“Let’s look about,” cried Saxe, in a voice which told of his despair; but even as he spoke the guide had started off after a few minutes’ consideration, and the boy followed up and up, painfully, slowly, slipping, climbing and drawing himself forward from time to time by driving the pick of his axe into the ice.
For there was very little snow to traverse here: by the slip it had been almost entirely turned into ice, and the difficulties of the climb so increased that from time to time Saxe had to stop utterly exhausted.
“Why are we going up here?” he said on one of these occasions.
“To get as near as I can guess to where we were when the snow-slide began, herr. Shall I go on alone?”
“No—no! don’t leave me!” cried Saxe excitedly.
“The herr might depend upon my return,” said Melchior.
“Yes: I was not thinking of that, but of my being able to help. How much farther is it?”
“About five minutes, herr—not more. You can see for yourself that we must be quite close to the position now. Rested?”
Saxe nodded, and wishing fervently for the guide’s strength, he toiled on again behind him, till at last they stood upon the bare rock swept clear of the snow, and any doubt of its being where the mishap befel them was quite removed by their coming suddenly upon quite a wall of snow standing many feet above their heads, and running far enough to right and left in a jagged line, as if a flash of lightning had darted across and made the division.
Saxe’s lips parted to speak, but the guide held up his hand.