“Of course: I had forgotten. This is not a glacier. Come, Saxe! Tired?”
“Wait till I get to the top,” was the reply; and they climbed on, with the snow gradually changing colour as it was bathed in the evening sunshine, till they seemed to be tramping up and up over grains of gold, which went rushing back as Gros plunged his way upward, turning from time to time, and retracing his steps at an angle, thus forming a zigzag as regular as if it had been marked out for him at starting.
“Seems to grow as one climbs,” grumbled Saxe at last, as he grew too tired to admire the glorious prospect of gilded peaks which kept on opening out at every turn.
“But it does not,” replied Dale. “Come: do your best! It’s splendid practice for your muscles and wind. You are out of breath now, but a week or two hence you will think nothing of a slope like this; and to-morrow I am thinking of ascending that peak, if you like to come.”
“Which?” cried Saxe.
“That to the right, where the rock is clear on one side and it is all snow on the other.”
“Yes, I see.”
“It is not one of the high peaks, but the rocks look attractive, and it will be practice before I try something big. But you’ll be too much done up with to-day’s work.”
Saxe frowned, and they went on in silence for a time, till, at one of the turns made by the mule, Dale paused.
“Like a rest?” he said.