"Hah!" ejaculated Melchior, as he wiped the great drops off his brow and
stood panting and waiting for the boy to recover his senses.
At last Saxe uttered a catching sigh and moved his head uneasily. Then,
with his eyes tightly closed, he said feebly--
"Don't--don't, Melk: you hurt me. It's of no use. Go and try to help
Mr Dale. Eh?"
He started as he opened his eyes widely and looked about. "Why, Melk--
you don't mean--"
"Yes, herr," said the guide quietly. "I dragged you out."
"Why!--oh, how it hurts! You've left my legs in the hole! No," he
added, as he struggled into a sitting position and looked down,--"only
my boots."
"I'll bind some cloth round them directly, herr. We can get other
boots."
"But--I feel--just as if I had no legs at all," said Saxe excitedly.
"Not broken, are they?"
"No, herr: only a little numbed with the cold and pressure. There, I am
better now. I'll chafe them before I bind up your feet."
"You couldn't get out my boots?"
"No, herr--not for many hours: we must not wait for that;" and he knelt
down now, and after rapidly chafing the half-dead limbs to bring back
the circulation, he took string from his pocket, cut off both sleeves of
his jacket, and then cleverly tied the wrists, and drew them on to the
boy's legs, where he bound them with the string, forming a pair of boots
and stockings in one.
"Why, Melk, you've made me look like an Italian brigand," cried Saxe
pitifully, as he stood up and looked down at his cross-gartered legs.
"Oh! I can hardly stand. But now we are wasting time: let's find Mr
Dale."
"Yes," said Melchior, drawing a long deep breath: "let's try and find
Mr Dale."
"Which way shall we go?" said Saxe, painfully picking up his axe and
looking hopelessly around over the white waste where the snow lay, now
compressed into waves of ice, and looking like portions of a glacier.
There was no answer to his question, and he looked at the guide, who
stood leaning upon his ice-axe.
"Well!" cried Saxe; and Melchior started and faced him. "I was trying
to think, herr," he said. "We were all separated at the first slip of
the snow. I held on to you for a few moments, but you were snatched
from me, and I saw no more, till I found myself far below yonder. I had
been buried twice; but the snow as it rolled over thrust me forth again,
and I was able to struggle out."
"Then you have no idea where Mr Dale can be?" Melchior shook his head
sadly.
"It was a mistake, sir," he said. "I ought to have known better than to
cross such a treacherous slope. I did know better, but I suffered
myself to be overruled, and now in the face of all this terrible
misfortune I feel helpless. What can one man do when great Nature
fights against him as she does here?"
Saxe looked wildly round again, to see that before long it would be
dusk, for the snow was fast turning grey, and the peaks alone were ruddy
with the sinking sun.
The boy shivered from cold and nervous shock, as he gazed at the
weird-looking rocks and the folded snow, and then, grasping at
Melchior's arm, he said pitifully: "Don't tell me you think he is
buried."
"No, herr," cried the guide, rousing himself: "I will not say that, for
there is still hope. He may have been carried right away below us by
the loose upper snow, which went on, while the lower part soon stopped
by getting pressed together into ice. But it is impossible to say. We
must do something; it will soon be dark, and you have no strength left
now."
"I have!" cried the boy excitedly; "and I can help you now. Shout:
perhaps he may be within hearing."
The guide shrugged his shoulders and shook his head; but he gave forth a
long, loud mountaineer's call, which was repeated plainly from far away
above him.
Then again, and again, and again; but there were only the echoes to
respond.
"Let's look about," cried Saxe, in a voice which told of his despair;
but even as he spoke the guide had started off after a few minutes'
consideration, and the boy followed up and up, painfully, slowly,
slipping, climbing and drawing himself forward from time to time by
driving the pick of his axe into the ice.
For there was very little snow to traverse here: by the slip it had been
almost entirely turned into ice, and the difficulties of the climb so
increased that from time to time Saxe had to stop utterly exhausted.
"Why are we going up here?" he said on one of these occasions.
"To get as near as I can guess to where we were when the snow-slide
began, herr. Shall I go on alone?"
"No--no! don't leave me!" cried Saxe excitedly.
"The herr might depend upon my return," said Melchior.
"Yes: I was not thinking of that, but of my being able to help. How
much farther is it?"
"About five minutes, herr--not more. You can see for yourself that we
must be quite close to the position now. Rested?"
Saxe nodded, and wishing fervently for the guide's strength, he toiled
on again behind him, till at last they stood upon the bare rock swept
clear of the snow, and any doubt of its being where the mishap befel
them was quite removed by their coming suddenly upon quite a wall of
snow standing many feet above their heads, and running far enough to
right and left in a jagged line, as if a flash of lightning had darted
across and made the division.
Saxe's lips parted to speak, but the guide held up his hand.
"Not a word, herr," he whispered. "We might have another fall."
Saxe looked up and shuddered, for the snow far above them seemed as if
it might come down at any moment; and after looking sharply from left to
right, he gladly followed Melchior as he went cautiously toward the
upper rocks for a couple of dozen yards.
"Here is where we must have been," he said; "and from this spot we ought
to start back if we are to find the herr."
Saxe nodded, for he could not trust himself to speak. It was all too
terrible; and the thought of Dale being imprisoned somewhere near, held
fast as he had been, seemed far worse than anything he had himself gone
through.
Melchior started back directly, as if from instinct; and, unable to do
more, Saxe followed him till he halted.
"It is blind work, herr," he whispered. "There is no clue to guide one.
He was suddenly swept away from us; and who can say whether we may not
be going from him all this time, instead of following him up?"
"Oh, Melchior!" cried Saxe piteously.
"Not so loud, herr--not so loud. It sounds cruel to say so--hard to
you; but I am obliged to be honest with you, and say that I see no hope
of our finding him alive."
A sob escaped from Saxe's breast, but his face looked cold and hard.
"You might have said the same about me," he whispered back; "but I am
here."
"Yes, herr; but then you were able to make some sign of being alive. We
have shouted and looked about for a long time now, but have heard
nothing of poor Mr Dale, and my heart is growing cold about him."
"Oh, don't say that!" cried Saxe. "It is too horrible. We must--we
will find him. Perhaps he is quite buried under the snow."
Saxe's last words made the guide turn and look at him curiously; but he
said no word, only kept on walking down slowly toward the foot of the
slope, sweeping his eyes over the way they traversed from side to side,
his keen glance taking in the slightest thing, and making him hurry away
to carefully examine places where the snow and ice lay high or more
ragged; but they kept on with their difficult descent, and saw nothing
that afforded them a clue to Dale's whereabouts.
"Oh, we must have help to search the place well!" cried Saxe in agony.
"It will soon be too dark to see anything, and we are so useless alone."
"Yes, herr," said the guide sadly; "but it will take six hours to get
people here at the very least, and I don't like to go away while there
is the least chance of our finding him."
"You are right," sighed Saxe; "while we were gone for help he might be
perishing, and we could have saved him. We must stop and search till we
drop."
That seemed as if it would not be long first, as far as the boy was
concerned. He had apparently forgotten the numbness of his limbs and
the peril through which he had passed, and in spite of the roughness of
the ice and snow he continued to get over it in his extemporised
sandals, which had the advantage of not slipping. But the day's toil
had been excessive before the accident; and though his spirits had kept
him up so far, the time was fast approaching when exhaustion would
conquer.
Melchior knew it, and after glancing at Saxe as he tottered once and
nearly fell, he went on for a few minutes before speaking and hurting
the boy's feelings by telling him that it was because of his weariness,
then suddenly drew up, took off and threw down his rope.
"One can't go on for ever without getting strength, herr," he said.
"I'm nearly wearied out. Let's sit down on the rope for a few minutes."
"No, no: let's keep on. He may be anxiously waiting for our help."
"If we go on as we are, herr, we shall be too weak to help him if we
find him," said Melchior, seating himself; and Saxe sank beside him, and
involuntarily leaned up against the sturdy fellow, who began to search
his wallet, and brought out the remains of some bread and cheese, the
greater part of which he offered to his companion.
"No, no, Melk: I can't eat," he said.
"You must, herr--for his sake. Try."
"A fair half, then," said Saxe; and the guide smiled, and made a fresh
division, which was slowly discussed every mouthful seeming to the boy
as if it would choke him.
And as they ate the last faint light died away, and bright points of
light began to twinkle overhead.
"It will be a bright night, thank Heaven!" said Melchior: "the storm
threats have passed away. Hah! it begins to grow cold."
"And I have made you worse," said Saxe faintly, as he glanced at the
sleeves of his companion's shirt.
"Oh, that's nothing, herr," said the guide, stretching out his hands to
feel Saxe's feet; and after bidding him sit fast, lifting the boy's feet
across his own. "Keep them there," he said: "they will be warmer while
we rest; they were getting wet, and we must not have your feet frozen."
"Does it freeze?" said Saxe drowsily.
"Yes, herr, sharply up here, as soon as the sun goes down. Now, you
must not think me heartless if I light my pipe. Then we will start on
again."
"Oh no: light it, Melk, and let us start again," said Saxe in a whisper.
The guide rapidly filled and lit his pipe, for his long experience told
him that Saxe must not sit long in the condition he was; and rising and
resuming his hold of his trusty axe, he said sharply--
"Now, herr, forward!"
Saxe looked up at him in a dazed way, but did not stir.
"I was afraid so," muttered the guide, as he picked up the boy's ice-axe
and stuck it through his belt. Then drawing the rope from beneath him,
he threw it over his shoulder and went down on his knees just in front
of his companion.
"Now, herr," he said imperatively: "put your arms round my neck."
"What for? what are you going to do?" faltered Saxe helplessly.
"Only give you a lift, my boy, till you are a bit rested."
"But--" began Saxe, protesting feebly.
"Your hands! Quick!" cried Melchior; and seizing one he drew Saxe
forward, the other hand followed, and the guide staggered to his feet,
shifted and shuffled his load into an easier position, and then getting
his hands beneath his legs, as Saxe involuntarily clasped his arms about
the man's stout neck, he began his perilous descent--perilous, for now
he had to trust entirely to his feet and balance himself cautiously as
he started off in the gathering darkness downward toward the nearest
vale.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked; but Saxe did not reply.
"It was quite time, poor lad," muttered Melchior. "The warmth from my
body will keep him alive, and, Heaven helping me, I may get safely down
below the snow. If I can do that, I must find a place where I can make
a fire. Now, lad, you call yourself a guide: make for the nearest bit
of forest, and save this poor boy's life. But it's a hard task--a hard
task, and you need all your strength and knowledge now."
It was indeed a hard task, and again and again he nearly fell headlong;
but by the exercise of his wonderful activity and strength, he always
recovered himself, took a fresh breath, and descended steadily over the
frozen snow, which grew more rugged and difficult at every turn.
"But I must do it--must do it," the man kept on muttering; and he toiled
on down till the bottom of the slope was reached, and here the piled-up
new ice proved more difficult than ever; and it was not till an hour had
passed from his reaching the bottom of the slip, that he thoroughly left
behind the last trace of the avalanche.
What had been simple mountaineering work in the bright sunshine, when
free and able to pick the way, became terrible now in the mountain,
where the path was always rugged, but often such that a moment's
hesitation or a slip might mean death for both. But Melchior's feet
seemed by long habit to have grown accustomed to danger, and to have
been educated into joining in the protection of him they bore, so that,
in spite of the darkness and danger, Melchior got down lower and lower,
and by degrees worked himself into the track he had followed in the
morning in guiding his companions up the peak.
Here he was more at home, and able to think out how he could best pass
round that ledge and creep by this angle before he reached it. Saxe did
not speak, but hung upon his back perfectly inert--a terrible load at
such a time; but the guide made no mental complaint,--simply toiled on
slowly enough for a couple of hours; then, thinking of a certain nook in
the mountain just below the snow-line where there was a good-sized clump
of dwarfed and distorted pines, he decided to stop there for the night,
sheltered from the icy wind with a good elastic heap of pine boughs for
their bed and coverlet, and a roaring fire to add to their warmth.
"The task will be easy enough to-morrow," he said; and then, thinking
sorrowfully of Dale, he kept on with his slow, careful tramp down the
mountain side.
It was as if that clump of pines would never be reached, and there were
moments when he was ready to think that he must have missed them; but a
glance to left or right at the rocks towering up into the sky sufficed
to convince him that he was still on the right track, for he knew them
by heart, and, giving his load a fresh shift, he toiled on again, hot,
exhausted, but full of determination.
Now and then he spoke to Saxe, but there was no reply; and more than
once he felt disposed to let his burden glide down on to the rock and
have a short rest, but he always shook his head and went on downward,
thanking Providence that he was below all the parts which necessitated
clinging; and at last, when so utterly wearied out that his pace was a
mere crawl, he reached the pines, threaded his way in, and lowered Saxe
down. Then, setting rapidly to work, he soon brought together a
quantity of dead wood, and started a fire with a few handfuls of pine
needles piled on the small boughs to shed its warmth upon the boy's
half-frozen feet.
This done, he cut and broke down bough after bough, making of them a
soft, elastic bed near the fire, and dragging Saxe into a better
position before cutting other pieces with his axe and laying them
together like the ridge of a roof over his companion's head.
"He'll soon be warm there," muttered Melchior: "no fear of freezing
now."
The wood was rapidly piled on the fire, for there was abundance beneath
the pines; and at last, after bending down and satisfying himself as to
Saxe's condition, Melchior prepared to creep in and lie down by his
side, but, on second thoughts, seated himself by the fire to enjoy its
warm glow. But he was too uneasy to stay there long; and, creeping back
to Saxe, he laid his hand upon the boy's breast.
"Asleep, herr?" he said gently.
"Asleep?" said the boy confusedly: "I--I suppose I have been; but I'm
giddy, and my head--Melchior--Melchior! why are we here? Have you found
Mr Dale?"
The guide was silent for a few moments. Then, in a low, hoarse voice,
he said sadly--
"No, herr; and it seems impossible to search farther."
"Oh, Melchior!"
"It is true, herr. Your life was in danger, and it was all I could do
to bring you down in safety."
"Bring me down?" faltered Saxe. "I do not understand."
"No, herr; we do not understand when we are insensible. You do not
remember my carrying you down the mountain on my back?"
"I? No: of course not! You could not have done so."
The guide laughed softly, and drew the tough pine boughs more over Saxe.
"Are you warm?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so; but we must get up and go in search of Mr Dale."
"We cannot go to-night, without lanthorns and help. Do you think I
should stay here without trying, if it were possible to save Mr Dale's
life?"
"What's that!" moaned Saxe just at that moment; for a shrill cry came
from a distance, followed by a jodel, which Melchior answered as he
stood aside from the fire so as to try and pierce the darkness of the
slope below them.
The jodel was given again, and answered.
"There is help coming, young herr," cried the guide excitedly, as he
shaded his eyes from the fire: "men with lanthorns. Who can they be?"
he muttered to himself. "Smugglers? No, for the jodel was Pierre's,
and the cry was like that of Andregg. Why are they coming here?"
He was not long kept in doubt, for the party, whoever they were, came on
rapidly now, at the sight of the fire, the dim lanthorns dancing and
swinging about in the darkness below, and coming nearer and nearer, as
their bearers ascended the mountain side towards the patch of wood, till
all at once one of them came forward at a run into the light shed by the
fire.
"Melchior!" he panted: "you here! Where is young Saxe?"
"Mr Dale!" cried the guide wonderingly; and at his cry Saxe came
creeping out from the shelter of boughs, and struggled to his feet to
utter a cry of astonishment as he saw the figure of his mountaineering
friend standing full in the fire's light.