They tramped on for the next hour, but not without making several halts, three of which were involuntary, and caused by more or less sudden slips. These were saved from being serious by the quick action of driving dagger-like the bayonet each carried into the frozen snow; and after repetitions of this the falls seemed to lose; their risky character, the man who went down scrambling to his feet again the next instant and being ready to proceed. The still air was piercingly cold, but it only seemed to make their blood thrill in their veins, and a sense of exhilaration arose from the warm glow which pervaded them, and temptingly suggested the removal of their woollen poshtins. But the temptation was forced back, and the tramp continued hour after hour up what seemed to be an interminable slope, while fatigue was persistently ignored.
At last, though, Bracy was brought to a halt, and he stood panting.
“Anything wrong, sir?” whispered Gedge hoarsely.
“No; only that I can get no farther in this way. We must fix bayonets, and use our rifles as staves.”
“Right, sir.”
“Be careful not to force your barrel down too far, so as to get it plugged with the snow,” said Bracy; and then, as soon as the keen-pointed weapons were fixed, he started onward again, the rifles answering this new purpose admirably, and giving a steadiness to the progress that had before been wanting.
Consequently far better progress was made for the next half-hour, with much less exertion, and Bracy made up his mind that the first patch of pines they came to on the lower ground should supply them with a couple of saplings whose poles should have the bayonets fixed or bound upon them, so as to take the place of the rifles.
“I’m longing for the daylight, Gedge,” said Bracy suddenly, for they had plunged into a mist which obscured the stars, “so that we can see better in which direction to go, for we ought to be high enough now to be safe from— Ha!”
Then silence.
“Safe from what, sir?” said Gedge, stopping short.