“Only a little out of breath,” replied Saxe; but as he spoke he could not help giving a glance up at the huge pile of granite, ice and snow towering high above his head.
Dale laughed.
“Well, Saxe,” he said, “are you beginning to find out how high the mountains are?”
Saxe nodded.
“Yes,” he said; “they deceive you at a distance. Is this the highest?”
Dale laughed again.
“Well,” he replied, “it is not quite the smallest. Say the medium. On again, Melchior!”
“Yes, herr: let’s get as high as we can while the morning is young and the snow hard. We can take our time on the rock.”
The guide was following the custom that seems to have come natural to man and beast—that of zigzagging up a steep place; but instead of making for the centre of the col, where it was lowest, he kept bearing to the left—that is, he made the track three times the length of that to the right, and he drew on toward where the slope grew steeper and steeper.
The snow was far better to walk upon now, for the surface was well frozen, and they had only to plant their feet in the deep steps the guide made by driving the soles of his heavily nailed boots well into the crust.