“How rum!” said Saxe to himself. Then, aloud, “Over more mountains, I suppose?”
“Over those and many others beyond them,” replied Dale; and then, as they followed each other in single file, Melchior leading and the mule close at his heels like a dog, weariness and the heat of the narrow sun-bathed gorge put an end to conversation, till Saxe noticed that the waters foaming along far down in the bottom were running in the same direction as they were going, whereas earlier in the day they met them.
“We are in another valley, going toward a different lake,” said Dale, in answer to a remark; “and look: that must be it. No, no—that way to the left.”
Saxe looked, and saw a gleam of silver between two nearly perpendicular walls; and half an hour afterwards they were traversing a narrow ledge running some few feet above the dark blue waters of a lake shut in apparently on all sides by similar walls of rock, which it would have been impossible to scale.
“The herr will be careful along here,” said Melchior, pausing for a minute at a slightly wider part of the shelf to let the mule pass him. “Shall we have the rope!”
“What do you say, Saxe?” said Dale. “If it is no narrower than this, I think we can keep our heads.”
“Oh, I can manage,” said Saxe. “Besides, if one fell, it is only into the water. Is it deep, Melchior?”
“Hundreds of feet, I think,” said the guide; “and it would be bad to fall in. I could soon throw you the rope, but the waters are icily cold, and might make you too helpless to swim. Still, it is better to grow accustomed to walking places like this without the rope.”
“Oh yes,” said Saxe, coolly enough; “I don’t feel frightened.”
“I hope you would speak out frankly if you were nervous,” said Dale: “it might save an accident. False shame would be folly here.”