“Of course: it must be. Well, we will take the cut right across that snow to the opposite corner.”
“The herr desires it?” said Melchior gravely.
“Yes, certainly. It is folly to go so far round.”
“The snow is not always good, herr; and the longest way round is sometimes the nearest.”
“Yes, but with a storm coming on, perhaps!” said Dale sharply.
“It may be hours yet, herr.”
“The better for us. Let’s get back down into shelter.”
Melchior said no more, but unfastened the rope, and after coiling it up, led them along for some distance, till the great cornice was left behind, and they descended into a little valley over snow, ice and rock, till they reached the stream hurrying down the hollow, crossed it, made a similar ascent, and just as Saxe had it in his mind to say, “I thought we were going over that snowfield,” they climbed up through a little wilderness of blocks, and they were upon the edge of the unsullied slope, which ran up to left and down to their right apparently for a mile.
“Ah!” cried Dale, springing upon the snow, which allowed his feet to sink in a little; “capital condition! Now, Melchior, forward!”
“Yes, herr,” said the guide, testing the snow with his foot; “there will be no steps to cut here.”