They had come to a determination, on the preceding day, that if all went well they would return by another route from the col overlooking Kandersteg—a route rarely attempted, since the condition of an open couloir, a wide gully full of snow, which would have to be descended, was seldom tempting. In addition, there was always a possibility of the bergshrund below the couloir—a huge crevasse at the foot of the snow-slope—entirely stopping their further progress, and forcing them to re-ascend to the col, after half the descent had been done. But they hoped to find either a bridge of winter snow across the bergshrund, or else a place where they could turn it. And they were young and enthusiastic, and willing to run a certain amount of risk.
So they decided to venture on the attempt. And this was the scheme which Rob, the moment before they started, had scribbled in the Visitors' Book at the Hut, together with their two names.
The variation from the more ordinary route at first promised well; and the soft snow of the open couloir or gully allowed them, as they came down it, to kick for themselves deep and safe steps.
But gradually, almost imperceptibly, the character of the snow changed. It became powdery in substance; and each downward step started a miniature avalanche—so small as to discount precaution.
They were now hardly two hundred yards from the yawning bergshrund at the bottom of the slope; and to turn back without having examined it would be really too exasperating. Thus it was that the warning given by that shifting snow was allowed to pass almost unheeded. Rob, who was now the leader, did his best to pack it firmly, before trusting his weight to each foothold; and so far all seemed safe.
Ivor indeed felt so secure, as he plunged his foot into one deep step after another made by his friend, that he a little relaxed his watchful caution, and allowed his attention to wander, indulging in speculations whether he and Rob would find the two girls still at the Hut. But for that unfortunate remark overheard the evening before, he would have wished that it might be so. He would have liked nothing better than to see Bee Major again. He might never reach the point of actually falling in love with her; yet she was undoubtedly a very sweet and taking girl.
Such thoughts were travelling through his mind when something occurred, against which not all the acumen of the most experienced guides could have insured, had they ventured to trust themselves upon so treacherous a slope.
The sheet of snow which the two were descending began to stir! At first slightly—then more decisively.
Ivor, well behind Rob, the rope between them being nearly taut, was the first to awake to the awful fact that a wave had formed in front of him. Only too well he knew what that meant; and he instantaneously dug his ice-axe deep into the snow. This had small effect; for, as the snow-sheet slid downward, Rob was carried with it. For one second the rope tightened round Ivor; but, as the silent onrush of the avalanche fought for the mastery, he too felt himself gently yet irresistibly drawn into the white stream. Their eyes met, saying what their lips did not utter—"We are lost!"
Down and down, sliding, struggling, borne along by the moving mass, went both men; but Ivor was more in the actual stream than Rob, who happened to be swept to one side. It was a small avalanche, neither deep nor wide; and while Ivor remained near the centre, Rob was on the border. Though perforce moving with it, he was subject to less impetus; and as the white wave curled round a rib of rock outstanding from the snow, the rope caught firmly. On swirled the shallow snow, and he remained behind.