But the brave young mountaineer Duncan, alpenstock in hand, was first, with Captain Talbot by his side, and a little farther down struggled Conal encouraging the men, and now and then helping to carry their loads.
These, however, were not very heavy. But the lightest burden seems a great weight when one is climbing a mountain.
It was one o'clock before they had succeeded in reaching an altitude of four thousand feet, and the worst was all before them.
Everyone was tired enough by this time. Tired and hungry too.
But while coffee was being warmed and provision tins opened, those not actually engaged at the work lay down to rest, Conal and Duncan, with the captain and the other carrier, among the rest.
The sun had, of course, crossed the meridian, but though still brightly shining, his rays were far indeed from warm or inspiring.
Moreover, although there was no wind on the great snow-plains below, here a breeze was blowing, and it needed not only food but the hottest of coffee to enable them to stand the cold.
They had now a much longer rest than before, and more than one man fell so soundly asleep that his pipe dropped out of his mouth.
"Now, lads," said the skipper at last, "let us put another thousand feet in it. Never say die, boys. Excelsior, you know!"
He did not speak loud. No need to; for the slightest whisper could have been heard in the silence around them, even a hundred yards away.