“Who knows, herr? It is the duty of a guide to take care his people run no risks. I want to be a good guide to mine.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Saxe.
“Rope ourselves together in case the snow covers a crevasse.”
“But if one goes through, he’ll pull down the others,” cried Saxe. “Is that wise?”
“He will not pull down the others,” said Dale, “for they will pull him out.”
Melchior said nothing, but slowly unfastened his rope as they stood there with their feet in the depth of a rigid winter and their heads in the height of summer. When he had it ready, hanging in loops on his left arm, he held out one end to his companions with a smile.
“Alpen rope. Good. Best,” he said. “English make,” and he pulled open one end, to show them a red strand running through it. “Now!”
He fastened one end by a peculiar knot round Saxe’s waist, arranging it so that it should not slip and tighten, whatever stress was given. Then, bidding the lad walk away till told to stop, he deliberately counted over a certain number of rings.
“Stop! Keep the rope out of the snow.”
Then, with Dale and Saxe holding the rope taut, the middle was attached by similar knots to Dale’s waist, and Melchior walked on, and on reaching his end secured the rope to himself.