“So deep as that?” he muttered. Then quickly: “But one piece struck on some ledge. He must have fallen there. Now, lay down your axe, but you must take it with you.”
Saxe obeyed, and set his teeth hard, as Dale scraped away the snow and found almost directly a narrow crack which ran parallel with the crevasse, but so slight that there was just room to force down the stout ashen staff which formed the handle of the ice-axe, the top of it and about a foot of the staff standing above the ice.
“That’s firm as rock,” said Dale, after trying it. “I could trust myself to it, and the rope will run round it easily.”
“You think the rope is strong enough?” said Saxe.
“I had it thoroughly tested before we left England. I could venture to hang a bull from it, or two or three men. But, ones for all, I have no right to send you down there. Tell me you dare not go, and I will give up, and we must go in search of help, for this is a terrible task. You would rather not go?”
Saxe was silent.
“Speak!”
“I won’t,” cried Saxe passionately; and then to himself, “I’d die first.”
He held up his arms for Dale to knot the rope about him, watching the process with knitted brow.
“There: that is safe,” said Dale. “Now pick up your ice-axe and hold by the rope with your left hand, so as to ease the strain upon your chest. Use the ice-axe cautiously, to keep yourself from turning round and from striking against the side. When you get down to the ledge, which must be, from what you say, only just out of sight, you will chip a secure place for your feet if the ice slopes, and, proceeding quite slowly and calmly, make yourself first quite safe. When this is done, unfasten the rope from about you, and make it fast about poor Melchior. Be very particular about the knot, mind. Don’t forget what I have taught you. That knot must not slip in any way, either in tightening round his chest or coming undone.”