“Yes,” said Dale, looking at the stone which had fallen; “and they take very bad aim—eh, Saxe?”
“Awfully: I could do better than that. Why, if I were up there I believe I could hit either of you.”
“But it might be only to frighten us,” said Melchior seriously.
“Why, Melchior, my man, surely you do not believe in such childish nonsense as that?”
“No, herr, not when I have English gentlemen with me; but there are times on the mountains, when I am quite alone and I hear noises that I cannot understand, that I do get fancying strange things, and all the old stories I have heard as a boy come back to me.”
“And then you say to yourself, ‘I am a man who puts his trust in reason, and shall not let myself be scared by silly tales.’”
“Well, yes, herr, something of the kind,” replied the guide, smiling.
“There goes another stone!” cried Saxe, as a smaller one fell about fifty yards farther on.
“Yes,” said the guide; “and it is as if somebody were climbing along there, near the edge of the rocks, and sent them down.”
“Ah! that’s more like an explanation,” cried Dale, laughing. “Somebody. Yes, you must be right. Somebody with feet and hands, like ourselves. Can you see who it is?”