_IV.--A TERRIBLE FALL._
For a moment father and son stood silent on the brink of the crevasse,
looking after the chamois.
"We can't get across here, father," said Walter, in a whisper; "let us
try and find some other way."
"We can't find a better spot than this," replied his father, examining
his gun.
"But what's the use of shooting him? What's the good of a dead chamois
if we can't get him?"
"When he's once dead, boy, we'll soon find some means of getting at
him," was the answer. "A board laid over the crevasse will be an easy
way of recovering the venison."
"But we haven't got a board, father."
"That we'll see about. Just stand on one side, Watty."
The hunter cocked his gun, took aim for a moment, and was going to fire,
when he turned suddenly pale, and dropped his arm.
"What's the matter, father? Do you feel ill?" inquired Walter, with
anxiety.
"No," replied the huntsman; "but it seemed as if the ice was giving way
just as I was going to fire. But it can't be," he continued, stamping
his foot; "the ice is solid and firm enough."
"Let us go home, father," implored Walter. "I feel a presentiment that
something will happen. Come home now, and we can try for the buck
to-morrow."
But the old mountaineer had in the mean time become self-possessed
again, and again raised his gun to fire. Just as he pulled the trigger,
however, his foot slipped, and with an exclamation of horror, Walter saw
him carried rapidly toward the rift in the ice, and suddenly disappear.
With the recoil of the gun the hunter had lost his balance on the
slippery ice, and at the same moment that his shot struck the chamois,
he was hurled into the "rift."
"Father! father! father!" screamed Walter, throwing himself on the ice,
horror-stricken, and peering wildly down the crevasse. "Father, speak!"
All was silent. Only a slight trickling, as if from some subterranean
stream, reached his ear.
For several minutes the youth lay at the edge of the chasm, paralyzed
with terror. When he recovered his consciousness, a feeling of alarm and
distress overwhelmed him. He wept, and wrung his hands bitterly.
"Father!" he cried again into the abyss that yawned beneath
him--"father, speak to me, for God's sake!"
A sudden thrill passed through his frame as a low murmur came up from
the icy grave. He strained his ears to listen to the broken words. "I am
alive, Watty," was the reply of the unfortunate man; "but my ankle is
out of joint, and one of my arms broken. I shall never see the light of
day again."
A cry of mingled joy and agony burst from Walter's lips.
"Don't be afraid, father," he exclaimed. "You shall be rescued, with
God's help. Have you got your bag with you?"
"Yes, but my bottle is broken."
"Well, then, take mine. I'll lower it down with a cord. Have you got
it?"
"Yes," was feebly answered. "I can hold out now for a while, unless the
cold strikes me."
"Courage, father, till I run down to the village, and get the neighbors
and shepherds to come with ropes and poles. Try to hold out for a couple
of hours, and with the help of God you shall be saved."
"Ay, ay, dear boy," was the faint reply; "I will try to be patient till
you come back." And with a godspeed Walter hurried off to rouse the
neighbors to the rescue.
It was a dangerous journey that the brave boy undertook for his father's
rescue; but courage, and the agility which is acquired by those who are
accustomed to the mountains from childhood, enabled him to reach the
valley in a wonderfully short time. Pale as death, with hands bleeding,
and clothes torn to shreds, he rushed to the inn, which was the nearest
spot where help could be found. His appearance naturally created
consternation, and in answer to the numerous questions addressed to him
he related in a few breathless words the dreadful accident which had
befallen his father. A score of stalwart hands were instantly ready to
rescue the unfortunate man from his dreadful position; the landlord of
the inn ordered ropes, poles, and ladders to be got in readiness, and
meanwhile pressed refreshment on the well-nigh exhausted youth. Moments
were precious, but ere long the party reached the scene of the disaster,
when Walter, leaning over the edge of the cleft, cried to his father,
and was answered.
"Yes, I'm still alive," replied the mountaineer, in feeble tones; "but I
am almost frozen to death, and in dreadful pain. Make haste and help me,
if you can, for I'm losing my senses."
"Down with the rope!" shouted the landlord, who had himself come up with
the party.--"Look out, Hirzel! Place the loop over your shoulders and
under your arms, and try to draw it tight. There are plenty of strong
arms here that will soon get you up."
The rope having been made fast to an iron stanchion driven into the ice,
the looped end was lowered away into the chasm; but no sign was made by
Hirzel that he had obeyed the directions, and fastened it round his
body.
"Father, why don't you make haste?" exclaimed Walter in agony.
But there was no answer.
"He must have fainted at the last moment," said the landlord; "and if
so, then may God have mercy upon him! for not a living creature could
venture such a depth."
[Illustration: "LET ME GO!" HE CRIED. "I MUST SAVE MY FATHER!"]
"_I_ will venture it!" exclaimed Walter, seizing the rope. But twenty
hands held him back. "Let me go!" he cried. "I must save my father!" and
breaking loose with a sudden effort from the men who surrounded him, the
courageous youth seized the rope and disappeared in sight of his
horror-stricken companions.
A few terrible moments passed, when a shout from below was suddenly
heard, and the cry, "All right! pull away, friends!" sent a thrill of
joy through every heart.
"Pull steadily, my men," cried the good landlord; "but pull as if your
own lives depended on it. I can see them now!" exclaimed he, gazing into
the gloomy abyss. "Hirzel seems to have fainted, just as I thought, but
Watty has fastened the rope round him securely. Pull away! they will be
at the top in a few seconds."
Encouraged by success, the men redoubled their efforts, and had soon the
satisfaction of landing father and son safely on the ice.
A rough kind of stretcher having been hastily made of poles and ropes,
the wounded hunter was laid upon it and carried home; and as there was
no lack of stout hearts and sure feet, the journey was accomplished
without accident. After setting his broken limbs and binding up his
wounds, the doctor, who had been speedily called in, expressed the hope
that Hirzel's life would be saved, but he doubted very much if he would
ever be able to climb the mountains for chamois again. Walter was
thankful to find that his father's life was in no danger, and had
himself so far recovered his equanimity as to be able to relate how he
had rescued him from his icy grave, and how he found that the rope,
instead of having reached the wounded man, had actually rested on a
ledge ten feet above the place where he lay. Walter, who felt devoutly
thankful that his efforts had been so successful, was overwhelmed with
praises for his heroism.
Nor was the chamois forgotten. The generous landlord had it brought down
to the inn from the spot where it had fallen, and sent an ample
equivalent to Hirzel's cottage.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]