"So it is!" shouted Jack. "It's snowing! It's really snowing, and it's summer time! Hurrah!"
The white flakes fell faster and thicker. In a few moments they were falling so fast and so thick the trampers could see only a short way ahead of them. It was hard climbing now. The path was steep and slippery. The boys had to stop often to get their breath, and their knapsacks suddenly grew very heavy.
"I suppose it is because we are up so high," said Jack. "The air is so thin up here we can't get enough of it to breathe. It is always like that on the high mountains, they say."
"I don't care," said Joe. "We are in a snow blizzard, anyhow. Just think of it!"
"I shouldn't care to lose our path," said Jack. "I guess it wouldn't be a very happy night for us if we did."
"Oh, Jack, I have lost the path already! I can hardly see you. My! How it snows! Where are father and mother?"
"Here we are!" shouted their father. "I think we are near the top of the Pass. I hear a dog barking. There is a house up at the top, where we can stay all night. Keep climbing, boys!"
Just then a great dog came bounding down the mountain toward them. He gave a short, quick bark, turned about and led the party safely up to the small hotel. Then away he bounded again to find other travelers, who might be lost in the snow and who needed his help. He was a St. Bernard dog, and he had saved the lives of many people on the high mountains.
It was a tired party that spent the night in the little hotel at the top of the Great Scheidegg Pass, but when morning came they were ready for another battle with the snow.
Of course the trail was covered, and the snow was too soft and too deep for them to tramp over it without snowshoes. The little party was snow-bound on the mountains in midsummer.