This time he got himself down lower, and his arms so far round Saxe that he was able to hook his hands about his elbows. Then, slowly bringing his great strength to bear, he began to heave, the veins standing out like network about his temples, and his face turning purple as he strove to draw the prisoner out of the icy fetters in which he was fast. But for some moments every effort seemed to be vain, and a horrible feeling of despair came over the guide as he relaxed his efforts once more.
But only while one might have counted twenty before he tightened his clasp once more, and heaved with so good an effect that he drew Saxe right out of the icy mould, which had pretty well shaped itself to the lower part of his figure, and then carried him out of the excavation and laid him down barefooted upon the snow.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
A Great Surprise.
“Hah!” ejaculated Melchior, as he wiped the great drops off his brow and stood panting and waiting for the boy to recover his senses.
At last Saxe uttered a catching sigh and moved his head uneasily. Then, with his eyes tightly closed, he said feebly—
“Don’t—don’t, Melk: you hurt me. It’s of no use. Go and try to help Mr Dale. Eh?”
He started as he opened his eyes widely and looked about. “Why, Melk—you don’t mean—”