Weather conditions in the Alps change with every moment. A blizzard may succeed brilliant sunshine within five minutes—a blizzard that whips the face with its icy blast, piles snow deep, and freezes one to the marrow. In the glacier regions of the higher Alps, the weather cannot be depended upon for a few minutes together.
Thelma, that day, wore the ski kit in which I had first seen her—the Fair Isle jazzy patterned jersey, and over it the short little wind-proof jacket trimmed with fur, and her corduroy breeches and stockings. It was in every way serviceable.
Presently when she had, to my surprise, executed what is known as an “open Christiania,” and we were skiing together across a great plateau of snow far above the tree-line, with John fifty yards ahead of us, she suddenly exclaimed—
“Do you know, Mr. Yelverton, I’ve heard nothing from Stanley except a telegram sent from Victoria at six o’clock on Sunday night, announcing his arrival. I’ve wired, but I’ve got no reply. I’m worried about him, but I don’t want to bother you.”
“That’s curious,” I remarked. “To where have you sent your wire?”
“To his office in Westminster.”
“Well, you ought to have had a reply. But never mind,” I said. “He’s due back tomorrow night. We’ll go down to Lauterbrunnen and meet him—eh?”
The sky had suddenly become darkened and a strong tearing wind had sprung up. We had left the plateau and upon our skis were following John “herring-boning” up the side of the mountain. When one starts “herring-boning” one faces the incline and points the skis outwards at a considerable angle to each other—then the slope can be mounted by lifting the skis forward alternately and placing them in the snow on the inner edges, the angle between them remaining the same.
It was a steep slope, so we made wider angles between our skis to prevent them slipping backwards.
We were lurching heavily from side to side in order to throw the weight of one ski while lifting the other, when John suddenly shrieked the warning, “Achtung!”