“No,” said Dale thoughtfully.
“Stop!” said the guide, as if he had caught at an idea; “could it have been a bear?”
“No–o–o!” cried Saxe. “It was a shriek, not a growl.”
“You are right, herr,” said the guide. “Bears are very scarce now, and I do not think one of them could make such a noise unless he were being killed. This is another mystery of the mountains that I cannot explain. Some guides would say it was the mountain spirit.”
“But you do not, Melchior?”
“No, herr; I believe now that all these old stories ate fables. Shall we lie down again to rest?”
“I want to rest,” said Dale; “but it seems impossible to lie down expecting to be roused up by such an unearthly cry.”
“Then the English herr thinks it was unearthly?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that,” said Dale hastily. “The mountains are full of awful things, but not of that kind. Well, Saxe, shall we lie down?”
“What’s the good?” replied the boy: “we couldn’t go to sleep if we did. I say, isn’t it cold?”