"Shall we go back, Amy?" asked Fletcher, as they both came to a halt; and then he added: "But no, we haven't time; so we must keep on."
"All right; but you don't think there are any snakes under these stones, do you, Flet?"
Then they went on down again, but the way grew ever rougher and rougher, and the stones slipped from under their tired feet more and more frequently.
"Oh dear! ain't we 'most there?" half sobbed Amy, as she stubbed her toe against a rock in front of her, while a stone rolled down on her heel from behind.
"I guess so. Shall I try to lift you over this place? See, there must have been a brook here in the spring;" and Fletcher pointed out a shallow ravine that crossed their path obliquely, and which was choked with stones and brush-wood.
Without waiting for an answer, the kind-hearted boy threw his alpenstock across, and then picking Amy up in his arms, started over himself. He reached the opposite side in safety, and was about to step up to level ground again when his foot caught under a stone, and in trying to keep his sister from being harmed by his fall, he left no hand free with which to save himself.
"Oh, Flet, are you hurt?" cried Amy, as she quickly scrambled to her feet.
"Not much; only my ankle." But the "not much" proved to be a sprain serious enough to prevent his walking a step, and after attempting to do so once or twice, the brave little fellow was forced to fall back upon the rocks, with an expression of pain which he could not repress.
And now the children's situation became quite a grave one. They were as yet, as well as they could judge, a mile or more above the town, the sun had already vanished behind the snowy peaks opposite, the autumn twilight was rapidly closing in, and, worse than all, Fletcher could not and Amy would not move.
"How can I go away and leave you here?" she would say when urged to hurry back, so that father should not worry.