“That was good,” he said. “Some grown men who call themselves climbers would have hung back from coming.”
“That?” said Saxe. “Yes, I suppose it is dangerous, but it didn’t seem so then. I didn’t think about it, as you and Mr Dale walked so quietly across.”
“It’s the thinking about it is the danger,” said Dale quietly. “Imagination makes men cowards. But I’m glad you’ve got such a steady head, Saxe.”
“But I haven’t, sir, for I was horribly frightened when I hung at the end of that rope down in the crevasse.”
“You will not be again,” said Melchior coolly, for they were now on a slope where the walking was comparatively easy, and they could keep together. “The first time I slipped into one I, too, was terribly frightened. Now I never think of anything but the rope cutting into my chest and hurting me, and of how soon I can get hold somewhere to ease the strain.”
“What!” cried Saxe, staring at the man’s cool, matter-of-fact way of treating such an accident, “do you mean to say I shall ever get to think nothing of such a thing as that?”
“Oh yes,” said Melchior quietly.
“Oh, well, I don’t think so,” said Saxe. “Oh no. I shall get not to mind walking along precipices, I dare say, but those crevasses—ugh!”
“The young herr will make a fine mountaineer, I am sure,” said Melchior. “I ought to know. Along here,” he added; and, after a few minutes, he stopped at what was quite a jagged rift in the mountain side.
“There is an awkward bit here, herr,” he said, “but it will cut off half an hour’s hard walking.”