“No, no,” cried Melchior firmly, “neither of you could carry that pannier through the schlucht. I am wet, and it will do me good to get warm carrying the load.”
“No, Melchior, it would not be right,” said Dale. “I will go.”
“No, herr,” said Melchior firmly; “as your guide I should be disgracing myself by letting you run the risk. I have been used from a child to carry loads upon my back along ledges and places where an Englishman would shrink from going. I am not hurt or tired: it is my duty; so with all respect to you I will go.”
“But—”
“Answer me, herr, as a gentleman,” cried Melchior warmly: “do you feel that you could safely carry that pannier through the schlucht?”
“I should try to,” said Dale.
“Ah! that shows weakness: you cannot say that you would.”
They went back to a spot where there was a rich patch of grass, and here the guide alighted and took off the mule’s bridle to turn it loose, when it immediately proved that nothing was the matter in its direction by having a good roll in the grass and then proceeding to crop it with the best of appetites.
“Light your pipe, herr,” said Melchior, smiling: “I dare say I shall be back before you have got through it twice;” and springing from rock to rock, he soon reached the ledge nearly flush with the water, and they watched him enter the low narrow long chasm till his figure grew dim in the gloom; and a minute later had disappeared.
“I don’t feel comfortable at letting him go, Saxe,” said Dale.