Up in the mountains now,—above some of the clouds undoubtedly, almost ’mong the stars, as Gillie put it,—Lewis wanders in company with Baptist Le Croix, half-forgetful of his promise to Lawrence. Below them lies a world of hills and valleys; above towers a fairy-land of ice, cliff, and cloud. No human habitation is near. The only indications of man’s existence are so faint, and so far off in the plains below, that houses are barely visible, and villages look like toys. A sea of cloud floats beneath them, and it is only through gaps in this sea that the terrestrial world is seen. Piercing through it are the more prominent of the Alpine peaks—the dark tremendous obelisk of the Matterhorn towering in one direction, the not less tremendous and far grander head of Mont Blanc looming in another. The sun shines brightly over all, piercing and rendering semi-transparent some of the clouds, gilding the edges and deepening the shadows of others.
“Do you see anything, Le Croix?” asked Lewis, as he reclined on a narrow ledge of rock recovering breath after a fatiguing climb, while his comrade peered intently through a telescope into the recesses of a dark mountain gorge that lay a little below them.
For some moments the hunter made no reply. Presently he closed the glass, and, with an air of satisfaction, said, “Chamois!”
“Where?” asked Lewis, rising eagerly and taking the glass.
Le Croix carefully pointed out the spot but no effort on the part of the inexperienced youth could bring anything resembling the light and graceful form of a chamois into the field of vision.
“Never mind, Le Croix,” he said, quickly returning the glass and picking up his rifle; “come along, let’s have at them.”
“Softly,” returned the hunter; “we must get well to leeward of them before we can venture to approach.”
“Lead where you will; you’ll find me a quiet and unquestioning follower.”
The hunter at once turned, and, descending the mountain by a precipice which was so steep that they had in some places to drop from ledge to ledge, at last gained a position where the light air, that floated but scarce moved the clouds, came direct from the spot where the chamois lay. He then turned and made straight towards them. As they advanced the ground became more rugged and precipitous, so that their progress was unavoidably slow, and rendered more so by the necessity that lay on them of approaching their game without noise.
When they had reached a spot where a sheer precipice appeared to render further progress impossible, the hunter stopped and said in a low tone, “Look, they are too far off; a bullet could not reach them.”