“Yes; but that’s going up again.”
“Yes, herr; I do not like to be so near this place without letting you see the Silber Grat and the wonderful view. Very few people come to see this place, but it is very grand.”
“Yes, grand in the extreme,” said Dale. “Here, Saxe,” he continued, giving the rope a jerk, “come away now.”
The boy started again, and then frowned, as he felt as if he were being treated like a mule or a donkey, held by a halter.
“Ready, herrs?” said the guide. “We must get on, please.”
“Which way?” said Dale.
“Straight up, herr, along by these rocks, till we are above that snow slope; then along the top across the shoulder, where we shall find an easy slope on the other side, and perhaps be able to have a glissade without going down a precipice at the bottom.”
“Oh, come!” cried Saxe; “that’s meant for me. How was I to know that the mountain ended suddenly like a wall?”
“Never mind that,” said Dale impatiently; “it’s growing late, and we want to get back to camp. Why, Melchior, we are going to have a storm!”
“Yes, herr; I’m afraid so.”