“Saxe,” he said at last, as they were now slowly passing along the rocks by the side of the glacier, which they had now left to avoid some patches of rugged ice, “I’m afraid we shall have to rest here in some niche as soon as darkness comes on. I can’t trust to my memory to find the way farther when the light has gone.”
“What’s that?” said Saxe, catching his arm.
Dale stopped and listened; but the place was utterly still for a few minutes, and then there was a sharp crack and a rattling noise.
“Piece of ice broken off and fallen.”
“No, no; I did not mean that,” cried Saxe, as his eyes wandered upward among the broken ice now beginning to look cold and grey. “There!—there!”
A faint chipping sound was heard as the lad spoke; but as they stood in quite a trough between the steep rock of the valley side and the jagged masses of ice, it was impossible to say exactly from whence it came.
“Yes, I heard it,” said Dale, as the sound ceased. “There must be some one on the ice: it sounded just like cutting steps. Listen again.”
They stood motionless, but all was perfectly still.
“Come along,” cried Dale; “we cannot waste time. It must have been the ice giving way somewhere. Perhaps it was the splitting sound of a crevasse opening.”
“There it is again!” cried Saxe.