“One moment. What about the moon!”
“We shall have it with us at starting, herr.”
“And which way do you propose?”
The guide raised the ice-axe, which never seemed to leave his side, and pointed out the route he meant to take, with the difficulties likely to be encountered among the great snowfields which clothed the giant’s sides.
An hour later the preparations had been made, and they were all sleeping, when, just as he had apparently closed his eyes, Melchior stood over Saxe and roused him up once more.
“One o’clock, herr; and the coffee is nearly ready.”
It had now become such a matter of course to rise at these nocturnal hours for long expeditions, that Saxe turned out at once, with nothing more than a growl or two and a vicious snatch at his clothes. The cold water and the coffee, however, soon set him right, and at two punctually the trio were on their way along the valley, with the last quarter of the moon to light them as they struck up close by the end of the lower glacier, and then went on and on at a steady rate toward the great giant whose pyramidal peak could be faintly discerned in the distance, looking to Saxe terribly far off, and as if it would be impossible to reach the top that day. But their guide had cunning ways for shortening the distance, leading them round this outer buttress, up that ravine, and in and out and along shelves, so that, by the time the sun rose, they had well mastered the outworks, and were ready to attack the peak itself.
For the next two hours it was now steady climb over rock and snow. Then the difficulties began, but were surmounted one by one,—a great snowfield or two were skirted, an arète mounted, which led them to the foot of a slope of hard ice, where they halted for a rest.
“Must we take that, Melchior?”
“Yes, herr: there is no other way, and with the rope it is not so difficult.”