He then started off to cross the great snowfield diagonally, so as to reach the rocks at the far top corner, his feet sinking more deeply into the soft crystals than was conducive to good progress, and Saxe first, and then Dale, keeping pretty well to his footprints.
“Disappointing, this,” said Dale, when they were about a third of the way across. “I thought we were to have nothing but downward progress now.”
“It is puffing work, too!” cried Saxe.
“Herr! herr!” said the guide, stopping short in his tracks, and speaking in a reproachful whisper.
“What’s the matter?” said Saxe.
“There is a great deal of loose snow high up on our left, and if you set any of it in motion it would be bad.”
“I forgot,” said Saxe apologetically. “I will be more careful.”
“That’s right,” said Dale. “Not much danger, though, here. No fear of being bombarded by stones—eh, Melchior?”
“No, herr,” said the guide, looking about him anxiously. “Shall we get on?”
Dale nodded, and they tramped on through the soft snow for some distance farther; when, just as Saxe was asking himself whether he was growing tired or the snow much more soft, Melchior paused once more and looked upward.