Saxe nodded; the rope was kept tight, and drawn in foot by foot, till, just as the lad was thinking of what a tremendous jerk it would be if Dale slipped, the latter’s head appeared above the rock, with his ice-axe projecting over his shoulder, it having worked up in the climbing till it threatened to escape from the belt and fall.
“Take a good grip of the rope with one hand, herr,” said Melchior quietly: “we have you. Now get hold of your ice-axe and push it on before you.”
Dale obeyed without a word, as mountaineers do follow out the instructions one gives to another without question; and this done, he finished the climb and stood up.
“Rather a bad bit,” he said; “that projecting rock was awkward.”
“Yes, herr, it teased me a little,” replied Melchior quietly, “but I found good hold for my feet. What do you think of it now?”
“Why, there’s no more to do but walk quietly up this slope.”
“And in ten minutes we shall stand on the snow at the very top.”
Saxe drew a long breath full of relief as he looked behind him; and, gathering up the rope, Melchior trudged on ahead, picking the best path among the weathered and splintered rocks, till in a short time he climbed up over the last slope, dug his ice-axe in the thick stratum of snow, which began suddenly and sloped down toward the north, and uttered a loud jodel.
The others joined him directly, a peculiar sensation of nervousness still affecting Saxe, though the place was perfectly safe, and he could have run some distance in any direction without risk of a fall.
“Grand!” cried Dale, as he looked round. “What a view! and how strange that we should be able to stand here on the dividing line one foot on snow, one on rock. Well, Saxe, I congratulate you on your first ascent. You have done wonders.”