suppose it is dangerous, but it didn’t seem so then. I didn’t think about it, as you and Mr Dale walked so quietly across.”“It’s the thinking about it is the danger,” said Dale quietly. “Imagination makes men cowards. But I’m glad you’ve got such a steady head, Saxe.”“But I haven’t, sir, for I was horribly frightened when I hung at the end of that rope down in the crevasse.”“You will not be again,” said Melchior coolly, for they were now on a slope where the walking was comparatively easy, and they could keep together. “The first time I slipped into one I, too, was terribly frightened. Now I never think of anything but the rope cutting into my chest and hurting me, and of how soon I can get hold somewhere to ease the strain.”“What!” cried Saxe, staring at the man’s cool, matter-of-fact way of treating such an accident, “do you mean to say I shall ever get to think nothing of such a thing as that?”“Oh yes,” said Melchior quietly.“Oh, well, I don’t think so,” said Saxe. “Oh no. I shall get not to mind walking along precipices, I dare say, but those crevasses—ugh!”“The young herr will make a fine mountaineer, I am sure,” said Melchior. “I ought to know. Along here,” he added; and, after a few minutes, he stopped at what was quite a jagged rift in the mountain side.“There is an awkward bit here, herr,” he said, “but it will cut off half an hour’s hard walking.”“Down there?” said Saxe, after a glance. “Oh, I say!”“It is an ugly bit, certainly,” said Dale, looking at the guide.“With a little care it is nothing,” said Melchior. “The herr will go down first. He has only to mind where he plants his feet. When he reaches that ledge he will stop till we join him.”As Melchior spoke he unfastened the rope from Dale’s breast and placed the end from his own breast there instead; after which he set himself in a good position by the edge.“Hadn’t we better get the youngster down first?”“No, herr, you are heavy, and if you slip he can help me to hold you. We can do it easily. Then you will untie yourself, and I can let him down.”“And what then?” cried Saxe merrily, to conceal a feeling of uneasiness at the awkward descent before him. “Are we to come up again and let you down?”“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 passing 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 space 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 sturdily.“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.”

“I say,” cried Saxe, after they had gone on crunching through the snow, which was soft and melting fast.

“Yes: what is it?”

“Don’t you feel as if we were horses haltered together for market?”

“I might answer, sir— Don’t you feel like a donkey being led?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you ask such an absurd, childish question, and that at a serious time.”

Saxe was silent.

“Mr Dale needn’t be so gruff,” he said to himself, as he tramped on, looking up at the rocky sides of the valley, which grew more and more snow-clad as they went on, and giving himself greater trouble by missing the footsteps of his leaders. Once he nearly stumbled and fell, giving a jerk to the rope; but he recovered himself directly, and tramped on in silence, finding the going so arduous that he began to wish for the time when they would leave the glacier and take to the rocks.

But he could not keep silence long.

“Shall we have to go back along the mountain?” he said. “Or will there be some other track?”

“I expect we shall cross the ridge into a similar valley to this, and go down another glacier; but— Ah! Hold tight!”

He threw himself backward, tightening the rope, and as soon as he could get over his surprise at the suddenness of the accident, Saxe followed his companion’s example. For all at once Melchior disappeared, passing through the snow, and a hollow, echoing, rushing noise fell upon their ears.

“Haul away, gentlemen!” cried the guide’s voice; and as they dragged at the rope, they saw his arms appear with the ice-axe, which was struck down into the snow, and directly after the man climbed out, rose from his hands and knees, and shook the snow off his clothes.

“We wanted the rope, you see,” he said quietly. “I ought to have known by the snow that this part was dangerous. No harm done, gentlemen. Let’s strike off for the side.”

“But you went through,” said Saxe excitedly. “Was it a crevasse?”

“Yes, of course,” said the guide, smiling.

“Was it deep?”

“Deep? Oh yes! Would you like to look?”

Saxe nodded, and the guide drew back for him to pass, but took hold of the rope and held it tightly.

“Go on,” he said encouragingly. “I have you fast.”

“But how near can I go?” said Saxe, hesitating.

“Nearly to where I broke through the snow crust. You will see.”

Saxe went on cautiously, still seeing nothing till he was close upon the hole, which was a fairly wide opening, a quantity of half-frozen snow having given way as the guide’s weight rested upon it, and dropped into the black-looking rift, which was lightly bridged over on either side by the snow.

“Lean over if you like, and hang on by the rope,” said Melchior, “if you want to look down.”

Saxe could not say he did not want to look down, for there was a strange fascination about the place which seemed to draw him. But he resisted, and after a quick glance at the thick snow which arched over the crevasse, he drew back; and Melchior led on again, striking the shaft of his ice-axe handle down through the crust before him at every step, and divining, by long practice and the colour of the snow, the direction of the crevasse so well, that he only once diverged from the edge sufficiently for the handle to go right down.

“We can cross here,” he said at last.

“Are you sure?” said Dale.

The guide smiled, and stamped heavily right across.

“We are beyond the end of the crevasse,” he said; and once more they went on upward.

“These cracks make the glacier very dangerous,” observed Dale, after a few minutes.

“Not with a rope and care,” said Melchior, as he trudged on, shouting his words and not turning his head. “But what will you? See how much easier it is. It would take us hours longer to keep to the rocks. There is a crevasse here: walk lightly—just in my steps.”

They followed him carefully, without realising when they were passing over the opening, the difference in the appearance of the snow being only plain to the guide; and then onward again till the place was opposite to them where they were to leave the ice river and climb to the rocks.

“One moment,” said Dale: “let’s take one look round before we leave this part. Look, Saxe! the view is magnificent.”

“Yes; and you can see better from here,” cried the boy enthusiastically, as he stepped forward a few yards.

“Ah! not that way!” cried Melchior.

The warning came too late, for Saxe dropped through suddenly, tightening the rope with a jerk which threw Dale forward upon his face, and drew him a little way on toward the crevasse, whose slight covering of snow had given way.

But Melchior threw himself back, and stopped farther progress, as Saxe’s voice came up from below in a smothered way—

“Ahoy! Help! help!”

“Get to your feet,” cried Melchior to Dale; “I’ll keep the rope tight.”

“Yes,” cried Dale, scrambling up; “now, quick!—both together, to draw him out.”

“Draw him out? No,” said the guide quietly. “Now plant your feet firmly, and hold him till I come to your side.”

Dale obeyed at once, and shouting to Saxe that help was coming, he stood fast, waiting for the guide.

Meanwhile, Saxe, who had felt the snow suddenly drop from beneath him, and had been brought up breathlessly with a sudden jerk, was swinging slowly to and fro, clinging with both hands to the rope, and trying vainly to get a rest for his feet on the smooth wall of ice, over which his toes glided whenever he could catch it; but this was not often, for the ice receded, and in consequence he hung so clear, that the line turned with him, and he was at times with his back to the side from which the rope was strained, gazing at the dimly-seen opposite wall, some six or seven feet away. Above was the over-arching snow, which looked fragile in the extreme.

Far below him as he fell he heard the snow and ice he had broken away go hissing and whispering down for what seemed long after he had dropped; and this gave him some idea of the terrible depth of the ice crack, and a cold chill, that was not caused by the icy coldness of the place, ran through him, as he wondered whether the rope, which now looked thin and worn, would hold. Then he thought that it might possibly cut against the sharp edge, and after a sharp glance upward, to see nothing but the blue sky, he could not keep from looking down into the black depths and listening to the faint musical gurgle of running water.

He shuddered as he slowly turned, and then strained his ears to try and make out what his companion and the guide were doing. But he could hear nothing for some minutes. Then there was a vibration of the rope, and a slight jerking sensation, and to his horror he found that he was being lowered down.

Saxe was as brave as most boys of his years, but this was too much for him. It struck him at first that he was being lowered; but the next moment it seemed to be so much without reason that he jumped to the conclusion that the rope was slowly unravelling and coming to pieces.

An absurd notion, but in the supreme moments of great danger people sometimes think wild things.

He was just in the agony of this imagination, when the small patch of light twenty feet above him was darkened, and he saw the head and shoulders of Melchior, as the man, trusting to the strain upon the rope maintained by Dale, leaned forward.

“Can you help yourself at all?” he said quietly.

“No, no!” cried Saxe hoarsely.

“Be cool, my lad,” said Melchior. “I shall drive the head of my axe into the ice, and leave the handle so that you can grasp it when you are drawn up.”

Saxe made no reply, but he heard a dull sound, and directly after the rope began to move, and he knew by the jerks that it was being hauled in hand-over-hand by the guide.

A minute later, and the lad’s head was level with the snow, and he saw the handle of the ice-axe, which he grasped. But it was almost needless, for Melchior caught him by the portion of the rope which was round his chest, and by a quick exercise of his great strength raised him right out of the crevasse, to stand trembling there, as Dale now ran up and grasped his hand.

“Saxe, my boy! What an escape!”

“Oh no,” said the guide quickly. “It was nothing. The rope is good and strong, and all we had to do was to draw him out. It would have been dangerous for one man—he would have died—but we are three, and we help each other; so it is nothing.”

The two travellers exchanged glances, wondering at the man’s coolness; but they were given no time to think, for Melchior quickly examined the knots of the rope which secured it about Saxe’s chest, and strode on again, so that they were obliged to follow.

A few minutes later they had reached the rocky side of the glacier valley, and a stiff ascent was before them. Here they found more than ever the value of their guide, for his climbing powers seemed almost marvellous, while almost by instinct he selected the easiest route.

But the easiest was very hard, and every now and then he threw himself back against the rock in difficult places, planted his feet firmly wide apart, and steadily hauled upon the rope, making the ascent of the others much more facile than it would have been.

This was repeated again and again till they had reached the top of the ridge, which had seemed the summit from below on the ice; but here a fresh slope met their eyes, and Melchior made straight for a rift which ran up into the mountain, and, being full of snow, looked at a distance like a waterfall.

“We will go up this couloir,” he said; “it will be the best, and it will give the young herr his first lesson in climbing snow.”

“But we have been climbing snow,” said Saxe, whose trepidation had now passed off, and who was feeling once more himself.

“Walking upon it,” said the guide, smiling; “not climbing.”

“Rather a steep bit, isn’t it, Melchior?” said Dale, looking upward.

“Yes, it is steep; but we can do it, and if we slip it will only be a glissade down here again. The rocks are harder to climb, and a slip there would be bad; besides, the stones fall here sometimes rather thickly.”

“But they’ll be worse down that couloir,” said Dale.

“As bad—not worse, herr; but I will go which way you like.”

“Go the best way,” said Dale quietly.

Melchior nodded, and strode on at once for the foot of the narrow rift, which looked like a gully or shoot, down which the snow fell from above.

“Use my steps,” he said quietly; and, with the rope still attached, he began to ascend, kicking his feet into the soft snow as he went on, and sending it flying and rushing down, sparkling in the sunshine, while the others followed his zigzag track with care. There were times when the foothold gave way, but there was no element of danger in the ascent, which did not prove to be so steep as it had looked before it was attacked. But the ascent was long, and the couloir curved round as they climbed higher, displaying a fresh length of ascent invisible from below.

As they turned the corner Melchior paused for them to look about them, and upward toward where the gully ended in a large field of snow, above and beyond which was steeply scarped mountain, rising higher and higher toward a distant snowy peak.

“But we are not going right up that mountain, are we?” cried Saxe, panting and breathless.

“Not to-day,” replied the guide. “No: up to the snow yonder, and along its edge for a little way, and then we descend on the other side, where it will be all downward to Andregg’s chalet. Hah! Down close! Quick!”

He set the example, flinging himself upon his face and extending his hands above his head, as a whizzing sound was heard; then a dull thud or two and directly after there was a crash on the rocky side of the couloir a few feet above their heads, followed by a shower of slaty fragments which fell upon them, while a great fragment, which had become detached far above, glanced off, struck the other side of the gully, and then went downward, ploughing up the snow.

“Take care!” again cried the guide. “No,” he said directly after, “it is only a few bits.”

The few consisted of what might easily have been a cartload of snow, which passed them with a rush, fortunately on the opposite side of the gully.

“I say, Mr Dale,” said Saxe, rather nervously, “if that piece of slate had hit either of us—”

“Hah!” ejaculated Dale, drawing in his breath with a hiss, “if it had hit us—”

They neither of them finished their sentence; and just then Melchior started once more, lessening the difficulty of the ascent by zigzagging the way.

Snow was dislodged, and went gliding down the gully, and for a moment a great patch began to slide, taking Dale with it, but a few rapid leaps carried him beyond it; and tightening the rope as soon as he had reached a firm place, Saxe was able to pick his way after the snow had gone by him with a rush, but only to stop a little lower down.

Another climb of about a quarter of an hour’s duration brought them to the edge of the field of snow, which Melchior examined pretty carefully, and ended by rejecting in favour of a rugged ridge of rocks, which they had hardly reached when there was a quick roar like thunder, and the guide cried sharply—

“Look!”

He pointed upward toward the snow peaks, which seemed to be a couple of miles away; and as they followed the direction of his pointing hand, toward quite a chaos of rock and ice to their left, and about half-way to the summit, they looked in vain, till Dale cried—

“There it is!”

“Yes: what?” cried Saxe eagerly. “Oh, I see: that little waterfall!”

For far away there was the semblance of a cascade, pouring over the edge of a black rock, and falling what seemed to be a hundred feet into a hollow, glittering brilliantly the while in the sun.

They watched it for about five minutes; and then, to Saxe’s surprise, the fall ceased, but the deep rushing noise, as of water, was still heard, and suddenly the torrent seemed to gush out below, to the left, and go on again fiercer than ever, but once more to disappear and reappear again and again, till it made one bold leap into a hollow, which apparently communicated with the glacier they had left.

“Hah!” ejaculated Saxe, “it was very beautiful, but— Why, that must have been snow! Was that an avalanche?”

“Yes; didn’t you understand? That is one of the ice-falls that are always coming down from above.”

“I didn’t take it,” said Saxe. “Well, it was very pretty, but not much of it. I should like to see a big one.”

Dale looked at Melchior, and smiled.

“He does not grasp the size of things yet,” he said. “Why, Saxe, my lad, you heard the clap like thunder when the fall first took place?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then don’t you grasp that what looked like a cascade tumbling down was hundreds of tons of hard ice and snow in large fragments? Hark! there goes another.”

There was a deeper-toned roar now, and they stood looking up once more, with Saxe troubled by a feeling of awe, as the noise came rumbling and echoing to where they stood.

“That must have been a huge mass down,” said Dale at last, after they had looked up in vain, expecting some visible token of the avalanche.

“Yes, herr: away over that ridge. The snow falls at this time of the day. We shall not see any of that one. Shall we go on!”

“No, no!” cried Saxe excitedly, “I want to see another one come down. But did you mean there were hundreds of tons in that first one, that looked like water?”

“Oh yes—perhaps much more,” said Dale. “That fall was a couple of miles away.”

“Here, let’s go on, sir,” said Saxe, who seemed to have changed his mind very suddenly. “It all puzzles me. I dare say I’m very stupid, but I can’t understand it. Perhaps I shall be better after a time.”

“It is more than any one can understand, Saxe,” said Dale quietly; “and yet, while it is grand beyond imagination, all the scheme of these mountains, with their ice and snow, is gloriously simple. Yes,” he added, with a nod to Melchior, “go on,” and an arduous climb followed along the ridge of rocks, while the sun was reflected with a painful glare from the snowfield on their left, a gloriously soft curve of perhaps great depth kept from gliding down into the gorge below by the ridge of rocks along which they climbed.

The way was safe enough, save here and there, when Melchior led them along a ledge from which the slope down was so steep as to be almost a precipice. But here he always paused and drew in the rope till those in his charge were close up to him; and on one of these occasions he patted Saxe on the shoulder, for there had been a narrow piece of about fifty feet in length that looked worse at a glance back than in the passing.

“That was good,” he said. “Some grown men who call themselves climbers would have hung back from coming.”

“That?” said Saxe. “Yes, I suppose it is dangerous, but it didn’t seem so then. I didn’t think about it, as you and Mr Dale walked so quietly across.”

“It’s the thinking about it is the danger,” said Dale quietly. “Imagination makes men cowards. But I’m glad you’ve got such a steady head, Saxe.”

“But I haven’t, sir, for I was horribly frightened when I hung at the end of that rope down in the crevasse.”

“You will not be again,” said Melchior coolly, for they were now on a slope where the walking was comparatively easy, and they could keep together. “The first time I slipped into one I, too, was terribly frightened. Now I never think of anything but the rope cutting into my chest and hurting me, and of how soon I can get hold somewhere to ease the strain.”

“What!” cried Saxe, staring at the man’s cool, matter-of-fact way of treating such an accident, “do you mean to say I shall ever get to think nothing of such a thing as that?”

“Oh yes,” said Melchior quietly.

“Oh, well, I don’t think so,” said Saxe. “Oh no. I shall get not to mind walking along precipices, I dare say, but those crevasses—ugh!”

“The young herr will make a fine mountaineer, I am sure,” said Melchior. “I ought to know. Along here,” he added; and, after a few minutes, he stopped at what was quite a jagged rift in the mountain side.

“There is an awkward bit here, herr,” he said, “but it will cut off half an hour’s hard walking.”

“Down there?” said Saxe, after a glance. “Oh, I say!”

“It is an ugly bit, certainly,” said Dale, looking at the guide.

“With a little care it is nothing,” said Melchior. “The herr will go down first. He has only to mind where he plants his feet. When he reaches that ledge he will stop till we join him.”

As Melchior spoke he unfastened the rope from Dale’s breast and placed the end from his own breast there instead; after which he set himself in a good position by the edge.

“Hadn’t we better get the youngster down first?”

“No, herr, you are heavy, and if you slip he can help me to hold you. We can do it easily. Then you will untie yourself, and I can let him down.”

“And what then?” cried Saxe merrily, to conceal a feeling of uneasiness at the awkward descent before him. “Are we to come up again and let you down?”

“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 passing 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 space 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 sturdily.

“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, butter 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.The light was dying out fast on the peaks around, and they ceased to flash and glow, to become pale and grey, and then ghastly, cold and strange, as the little party sat enjoying the simple meal and the calm and rest of the peaceful scene. Everything around was so still that there was hardly a murmur in the pines; only the hushed roar of the restless river, but subdued now, for its waters were shrinking fast from the failure of the supply; for the many thousand trickling rivulets of melting snow, born of the hot sunshine of the day, were now being frozen up hard.The weary feeling that stole over Saxe was very pleasant as he eat there, with his back against the rough pine boards of the chalet, watching the shadows darkening in the valley, and the falls grow less and less distinct, while a conversation, which did not trouble him, went on close by his elbow.“I think I have pretty well explained what I want, Melchior,” Dale was saying. “I have seen a few specimens of the crystals found up in the mountains, and I am convinced that far finer pieces are to be obtained in the higher parts that have not yet been explored.”The guide was silent for a few minutes as he sat now smoking his pipe.“The herr is right,” he said at last. “I have often seen places where, such treasures may be found. But you are a stranger—I am a Swiss. Is it right that I should help you?”“When I tell you that I am moved by no ideas of greed, but solely as a discoverer, and that, as I have before said, your country would be the richer for my find, you ought to be satisfied.”“I should be, herr, only that I do not quite like the secrecy of your movements. It is not like anything I have done before, and it troubles me to think that I ought not to tell anybody the object of our excursions.”“Tell any curious people that we are making ascents because I am studying the mountains. It will be the truth; for, understand me, I am not going alone for this search. I want to find out more concerning the forming of the glaciers, and the gathering of storms on the mountains. There are endless discoveries to be made, and ascents to be attempted. You will show me mountains that have not yet been climbed.”“I will show the herr all he wishes, and keep his counsel loyally,” said Melchior. “No one shall know anything about our search. Look, herr: the Alpen glow!”A slight rustling sound beneath the verandah had just taken Saxe’s attention, and he was wondering whether any one was in the low stone cowhouse over which the chalet was built—from the economical ideas of the people, who make one roof do for both places, and give to their cattle an especially warm winter house—when the guide’s words roused him from his drowsy state, and he started up to gaze at the rather rare phenomenon before him.A short time before the various mountain peaks had stood up, dimly-seen, shadowy grey and strange, the more distant dying out in the gathering gloom. Now it was as if a sudden return of the golden sunset had thrown them up again, glowing with light and colour, but with a softness and delicacy that was beautiful in the extreme.“All that’s bright must fade,” said Dale, with a sigh. “I wonder what our English friends would say to that, Saxe!”“What I do,—that it’s lovely. Is it like this every night?”“No,” replied Melchior, refilling his pipe; “it is only at times. Some say it means storms in the mountains; some that it is to be fine weather.”“And what do you say, Melchior?” asked Dale.“I say nothing, herr. What can a man who knows the mountains say, but that this is a place of change? Down here in the valley it has been a soft bright summer day, whilst up yonder in the mountains storm and snow have raged, and the icy winds have frozen men to death. Another day I have left the wind howling and the rain beating and the great black clouds hanging low; and in an hour or two I have climbed up to sunshine, warmth and peace.”“But you mountaineers know a great deal about the weather and its changes.”“A little, herr,” said the guide, smiling—“not a great deal. It is beyond us. We know by the clouds and mists high above the mountains when it is safe to go and when to stay; for if we see long-drawn and rugged clouds hanging about the points and trailing down the cols and over each icy grat, we know there is a tempest raging and we do not go. There is not much wisdom in that. It is very simple, and— Look! the young herr is fast asleep. Poor boy!—it has been a tiring day. Shall we go to rest?”“Yes,” said Dale, laying his hand on Saxe’s shoulder. “Come, boy, rouse up and let’s go to bed.”“Eh? What? Where? Sliding down and— Did you speak, Mr Dale?” said Saxe, after starting up and babbling excitedly for a moment or two, just fresh from his dreams.“Wake up! I’m going to bed.”“Wake up, of course,” said Saxe tetchily. “Mustn’t a—?”He stopped short, colouring a little; and at that moment he turned sharply, for there was a loud sneeze from below, and directly after a youngish man, with a lowering look and some bits of hay sticking in his hair, came out from the cowhouse and slouched by the front, glancing up with half-shut eyes towards the occupants of the verandah, on his way to a low stone-built shingle-roofed place, from which sundry bleatings told that it was the refuge of the herd of goats.Saxe was too sleepy to think then, and their host being summoned, he showed them through the chalet into a long low room with a sloping roof and boarded floor, in two corners of which lay a quantity of clean hay and twigs of some dry heathery-looking plant.“Gute nacht,” he said briefly, and went out, leaving the door open.“Do we sleep here?” said Saxe, yawning. “No beds no chests of drawers, no washstands, no carpets.”“No, boy: nothing but clean hay and a roof over our heads,” replied Dale. “Shall you mind?”“Mind?” said Saxe, plumping himself down in the hay. “Well, it seems so queer. I can’t undress and lie in this stuff: see how it would tickle. It is pretty soft, though, and— Oh! murder!”“What’s the matter?” cried Dale excitedly: “some insect?”“No, it’s a jolly old stumpy thistle, like the top of a young pineapple. It did prick.—Yes, it is pretty soft, and it smells nice, and heigh ho hum! how tired I am!”“You’ll take the other corner, Melchior,” said Dale; “I’ll lie here. There is no occasion to fasten the door, I suppose?”“Fasten the door!” said the guide, with a quiet laugh. “Oh no. The only intruder likely to come is the wind, and he might open it and bang it, but he will not be abroad to-night. Look!”“Look! what at?”The guide pointed to the corner where Saxe had lain down, making a pillow of his arm.Dale smiled.“Comfortable, Saxe boy?”There was no reply. The hay made a pleasant, sweetly scented couch. Saxe was fast asleep.

Milk, bread, butter 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.

The light was dying out fast on the peaks around, and they ceased to flash and glow, to become pale and grey, and then ghastly, cold and strange, as the little party sat enjoying the simple meal and the calm and rest of the peaceful scene. Everything around was so still that there was hardly a murmur in the pines; only the hushed roar of the restless river, but subdued now, for its waters were shrinking fast from the failure of the supply; for the many thousand trickling rivulets of melting snow, born of the hot sunshine of the day, were now being frozen up hard.

The weary feeling that stole over Saxe was very pleasant as he eat there, with his back against the rough pine boards of the chalet, watching the shadows darkening in the valley, and the falls grow less and less distinct, while a conversation, which did not trouble him, went on close by his elbow.

“I think I have pretty well explained what I want, Melchior,” Dale was saying. “I have seen a few specimens of the crystals found up in the mountains, and I am convinced that far finer pieces are to be obtained in the higher parts that have not yet been explored.”

The guide was silent for a few minutes as he sat now smoking his pipe.

“The herr is right,” he said at last. “I have often seen places where, such treasures may be found. But you are a stranger—I am a Swiss. Is it right that I should help you?”

“When I tell you that I am moved by no ideas of greed, but solely as a discoverer, and that, as I have before said, your country would be the richer for my find, you ought to be satisfied.”

“I should be, herr, only that I do not quite like the secrecy of your movements. It is not like anything I have done before, and it troubles me to think that I ought not to tell anybody the object of our excursions.”

“Tell any curious people that we are making ascents because I am studying the mountains. It will be the truth; for, understand me, I am not going alone for this search. I want to find out more concerning the forming of the glaciers, and the gathering of storms on the mountains. There are endless discoveries to be made, and ascents to be attempted. You will show me mountains that have not yet been climbed.”

“I will show the herr all he wishes, and keep his counsel loyally,” said Melchior. “No one shall know anything about our search. Look, herr: the Alpen glow!”

A slight rustling sound beneath the verandah had just taken Saxe’s attention, and he was wondering whether any one was in the low stone cowhouse over which the chalet was built—from the economical ideas of the people, who make one roof do for both places, and give to their cattle an especially warm winter house—when the guide’s words roused him from his drowsy state, and he started up to gaze at the rather rare phenomenon before him.

A short time before the various mountain peaks had stood up, dimly-seen, shadowy grey and strange, the more distant dying out in the gathering gloom. Now it was as if a sudden return of the golden sunset had thrown them up again, glowing with light and colour, but with a softness and delicacy that was beautiful in the extreme.

“All that’s bright must fade,” said Dale, with a sigh. “I wonder what our English friends would say to that, Saxe!”

“What I do,—that it’s lovely. Is it like this every night?”

“No,” replied Melchior, refilling his pipe; “it is only at times. Some say it means storms in the mountains; some that it is to be fine weather.”

“And what do you say, Melchior?” asked Dale.

“I say nothing, herr. What can a man who knows the mountains say, but that this is a place of change? Down here in the valley it has been a soft bright summer day, whilst up yonder in the mountains storm and snow have raged, and the icy winds have frozen men to death. Another day I have left the wind howling and the rain beating and the great black clouds hanging low; and in an hour or two I have climbed up to sunshine, warmth and peace.”

“But you mountaineers know a great deal about the weather and its changes.”

“A little, herr,” said the guide, smiling—“not a great deal. It is beyond us. We know by the clouds and mists high above the mountains when it is safe to go and when to stay; for if we see long-drawn and rugged clouds hanging about the points and trailing down the cols and over each icy grat, we know there is a tempest raging and we do not go. There is not much wisdom in that. It is very simple, and— Look! the young herr is fast asleep. Poor boy!—it has been a tiring day. Shall we go to rest?”

“Yes,” said Dale, laying his hand on Saxe’s shoulder. “Come, boy, rouse up and let’s go to bed.”

“Eh? What? Where? Sliding down and— Did you speak, Mr Dale?” said Saxe, after starting up and babbling excitedly for a moment or two, just fresh from his dreams.

“Wake up! I’m going to bed.”

“Wake up, of course,” said Saxe tetchily. “Mustn’t a—?”

He stopped short, colouring a little; and at that moment he turned sharply, for there was a loud sneeze from below, and directly after a youngish man, with a lowering look and some bits of hay sticking in his hair, came out from the cowhouse and slouched by the front, glancing up with half-shut eyes towards the occupants of the verandah, on his way to a low stone-built shingle-roofed place, from which sundry bleatings told that it was the refuge of the herd of goats.

Saxe was too sleepy to think then, and their host being summoned, he showed them through the chalet into a long low room with a sloping roof and boarded floor, in two corners of which lay a quantity of clean hay and twigs of some dry heathery-looking plant.

“Gute nacht,” he said briefly, and went out, leaving the door open.

“Do we sleep here?” said Saxe, yawning. “No beds no chests of drawers, no washstands, no carpets.”

“No, boy: nothing but clean hay and a roof over our heads,” replied Dale. “Shall you mind?”

“Mind?” said Saxe, plumping himself down in the hay. “Well, it seems so queer. I can’t undress and lie in this stuff: see how it would tickle. It is pretty soft, though, and— Oh! murder!”

“What’s the matter?” cried Dale excitedly: “some insect?”

“No, it’s a jolly old stumpy thistle, like the top of a young pineapple. It did prick.—Yes, it is pretty soft, and it smells nice, and heigh ho hum! how tired I am!”

“You’ll take the other corner, Melchior,” said Dale; “I’ll lie here. There is no occasion to fasten the door, I suppose?”

“Fasten the door!” said the guide, with a quiet laugh. “Oh no. The only intruder likely to come is the wind, and he might open it and bang it, but he will not be abroad to-night. Look!”

“Look! what at?”

The guide pointed to the corner where Saxe had lain down, making a pillow of his arm.

Dale smiled.

“Comfortable, Saxe boy?”

There was no reply. The hay made a pleasant, sweetly scented couch. Saxe was fast asleep.

Chapter Six.A Try for Gold.Strange places bring strange dreams, and often some hours of complete oblivion. Saxe began to dream with all his might. Body and Brain had been having the thorough rest which comes to those who have been walking far in the glorious mountain air; but toward morning Brain woke up and began to act on its own account, while Body lay asleep; and when Brain does this without the balance given by Body, its workings are rather wild.In this case it began to repeat the adventures of the day before, but in a curiously bizarre manner; and in consequence Saxe found himself being disappointed in the heights of the mountains, which were exceedingly small—mere anthills covered with snow, up which he began to climb so as to stand on their tops; but as he climbed they began to grow, so that there was always a piece more to get up, and so he went on, finding that there was no getting right to the top. Then avalanches began to fall rumbling and roaring down, and covering people at the bottom—hundreds of them, so it seemed to him; and he could hear them moaning under the snow, which by some curious chance of circumstances was just below him. But the odd thing was that they did not seem to mind it much, only moaning piteously and impatiently, as if they were in a hurry for a thaw to come and set them free. Then one of them began to ring the bell for dinner; and another did the same; and Saxe felt that he ought to be doing something to take them food to eat—coarse bread, butter, cheese like Gruyère, full of holes, and a jug of milk, but he did not do it, and the people went on moaning and ringing the bells.Then he was high up, watching the waterfalls with the silvery rockets slowly descending, and trailing after them their sparkling spray, which kept lighting up with glorious rainbow colours.Then he was stepping from stone to stone in the ice-cave below the glacier, listening to the gurgling and whishing of the water as it came rushing down over the grey, dark rock from out the narrow arching tunnel which shut up behind him.How he got out of that place he did not know; but soon after his eyes were aching with the glare of the snow around him. A huge eagle, a hundred times bigger than the one he had seen, was soaring round and round, and coming lower and lower, till it was so close to him that he could feel the wind of its wings wafted pleasantly over his face. The bird’s back was soft and cushiony, and it seemed to be inviting him to take his place upon it for a ride up in the air; and he was thinking of doing so, and gliding off over the silver-topped mountains to look out for caves where they could chip out crystals, and perhaps discover valuable metals; but just as he was about to throw a leg over the feathery saddle and take his seat, there was a fearful yell, that sounded like an accident in a trombone manufactory, where all the instruments had been blown up by an explosion of steam. He was hurled back upon the snow, and held down by some monstrous creature, which planted its feet upon his chest; and the people buried in the snow began to moan more loudly and ring the bells.Then Saxe opened his eyes, and in his half-awake condition he felt the wafting of the great bird’s wings, heard the moaning of the people buried beneath the avalanche, and listened to them ringing the bells in an impatient way.“What nonsense, to dream such stuff!” he said impatiently. “Why, it’s the cows lowing in the place underneath, waiting to be milked, and shaking their bells.”But, all the same, he felt a thrill of horror run through him, and tried to pierce the gloom by which he was surrounded, for certainly something was holding him down with its feet upon his chest, and stooping by him so that he could feel its breath.The sensation to him was horrible, for it raised its head now, making a strange noise; and he could faintly see by a pencil of light a hideous-looking head, with tall curved horns and a long beard, and though he could not see them, he seemed to feel that a pair of glowing eyes were fixed upon his not a yard away.There was no time to think or reason in such a position. He could see the head, and feel the pressure of the feet; and he knew that he was not dreaming now. Frightened he was naturally, but he acted at once as a lad of manly character might be expected to act: he struck out with his doubled fist, giving the object a heavy blow just beneath the horns.The effect was instantaneous. The creature gave a bound, there was a pattering sound on the floor, and something rushed out through the open door, uttering a dismal b–a–a–ah!“Why, it was a jolly old goat!” said Saxe, half aloud. “I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”The next moment he was lying back laughing silently, fully grasping his position now, and listening to a rustling movement away to his left.“That you, Melchior?” he said.“Ah, herr: awake? Good morning.”“Not time to get up, is it?”“Oh yes; it is getting late. Why, it will soon be full day!”“Oh, will it?” muttered Saxe rather grumpily, for the bed he had despised overnight now seemed temptingly pleasant for another hour or two’s snooze. “What nonsense!” he thought. “Soon be day! I hope we are not always going to get up at such ridiculous times. Well, if I’m to get up, he isn’t going to be snoozing there.”He leaned over and stretched out his hand; but that was not sufficient, for their bed was wide, and he had to creep a yard or two before he could grasp his companion’s shoulder.“It’s to-morrow morning, Mr Dale,” he said.“Eh? yes! All right. Where’s Melchior?” cried Dale, springing up.“Here, herr,” said the guide from the door. “A beautiful morning, and I think a fine day.”“That’s right,” said Dale, shaking the hay from his clothes.“Shall I ask where the dressing and bath-rooms are?” said Saxe, grinning.“No,” said Dale quietly; “I’ll show you.”He led the way out of the chalet, where they met the furtive-looking man they had seen overnight. He gave them another sidelong look, said Guten morgen surlily, and then, as it seemed to Saxe, began to put on his tail—that is to say, he strapped on his one-legged milking-stool, and went to meet one of the cows.“This way to the bath-room, Saxe,” said Dale; and he led the way to the foot of the nearest fall, whose icy water came showering down softly as if it were from a cloud. Here there was a pool of the greatest limpidity, broad, deep, and ground out of the solid rock by the constant dropping that wears a stone.There were no remains of sleep about Saxe’s eyes after his ablutions, and they walked back towards the chalet, meeting Melchior.“There is some breakfast ready, herr,” he said; “and I should like to know whether it would be wise to get your things up here and stay for a few days.”“An excellent proposal; but how are we to get them?”“Oh, there are men who would fetch them; or Andregg would send Pierre with his mule.”“Who is Pierre?—that man we saw milking?”“Yes, herr. I don’t like him, but he is honest, and will do that very well. Shall I send? After you have done here, I can get them carried farther over the mountains, or, if you liked, we could hire Andregg’s mule for use at once.”“But the mountains? Can he climb?”Melchior laughed.“Almost anywhere. I think he could even beat us. He is a wonderful beast.”The proposal was agreed to, and after they had partaken of their homely breakfast, Andregg was questioned about the mule.Oh yes, he was quite willing to lend it, for as many days or weeks as the herr liked.“Then I’ll have it to carry our little tent, rugs and provisions. I promise you I will feed the animal well.”“The herr need not trouble himself,” said Andregg; “Gros will feed himself.”“Well, then, I will not work him too hard.”“I am not afraid, herr,” said the sturdy grey-haired old Swiss, smiling; “he always lies down when he is tired.”“Then I will not beat him.”“No, herr,” said Andregg; “he will not let you.”“Here, I want to see that mule!” cried Saxe.“Oh yes, the young herr shall see him,” said the old Swiss; and he went to the door and uttered a peculiar jodel, which was answered directly by a horrible bray which Saxe recognised as the yell he had heard before he was awake.“Nein—nein—nein—nein!” shouted the old Swiss, and the donkey’s bray died off into a sobbing moan. As this was ended, the old man jodelled again, apparently without result; but soon after there was a snort, and a peculiar-looking animal came trotting down from the mountain, whisking its long tail from side to side and pointing its long ears forward. But as it came close up, it suddenly stopped, and spun round as if upon a pivot.“Here, come round and let’s look at your head,” cried Saxe.“No; he will not turn till he knows you well,” cried the old man; “he’s very bashful, is Gros. You must make friends with him by degrees, and then he is quite a brother to any one in the mountains.”“But how am I to make friends with him?” cried Saxe.“Get a piece of bread for the young herr, Melchior Staffeln,” said the old man. “When it comes,” he continued, “you may tempt Gros to come to you; but he is very particular, and may not like you, because you are foreigners.”The bread was brought. Saxe took it, and held it out to the mule, which slightly turned its head, gazed at it wistfully, but kept its hind quarters toward the would-be donor, turning as he turned, in spite of sundry coaxing words.“Here, turn round,” cried Saxe: “you can’t eat with your tail.”“Don’t go too close, herr,” said the old Swiss; “I don’t think he would, but he might kick.”“And I think it’s very probable that he will,” said Dale sharply; “that right hind leg is all of a quiver. Why, the brute’s vicious, Melchior!” he said, in German.“No, no—not vicious,” said the old Swiss; “it’s only that he’s frightened and bashful: he isn’t used to company, herr. Be patient with him, and he’s a beast that would almost lay down his life for you.”“Looks more like laying down our lives,” said Saxe, making a sudden dart round, as the mule was watching Dale, and then, as the animal turned sharply, holding out the bread.Perhaps the wind bore the scent of the piece of loaf to the mule’s nostrils, and the temptation was too great to resist. At any rate it stretched out its neck and extended its muzzle, so that head and neck were nearly in a straight line, and uttered a shrill, squealing whinny, which was answered at once by the donkey with a sonorous trumpeting bray, as the lesser animal came cantering up with tail and ears cocked.“Ah! child of the evil one!” shouted old Andregg, “go back to your pasture;” and stooping down, he picked up a piece of freshly cut pine-wood, and threw it at the offending animal, missing him, but making him put his head down between his fore legs, and kick out his hind legs in defiance, before cantering off again.By this time the mule was sniffing at the bread, and drawing nearer and nearer to Saxe’s extended hand, consenting finally to take it and begin to eat.“Is it not beautiful?” cried old Andregg, smiling. “Behold, you have made a friend who will serve you like a dog.”“I can’t see anything very beautiful in it, Mr Dale,” said Saxe, who had now advanced so far that he was permitted to pat the mule’s neck; “and what does he mean by ‘serve you like a dog’? Bite! He looks as if he could.”“He will be very useful to us, herr, and save us many a long weary tramp,” said the guide, smiling. “I am willing and strong, but I cannot guide and carry much as well, and if you share the load with me, your climbing will be too laborious. With the mule to drive before us, we can take water, food, and blankets, beside a kettle for coffee; and sleep for one, two or three nights in the mountains, if we like. Shall we take him to-day?”“I thought he was to be sent down the valley for our portmanteau and things,” said Dale.“Andregg can send the donkey,” replied Melchior.“Then by all means let us take the animal. I wish, though, that we had our ice-axes and rope, that I left at the chalet below.”“They will be ready for our next journey,” said Melchior. And after due instructions had been given to old Andregg and his man Pierre, preparations were made for a fresh start up the mountains.These did not take long. A kind of basket was secured firmly on the mule’s back, and old Andregg, under Melchior’s directions, produced a couple of worn ice-picks or axes, blankets, bottles, a kettle for coffee, and a little ready-chopped wood to supply the first start to the twigs and branches they would collect before leaving the forest.By the time the mule was loaded with everything deemed necessary, Pierre was ready with the donkey, and the start was made together up and down the valley. At least, that was intended; but there were objections raised by the two four-footed friends, both wanting to go together; and when at last, after a volley of angry language from Andregg, the donkey was dragged by Pierre along the track, it began to bray loudly.This was sufficient to attract the mule, which whinnied and tried to follow the donkey.Melchior seized the bridle and checked him, just as they were ascending the first of a series of zigzags leading out of the deep valley, with the result that the donkey brayed again and had to be held by main force by Pierre’s arm round his neck, for he had dragged his head out of the bridle; while Gros began to kick and back and behave so obstreperously that Dale gave him a sharp prod with the end of his alpenstock.Misplaced prod! It was an unhappy touch, making, as it did, Gros give a tremendous plunge off the narrow mule-track, to come down on a slope so steep that he lost his footing, fell, and rolled over and over in a wonderful way, scattering bottles, wood, and tins from the basket, all of which went careering down the side of the valley with the mule, leaping, bounding and rattling and creaking in a way which drove the poor beast nearly frantic with fear, the catastrophe being in no wise bettered by the shouts of Andregg and the dismal brayings of the donkey, which seemed to be frantic in the endeavour to join his unfortunate friend.The roll down was neither long enough nor dangerous enough to do any harm to Gros; but the state of the scattered cargo, as it was collected and carried to where the mule stood shivering, stamping and kicking at the basket as it hung down now between his legs, was deplorable, and meant a delay of half an hour before a fresh start could be made.“You must be kind to Gros, herr,” said the old Swiss reproachfully. “He always hated to be pricked by the iron point of an alpenstock. I have known him bite boys who used their alpenstocks to him.”“That’s a hint for you, Saxe,” said Dale merrily. “Worse disasters at sea,” he cried. “Now, Melchior, are we all ready once more?”“Yes, herr,” replied the guide.“Then which way do you propose going, after we get up out of the valley?”“Over yonder, between those two peaks, herr,” said the man, pointing.“With the mule? Is it possible?”“I think so, herr; and if you like we will try. I don’t think there will be much snow in the pass—no more than the mule can manage. And, once there, I think we can descend into a wild valley below the snow-line—one where man very seldom treads.”“Excellent,” said Dale. And they started, leaving old Andregg and his wife collecting the broken bottles and damaged articles below.They had not ascended above half a dozen of the many zigzags of the path, when the bray of the donkey came faintly from behind, and Gros set up his ears, stopped, whinnied, and looked as if he were about to turn back; but this time kindness was tried, Melchior snatching a piece of bread from his pocket and walking on, holding it behind him.The result was excellent. The bray of Gros’s relative was forgotten, and he increased his pace, sniffing at the bread till he could succeed in taking it from the guide’s hand, and, steadily journeying on, munch the sweet, fresh food.In spite of the delay it was still early; and, feeling no trace of his last night’s weariness, Saxe tramped on along the zigzag shelf in the valley side, till the edge of the steep part was reached. Melchior strode off to the right, and then to the left, so as to reach the narrow valley down which the stream came that had supplied them with water for their morning’s bath.This was a mere crack running up into the mountains, but with a little care a path was found upon the steep alp which formed one side, and when this became too precipitous, they descended into the rocky bed, and slowly made their way on till an opportunity for ascending to higher ground presented itself.The progress made was very slow, but wonderfully interesting, from the variety of moisture-loving plants which took Dale’s attention, and the brightly coloured insects, which took that of Saxe, while the mule was perfectly content to wait while a halt was called to capture insect or secure plant; the solemn-looking animal standing fetlock-deep in the water, and browsing on the herbage in the various crannies among the stones.One of these halts was in an opening out of the narrow gorge running nearly east and west, so that it was flooded by the morning sun; and here, as the limpid water trickled and glided over the sandy bed, Dale took a shallow tin from the mule’s pannier and lowered himself down to the edge of the stream.Taking hold of a piece of rock so as to reach out, he bent down and scooped out half a panful of sand, where there was an eddy; and as the mule began to munch, and Saxe watched his leader’s acts, Melchior pulled out his pipe, struck a match, and began to smoke.“The herr is going to try for gold,” he said quietly to Saxe; but Dale heard it.“Yes. Is there much here, do you think?”“It is too much to say, herr,” replied the guide. “There may be, but I have never known any to be found on this side of the mountains.”“Is any found on the other side, then?”“Oh yes, on the Italian slope, herr, and down in the valleys, they seek for and find gold—not much, but some.”“Got any, sir?” said Saxe.“I don’t know myself,” replied Dale, who was washing the heavier gravel away, and picking out the stones he brought to the surface by a skilful motion of the pan beneath the water. “I must wash out all the sand first before I look to see if there is colour, as the American gold-finders call it.”“Is there another pan, Melchior?” said Saxe; “I want to try too.”“No, herr, there is only one.”“You wait, and let’s see what I find, my lad. I expect it will be nothing. There’s a nice fragment of onyx,” he continued, picking out and pitching up a piece of flinty-looking rock to the lad. “I dare say there are some good agates here too, if we searched for them.”Dale spent about a quarter of an hour getting rid of every scrap of the granite; then held the pan in the bright sunshine, so that the water drained off and the rays shone full upon the bottom of the vessel.He turned it about at different angles, shook the fine sand, and turned it over with his fingers; but ended by shaking his head.“No luck, sir?”“Not a speck. Never mind; I’ll try again.”He dug down with the edge of the tin, scooping out a good deal of sand, so as to get a tinful from as deep down as he could.“Gold is heavy, and would sink low if it were washed down,” he said; and for the next quarter of an hour he repeated the washing process, while Melchior smoked, the mule browsed on the succulent herbage, and Saxe devoted himself to creeping farther along by the stream, and peering down into the pools in search of trout.“That old fellow at the chalet said the mule would feed himself, Mr Dale,” said the boy suddenly.“Yes, he will not be much trouble to us that way,” replied Dale, still plying the pan vigorously; when the mule suddenly reared its head, cocked its ears forward, and whinnied.

Strange places bring strange dreams, and often some hours of complete oblivion. Saxe began to dream with all his might. Body and Brain had been having the thorough rest which comes to those who have been walking far in the glorious mountain air; but toward morning Brain woke up and began to act on its own account, while Body lay asleep; and when Brain does this without the balance given by Body, its workings are rather wild.

In this case it began to repeat the adventures of the day before, but in a curiously bizarre manner; and in consequence Saxe found himself being disappointed in the heights of the mountains, which were exceedingly small—mere anthills covered with snow, up which he began to climb so as to stand on their tops; but as he climbed they began to grow, so that there was always a piece more to get up, and so he went on, finding that there was no getting right to the top. Then avalanches began to fall rumbling and roaring down, and covering people at the bottom—hundreds of them, so it seemed to him; and he could hear them moaning under the snow, which by some curious chance of circumstances was just below him. But the odd thing was that they did not seem to mind it much, only moaning piteously and impatiently, as if they were in a hurry for a thaw to come and set them free. Then one of them began to ring the bell for dinner; and another did the same; and Saxe felt that he ought to be doing something to take them food to eat—coarse bread, butter, cheese like Gruyère, full of holes, and a jug of milk, but he did not do it, and the people went on moaning and ringing the bells.

Then he was high up, watching the waterfalls with the silvery rockets slowly descending, and trailing after them their sparkling spray, which kept lighting up with glorious rainbow colours.

Then he was stepping from stone to stone in the ice-cave below the glacier, listening to the gurgling and whishing of the water as it came rushing down over the grey, dark rock from out the narrow arching tunnel which shut up behind him.

How he got out of that place he did not know; but soon after his eyes were aching with the glare of the snow around him. A huge eagle, a hundred times bigger than the one he had seen, was soaring round and round, and coming lower and lower, till it was so close to him that he could feel the wind of its wings wafted pleasantly over his face. The bird’s back was soft and cushiony, and it seemed to be inviting him to take his place upon it for a ride up in the air; and he was thinking of doing so, and gliding off over the silver-topped mountains to look out for caves where they could chip out crystals, and perhaps discover valuable metals; but just as he was about to throw a leg over the feathery saddle and take his seat, there was a fearful yell, that sounded like an accident in a trombone manufactory, where all the instruments had been blown up by an explosion of steam. He was hurled back upon the snow, and held down by some monstrous creature, which planted its feet upon his chest; and the people buried in the snow began to moan more loudly and ring the bells.

Then Saxe opened his eyes, and in his half-awake condition he felt the wafting of the great bird’s wings, heard the moaning of the people buried beneath the avalanche, and listened to them ringing the bells in an impatient way.

“What nonsense, to dream such stuff!” he said impatiently. “Why, it’s the cows lowing in the place underneath, waiting to be milked, and shaking their bells.”

But, all the same, he felt a thrill of horror run through him, and tried to pierce the gloom by which he was surrounded, for certainly something was holding him down with its feet upon his chest, and stooping by him so that he could feel its breath.

The sensation to him was horrible, for it raised its head now, making a strange noise; and he could faintly see by a pencil of light a hideous-looking head, with tall curved horns and a long beard, and though he could not see them, he seemed to feel that a pair of glowing eyes were fixed upon his not a yard away.

There was no time to think or reason in such a position. He could see the head, and feel the pressure of the feet; and he knew that he was not dreaming now. Frightened he was naturally, but he acted at once as a lad of manly character might be expected to act: he struck out with his doubled fist, giving the object a heavy blow just beneath the horns.

The effect was instantaneous. The creature gave a bound, there was a pattering sound on the floor, and something rushed out through the open door, uttering a dismal b–a–a–ah!

“Why, it was a jolly old goat!” said Saxe, half aloud. “I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

The next moment he was lying back laughing silently, fully grasping his position now, and listening to a rustling movement away to his left.

“That you, Melchior?” he said.

“Ah, herr: awake? Good morning.”

“Not time to get up, is it?”

“Oh yes; it is getting late. Why, it will soon be full day!”

“Oh, will it?” muttered Saxe rather grumpily, for the bed he had despised overnight now seemed temptingly pleasant for another hour or two’s snooze. “What nonsense!” he thought. “Soon be day! I hope we are not always going to get up at such ridiculous times. Well, if I’m to get up, he isn’t going to be snoozing there.”

He leaned over and stretched out his hand; but that was not sufficient, for their bed was wide, and he had to creep a yard or two before he could grasp his companion’s shoulder.

“It’s to-morrow morning, Mr Dale,” he said.

“Eh? yes! All right. Where’s Melchior?” cried Dale, springing up.

“Here, herr,” said the guide from the door. “A beautiful morning, and I think a fine day.”

“That’s right,” said Dale, shaking the hay from his clothes.

“Shall I ask where the dressing and bath-rooms are?” said Saxe, grinning.

“No,” said Dale quietly; “I’ll show you.”

He led the way out of the chalet, where they met the furtive-looking man they had seen overnight. He gave them another sidelong look, said Guten morgen surlily, and then, as it seemed to Saxe, began to put on his tail—that is to say, he strapped on his one-legged milking-stool, and went to meet one of the cows.

“This way to the bath-room, Saxe,” said Dale; and he led the way to the foot of the nearest fall, whose icy water came showering down softly as if it were from a cloud. Here there was a pool of the greatest limpidity, broad, deep, and ground out of the solid rock by the constant dropping that wears a stone.

There were no remains of sleep about Saxe’s eyes after his ablutions, and they walked back towards the chalet, meeting Melchior.

“There is some breakfast ready, herr,” he said; “and I should like to know whether it would be wise to get your things up here and stay for a few days.”

“An excellent proposal; but how are we to get them?”

“Oh, there are men who would fetch them; or Andregg would send Pierre with his mule.”

“Who is Pierre?—that man we saw milking?”

“Yes, herr. I don’t like him, but he is honest, and will do that very well. Shall I send? After you have done here, I can get them carried farther over the mountains, or, if you liked, we could hire Andregg’s mule for use at once.”

“But the mountains? Can he climb?”

Melchior laughed.

“Almost anywhere. I think he could even beat us. He is a wonderful beast.”

The proposal was agreed to, and after they had partaken of their homely breakfast, Andregg was questioned about the mule.

Oh yes, he was quite willing to lend it, for as many days or weeks as the herr liked.

“Then I’ll have it to carry our little tent, rugs and provisions. I promise you I will feed the animal well.”

“The herr need not trouble himself,” said Andregg; “Gros will feed himself.”

“Well, then, I will not work him too hard.”

“I am not afraid, herr,” said the sturdy grey-haired old Swiss, smiling; “he always lies down when he is tired.”

“Then I will not beat him.”

“No, herr,” said Andregg; “he will not let you.”

“Here, I want to see that mule!” cried Saxe.

“Oh yes, the young herr shall see him,” said the old Swiss; and he went to the door and uttered a peculiar jodel, which was answered directly by a horrible bray which Saxe recognised as the yell he had heard before he was awake.

“Nein—nein—nein—nein!” shouted the old Swiss, and the donkey’s bray died off into a sobbing moan. As this was ended, the old man jodelled again, apparently without result; but soon after there was a snort, and a peculiar-looking animal came trotting down from the mountain, whisking its long tail from side to side and pointing its long ears forward. But as it came close up, it suddenly stopped, and spun round as if upon a pivot.

“Here, come round and let’s look at your head,” cried Saxe.

“No; he will not turn till he knows you well,” cried the old man; “he’s very bashful, is Gros. You must make friends with him by degrees, and then he is quite a brother to any one in the mountains.”

“But how am I to make friends with him?” cried Saxe.

“Get a piece of bread for the young herr, Melchior Staffeln,” said the old man. “When it comes,” he continued, “you may tempt Gros to come to you; but he is very particular, and may not like you, because you are foreigners.”

The bread was brought. Saxe took it, and held it out to the mule, which slightly turned its head, gazed at it wistfully, but kept its hind quarters toward the would-be donor, turning as he turned, in spite of sundry coaxing words.

“Here, turn round,” cried Saxe: “you can’t eat with your tail.”

“Don’t go too close, herr,” said the old Swiss; “I don’t think he would, but he might kick.”

“And I think it’s very probable that he will,” said Dale sharply; “that right hind leg is all of a quiver. Why, the brute’s vicious, Melchior!” he said, in German.

“No, no—not vicious,” said the old Swiss; “it’s only that he’s frightened and bashful: he isn’t used to company, herr. Be patient with him, and he’s a beast that would almost lay down his life for you.”

“Looks more like laying down our lives,” said Saxe, making a sudden dart round, as the mule was watching Dale, and then, as the animal turned sharply, holding out the bread.

Perhaps the wind bore the scent of the piece of loaf to the mule’s nostrils, and the temptation was too great to resist. At any rate it stretched out its neck and extended its muzzle, so that head and neck were nearly in a straight line, and uttered a shrill, squealing whinny, which was answered at once by the donkey with a sonorous trumpeting bray, as the lesser animal came cantering up with tail and ears cocked.

“Ah! child of the evil one!” shouted old Andregg, “go back to your pasture;” and stooping down, he picked up a piece of freshly cut pine-wood, and threw it at the offending animal, missing him, but making him put his head down between his fore legs, and kick out his hind legs in defiance, before cantering off again.

By this time the mule was sniffing at the bread, and drawing nearer and nearer to Saxe’s extended hand, consenting finally to take it and begin to eat.

“Is it not beautiful?” cried old Andregg, smiling. “Behold, you have made a friend who will serve you like a dog.”

“I can’t see anything very beautiful in it, Mr Dale,” said Saxe, who had now advanced so far that he was permitted to pat the mule’s neck; “and what does he mean by ‘serve you like a dog’? Bite! He looks as if he could.”

“He will be very useful to us, herr, and save us many a long weary tramp,” said the guide, smiling. “I am willing and strong, but I cannot guide and carry much as well, and if you share the load with me, your climbing will be too laborious. With the mule to drive before us, we can take water, food, and blankets, beside a kettle for coffee; and sleep for one, two or three nights in the mountains, if we like. Shall we take him to-day?”

“I thought he was to be sent down the valley for our portmanteau and things,” said Dale.

“Andregg can send the donkey,” replied Melchior.

“Then by all means let us take the animal. I wish, though, that we had our ice-axes and rope, that I left at the chalet below.”

“They will be ready for our next journey,” said Melchior. And after due instructions had been given to old Andregg and his man Pierre, preparations were made for a fresh start up the mountains.

These did not take long. A kind of basket was secured firmly on the mule’s back, and old Andregg, under Melchior’s directions, produced a couple of worn ice-picks or axes, blankets, bottles, a kettle for coffee, and a little ready-chopped wood to supply the first start to the twigs and branches they would collect before leaving the forest.

By the time the mule was loaded with everything deemed necessary, Pierre was ready with the donkey, and the start was made together up and down the valley. At least, that was intended; but there were objections raised by the two four-footed friends, both wanting to go together; and when at last, after a volley of angry language from Andregg, the donkey was dragged by Pierre along the track, it began to bray loudly.

This was sufficient to attract the mule, which whinnied and tried to follow the donkey.

Melchior seized the bridle and checked him, just as they were ascending the first of a series of zigzags leading out of the deep valley, with the result that the donkey brayed again and had to be held by main force by Pierre’s arm round his neck, for he had dragged his head out of the bridle; while Gros began to kick and back and behave so obstreperously that Dale gave him a sharp prod with the end of his alpenstock.

Misplaced prod! It was an unhappy touch, making, as it did, Gros give a tremendous plunge off the narrow mule-track, to come down on a slope so steep that he lost his footing, fell, and rolled over and over in a wonderful way, scattering bottles, wood, and tins from the basket, all of which went careering down the side of the valley with the mule, leaping, bounding and rattling and creaking in a way which drove the poor beast nearly frantic with fear, the catastrophe being in no wise bettered by the shouts of Andregg and the dismal brayings of the donkey, which seemed to be frantic in the endeavour to join his unfortunate friend.

The roll down was neither long enough nor dangerous enough to do any harm to Gros; but the state of the scattered cargo, as it was collected and carried to where the mule stood shivering, stamping and kicking at the basket as it hung down now between his legs, was deplorable, and meant a delay of half an hour before a fresh start could be made.

“You must be kind to Gros, herr,” said the old Swiss reproachfully. “He always hated to be pricked by the iron point of an alpenstock. I have known him bite boys who used their alpenstocks to him.”

“That’s a hint for you, Saxe,” said Dale merrily. “Worse disasters at sea,” he cried. “Now, Melchior, are we all ready once more?”

“Yes, herr,” replied the guide.

“Then which way do you propose going, after we get up out of the valley?”

“Over yonder, between those two peaks, herr,” said the man, pointing.

“With the mule? Is it possible?”

“I think so, herr; and if you like we will try. I don’t think there will be much snow in the pass—no more than the mule can manage. And, once there, I think we can descend into a wild valley below the snow-line—one where man very seldom treads.”

“Excellent,” said Dale. And they started, leaving old Andregg and his wife collecting the broken bottles and damaged articles below.

They had not ascended above half a dozen of the many zigzags of the path, when the bray of the donkey came faintly from behind, and Gros set up his ears, stopped, whinnied, and looked as if he were about to turn back; but this time kindness was tried, Melchior snatching a piece of bread from his pocket and walking on, holding it behind him.

The result was excellent. The bray of Gros’s relative was forgotten, and he increased his pace, sniffing at the bread till he could succeed in taking it from the guide’s hand, and, steadily journeying on, munch the sweet, fresh food.

In spite of the delay it was still early; and, feeling no trace of his last night’s weariness, Saxe tramped on along the zigzag shelf in the valley side, till the edge of the steep part was reached. Melchior strode off to the right, and then to the left, so as to reach the narrow valley down which the stream came that had supplied them with water for their morning’s bath.

This was a mere crack running up into the mountains, but with a little care a path was found upon the steep alp which formed one side, and when this became too precipitous, they descended into the rocky bed, and slowly made their way on till an opportunity for ascending to higher ground presented itself.

The progress made was very slow, but wonderfully interesting, from the variety of moisture-loving plants which took Dale’s attention, and the brightly coloured insects, which took that of Saxe, while the mule was perfectly content to wait while a halt was called to capture insect or secure plant; the solemn-looking animal standing fetlock-deep in the water, and browsing on the herbage in the various crannies among the stones.

One of these halts was in an opening out of the narrow gorge running nearly east and west, so that it was flooded by the morning sun; and here, as the limpid water trickled and glided over the sandy bed, Dale took a shallow tin from the mule’s pannier and lowered himself down to the edge of the stream.

Taking hold of a piece of rock so as to reach out, he bent down and scooped out half a panful of sand, where there was an eddy; and as the mule began to munch, and Saxe watched his leader’s acts, Melchior pulled out his pipe, struck a match, and began to smoke.

“The herr is going to try for gold,” he said quietly to Saxe; but Dale heard it.

“Yes. Is there much here, do you think?”

“It is too much to say, herr,” replied the guide. “There may be, but I have never known any to be found on this side of the mountains.”

“Is any found on the other side, then?”

“Oh yes, on the Italian slope, herr, and down in the valleys, they seek for and find gold—not much, but some.”

“Got any, sir?” said Saxe.

“I don’t know myself,” replied Dale, who was washing the heavier gravel away, and picking out the stones he brought to the surface by a skilful motion of the pan beneath the water. “I must wash out all the sand first before I look to see if there is colour, as the American gold-finders call it.”

“Is there another pan, Melchior?” said Saxe; “I want to try too.”

“No, herr, there is only one.”

“You wait, and let’s see what I find, my lad. I expect it will be nothing. There’s a nice fragment of onyx,” he continued, picking out and pitching up a piece of flinty-looking rock to the lad. “I dare say there are some good agates here too, if we searched for them.”

Dale spent about a quarter of an hour getting rid of every scrap of the granite; then held the pan in the bright sunshine, so that the water drained off and the rays shone full upon the bottom of the vessel.

He turned it about at different angles, shook the fine sand, and turned it over with his fingers; but ended by shaking his head.

“No luck, sir?”

“Not a speck. Never mind; I’ll try again.”

He dug down with the edge of the tin, scooping out a good deal of sand, so as to get a tinful from as deep down as he could.

“Gold is heavy, and would sink low if it were washed down,” he said; and for the next quarter of an hour he repeated the washing process, while Melchior smoked, the mule browsed on the succulent herbage, and Saxe devoted himself to creeping farther along by the stream, and peering down into the pools in search of trout.

“That old fellow at the chalet said the mule would feed himself, Mr Dale,” said the boy suddenly.

“Yes, he will not be much trouble to us that way,” replied Dale, still plying the pan vigorously; when the mule suddenly reared its head, cocked its ears forward, and whinnied.


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