“Yes, herr,” replied the guide.
“Then which way do you propose going, after we get up out of the valley?”
“Over yonder, between those two peaks, herr,” said the man, pointing.
“With the mule? Is it possible?”
“I think so, herr; and if you like we will try. I don’t think there will be much snow in the pass—no more than the mule can manage. And, once there, I think we can descend into a wild valley below the snow-line—one where man very seldom treads.”
“Excellent,” said Dale. And they started, leaving old Andregg and his wife collecting the broken bottles and damaged articles below.
They had not ascended above half a dozen of the many zigzags of the path, when the bray of the donkey came faintly from behind, and Gros set up his ears, stopped, whinnied, and looked as if he were about to turn back; but this time kindness was tried, Melchior snatching a piece of bread from his pocket and walking on, holding it behind him.
The result was excellent. The bray of Gros’s relative was forgotten, and he increased his pace, sniffing at the bread till he could succeed in taking it from the guide’s hand, and, steadily journeying on, munch the sweet, fresh food.
In spite of the delay it was still early; and, feeling no trace of his last night’s weariness, Saxe tramped on along the zigzag shelf in the valley side, till the edge of the steep part was reached. Melchior strode off to the right, and then to the left, so as to reach the narrow valley down which the stream came that had supplied them with water for their morning’s bath.
This was a mere crack running up into the mountains, but with a little care a path was found upon the steep alp which formed one side, and when this became too precipitous, they descended into the rocky bed, and slowly made their way on till an opportunity for ascending to higher ground presented itself.