The boy set his teeth, his brow furrowed, and there were marks about his eyes, as he saw Dale throw the rope round the handle of the ice-axe, and then over the coil, so that the rings of rope should come off freely. Then he grasped the hemp firmly with one hand, his ice-axe with the other, and threw back his legs over the edge of the crevasse close to where the great piece had broken away. As he did this a piece of snow slipped from under his chest, and went down before him and he was over the side, swinging gently to and fro, as he heard a spattering noise come from below.
“Don’t be afraid to talk, Saxe,” said Dale loudly; and every word came distinctly to the boy’s ears as the sides of the crevasse slowly rose above him, and, in spite of himself, he turned his eyes up with a wild longing toward the deep blue sky.
“I—I can’t talk,” he gasped forth.
“All right—steady! Take it coolly, lad.”
“Yes; only don’t ask me to talk till I’ve something to say.”
“No!” shouted Dale, as the sides of the crevasses grew more distant and represented two jagged lines against the sky. “Splendid rope, Saxe!” came down to him; “runs as easily as if it were made of silk. Cut your chest?”
“Not much,” shouted the boy, who for an instant felt a sensation of danger as the rope turned him round; but, remembering his instructions, he touched the wall of clear ice with the point at the end of the axe handle, checked himself, and tried to look downward into the blue transparent light which rose up to meet him, as it seemed.
“Half the rope out, Saxe!” came from above. “See anything!”
“No.”
“Bit lower down, I suppose. Don’t let it turn.”