“No,” cried Saxe excitedly; “I can get down without. Is he safe yet?”
“Safe? He is down: look at the rope shaking. Shall I draw it up?”
For answer Saxe stooped down, and rose again to get his ice-axe well behind him in his belt. Then he stooped again, seized the lightly twisted rope, lay down upon his chest, thrust his legs over the edge of the precipice, worked himself back till he was clear, and began to glide slowly down.
He shuddered, for the rope began to twist; and directly after, instead of gazing at the rough granite rock, he was facing outward, and gazing wildly down at the step-like series of precipices below.
“Not too fast,” came from Dale; and this brought him back to his position, and, twisting his legs about the double rope, he slipped down more slowly, wondering the while why the rope had ceased to turn and swing, till he saw that it was being held tightly now.
“Well done!” cried Dale: “you are getting quite at home at it. Right!” he shouted to Melchior, whose two legs appeared directly after, then his body, and he slid down rapidly, as if it were one of the most simple things in the world—as it really was, save that, instead of being close to the level, it was twelve thousand feet above.
As Melchior joined them, he rapidly untwisted the rope, held the two ends apart, and, as he drew with his left, he sent a wave along from his right, and threw the end up, with the result that the rope came away easily, and was rapidly coiled up.
The mists were collecting on the summit as they reached the snow bed, but they followed their old track easily enough; and when at last, in what seemed to be a surprisingly short space of time, they came to the head of the arête, the white, spectral looking fog was creeping down in long-drawn wreaths, toward which Melchior kept turning his eyes.
“Look as if they will catch us soon,” said Dale quietly.
“Pray Heaven they may not till we are clear of this ridge, herr!” said the guide piously. “Now, quick—the rope! You will go first.”