“Meanwhile,” continued the Professor, “I will watch the falling débris to warn you of danger in time, and the direction in which you must run to avoid it. My friend Lawrence, with the aid of Captain Wopper, will fix the theodolite on yonder rocky knoll to our left.”
“Nothin’ for you an’ me to do,” said Gillie to the artist; “p’r’aps we’d better go and draw—eh?”
Slingsby looked at the blue spider before him with an amused smile, and agreed that his suggestion was not a bad one, so they went off together.
While Antoine was proceeding to the foot of the ice-cliffs on his dangerous mission, the Professor observed that the first direction of a falling stone’s bound was no sure index of its subsequent motion, as it was sent hither and thither by the obstructions with which it met. He therefore recalled the guide.
“It won’t do, Antoine, the danger is too great.”
“But, Monsieur, if it is necessary—”
“But it is not necessary that you should risk your life in the pursuit of knowledge. Besides, I must have a stake fixed half-way up the face of that precipice.”
“Ah, Monsieur,” said Antoine, with an incredulous smile, “that is not possible!”
To this the Professor made no reply, but ordered his guide to make a détour and ascend to the upper edge of the ice-precipice for the purpose of dislodging the larger and more dangerous blocks of stone there, and, after that, to plant a stake on the summit.
This operation was not quickly performed. Antoine had to make a long détour to get on the glacier, and when he did reach the moraine on the top, he found that many of the most dangerous blocks lay beyond the reach of his axe. However, he sent the smaller débris in copious showers down the precipice, and by cleverly rolling some comparatively small boulders down upon those larger ones which lay out of reach, he succeeded in dislodging many of them. This accomplished, he proceeded to fix the stake on the upper surface of the glacier.