So we watched the black dots of soldiers crawling over the high snow, listened to the unnatural dry rattle of guns, up there.
Then we were aware of somebody whistling, of soldiers yelling down the road. We were to come on, along the level, over the bridge. So we marched quickly forward, away from the slopes, towards the hotel, once a monastery, that stood in the distance. The light was blue and clear on the reedy lakes of this upper place; it was a strange desolation of water and bog and rocks and road, hedged by the snowy slopes round the rim, under the very sky.
The soldier was yelling again. I could not tell what he said.
'He says if we don't run we can't come at all,' said Emil.
'I won't run,' I said.
So we hurried forwards, over the bridge, where the soldier on guard was standing.
'Do you want to be shot?' he said angrily, as we came up.
'No, thanks,' I said.
Emil was very serious.
'How long should we have had to wait if we hadn't got through now?' he asked the soldier, when we were safely out of danger.