Chapter Twenty.
A fearful Watch.
It was all plain enough now. The weight of the two who had first leaped must have cracked a portion of the edge of the crevasse—a part rotten from long exposure to the sun, rain and frost. Then Melchior must have sprung over, the great triangular piece had given way, he had made a desperate attempt to save himself with his axe, but that had not struck home, and he had gone down with the mass of ice and snow, the echoing crash and boom having drowned any cry he might have uttered, even if he had time to call for help.
Saxe gave one horrified look at his companion, and then, stepping aside to the unbroken part of the crevasse, he went down on his hands and knees in the snow, then upon his breast, and drew himself close to the edge till his head and chest were over and he could peer down.
“Take care! take care!” cried Dale hoarsely, though he was doing precisely the same. “Can you see anything?”
Saxe’s negative sounded like a groan, for he could see nothing but the pale blue sides of the ice going down perpendicularly to where, growing from pale to dark blue, they became black as the darkness out of which came the deep, loud, hissing, rushing sound of waters which he had heard before.
“He must be lying down there stunned by his fall!” cried Dale; and then to himself, in a whisper full of despair—“if he is not killed.”
“Melk! Melk!” yelled Saxe just then. But there was nothing but the strange echo of his own voice, mingled with the curious hissing rush of water, which sounded to the listeners like the hurried whisperings and talk of beings far down below.
“Ahoy, Melchior!” cried Dale, now shouting with all his might.