“We two must carry it between us, slung on the alpenstocks,” said Dale.
“No, herr, I will manage it all,” said Melchior quietly. “I can soon fetch the basket, and it will be better. The young herr will want all his activity to get along without a load. I have been here four times before. I should have been five times; but one May the snow had melted after a great rain, and the lake was so full that the waters were feet above the pathway, and they rushed through, so that the great walls of rock shook as if they would fall in. There,” he said, removing the mule’s load and carrying it two or three yards back, to place it against the natural wall. “It will be quite safe there,” he continued, with a smile; “nobody will come. Ah, Gros, my friend, is that cool and restful?”
The mule whinnied, arched up its back, and shook itself, swung back its head, first one side then on the other, to bite at the hot place where the basket had been, but apparently without allaying the hot irritation which troubled it.
“Ah! come along Gros,” cried Melchior, twining the rope bridle about his arm; “that will soon be better. Follow pretty close, gentlemen: it is rather dark, but cool and pleasant after the hot sunshine.”
“Well done, Saxe!” said Dale, with a smile; “that’s brave.”
“What is, sir? I did not say or do anything.”
“Yes, you did, boy,” whispered Dale; and the lad flushed a little. “You bit your lips and then set your teeth, and you said to yourself, ‘he sha’n’t see that I am afraid!’ Didn’t you?”
Saxe looked at him inquiringly, and took off his cap and wiped his brow, while his alpenstock rested in the hollow of his arm.
“Something like it, sir,” said Saxe, rather dolefully. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Of course not.”