“There!” cried Saxe.
Dale laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, and shook his head sadly. Then, bending down, he too shouted—
“A-hoy-oy-oy!”
And, after a pause, there came up distinctly the latter part of the word.
“Ahoy!” shouted Dale again, sharply.
“Hoy!” came up.
“You hear,” said Dale. “It is only an echo. A man down there in peril would not repeat words. In nine cases out of ten he would cry ‘help!’”
Saxe turned away from the crevasse with a groan that told how forcibly his companion’s words had gone home; but he turned back again.
“It seems so cruel to come away even if he is dead,” he whispered. “Shall I stop while you go!”
“No, Saxe. If we could hear him answer, I should at any cost say Stay, or I would myself stop, for I believe that a word or two from time to time would have encouraged him to struggle on for his life. But to stay there by that crevasse through the night, without proper protection, might mean your death. The cold up here must be terrible. Come.”