“Yes, herr, of course. It is the grey hard stone that they use for building bridges.”
“Well, where did it come from! There is none up here to right or left.”
“No, herr—none.”
“It could not have been brought here by man.”
Melchior laughed.
“No; a hundred horses could not have dragged it along a hard road.”
“But it has been brought here, you see, all the same. Now, where is the nearest place where we could find stone like that!”
“Oh, on the Domberg, herr, at the head of the pass. We shall go beneath it six hours from here.”
“Exactly, Melchior,” cried Dale. “That proves what I say. This huge mass of granite must have fallen from the Domberg on to the glacier which once filled this limestone valley, and have been gradually carried down and left here. Such a glacier as the one which polished all these rocks could easily have brought down that block; and when in bygone ages the ice melted, this block was left here. I dare say we shall find more like it.”
“Oh yes, herr, there are many,” said Melchior, thoughtfully examining the stone and then picking up other pieces to compare with it. “The herr’s words seem like truth, but I should never have thought of that.”