“No, herr,” said Melchior, after a long examination; “and it puzzles me, for who could be climbing along up there?”
Dale shrugged his shoulders. “Impossible to say.”
“Yes, herr, it is impossible to say,” said Melchior, who was still watching the precipice; and he was now joined by Saxe. “You see, anybody who wished to get along the pass would come down here.”
“But there may be a path up yonder.”
“No, herr, there is none, or I should have known of it years ago. I have been up there, and it is so perilous that no one but a bold climber could get along. Well, it is one of the many things I have seen and heard in the mountains that I could not understand. Shall we go on, herr?”
“Yes, and we’ll keep a sharp look-out,” said Saxe.
“You may,” cried Dale; “but you will find it is something perfectly simple—a stray foot, if the stone is not loosened by the weather.”
Ten minutes later they were trudging on over the rough ground, with the valley growing wilder and more strange; presenting, too, plenty of clefts and openings to ravines which Dale felt disposed to stop and explore; but Melchior was always ready with the same form of speech.
“Wait, herr,” he said. “It would only be labour in vain. We’ll go on till I get you into the parts where none but the most venturesome guides have been. If crystals are to be found, it will be there.”
“What’s that?” said Saxe suddenly, pointing upwards.