“Then we will do that.”
The ascent of the glacier-filled valley was continued, and they toiled on. A mile on level ground would have meant a sharp quarter of an hour’s walk; here it meant a slow climb, slipping and floundering over ice, splashing through tiny rivulets that veined the more level parts, and the avoidance of transverse cracks extending for a few yards. Sometimes they had to make for the left, sometimes the right bank of the frozen river; and at last, as they were standing waiting while the guide made his observations as to the best way of avoiding some obstacle in their front, there was a sharp, clear crack.
“What’s that?” said Saxe quickly.
“Stand back!” cried the guide. “No! quick—to me!”
They stepped forward to his side; and as, in obedience to a sign, they turned, there was a peculiarly harsh, rending noise, a singing as of escaping air, and to their astonishment, just where they had been standing the ice began to open in a curious, wavy, zigzag line, gradually extending to right and left. At first it was a faint crack, not much more than large enough to admit a knife-blade; but as they watched it slowly opened, till it was an inch—a foot—across, and then all sound ceased, and they could look down for a short distance before the sides came together, the whole forming a long wedge-shaped hollow.
“The opening of a crevasse,” said the guide gravely. “It will go on growing bigger, till it will be dangerous.”
“You are lucky, Saxe,” said Dale. “You have had a fall of rock, seen an ice-cave and the birth of a big river, heard seracs fall, and now watched the opening of a crevasse. We must have that avalanche before we go back.”
“When we get up on the ridge we shall see the Bluthenhorn,” said Melchior; “the afternoon sun will be full on the high slopes, and we shall hear some of the ice-fall. Hark!”
He held up his hand, and they stood listening to a faintly booming sound, evidently at a great distance before them.
“Was that one?”