"It doesn't," said Saxe to himself. "I'm sure it comes from below."

But he said nothing aloud, only followed his companion as he led him on, and in and out, with the sound playing with their ears as the will-o'-the-wisp is said to play with the eyes.

For sometimes it was heard plainly. Then, as they wandered on amidst quite a labyrinth of piled-up ice that at another time they would have shunned in dread of danger, and through which they were now impelled by a strange feeling of excitement, the noise died quite away.

At such times they were in despair; but as they pressed on they could hear the chipping again.

Finally Dale stopped short, beneath a tall spire of ice, and held up his hand.

"I'm afraid we have wasted a valuable half-hour, Saxe," he said. "There can be nothing here."

They shouted as they had shouted a dozen times before, but there was no response, and Dale turned wearily in the direction from which they had come, the perpendicular rocks of the valley indicating the course they had to take, when suddenly the sound began again, apparently from close beneath their feet.

"It must be out here," cried Saxe; and he went off to his right, and at the end of a minute reached a comparatively level s.p.a.ce that they had not seen before.

"Take care!" cried Dale. "A creva.s.se over yonder."

Chip, chip, chip. There was the sound again, and as Saxe laid his ear against the ice he heard it more distinctly.

"We're getting nearer," he cried. "It sounds underneath, but is farther away. I know! I'm sure! I've felt it ever so long now. There's some one down below."

Dale said nothing, but he thought the same, and stepping forward side by side with the boy, they strode on together, with the chipping growing plainer; and as their further progress was stopped by a wide creva.s.se all doubt was at an end.

The sounds came up from the vast rift, which seemed in the failing light to run in a peculiar waving zigzag right across the glacier for nearly half a mile.

Saxe uttered a curious hoa.r.s.e sound, as he dropped upon his knees close to the edge of the creva.s.se.

"Take care, boy; the ice is slippery."

Saxe made no reply, but peered shuddering down into the black darkness, and tried to shout; but his throat was dry, and not a sound would come.

It was Dale who shouted, as he now bent over the creva.s.se.

"Ahoy! Any one there?"

His voice went reverberating down through the caverns of the ice, and as the sound died away there came an answer--

"Au secours! Help!"

"Melchior!" yelled Saxe wildly; and the voice came again from out of the black darkness--

"Help!"

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A RESCUE.

For a few moments Dale and Saxe knelt together there, with their hearts throbbing wildly at their discovery. There was a bewildering train of thoughts, too, running through their minds, as to how the poor fellow could have got there; and Saxe could only find bottom in one idea--that they had been confusedly wandering about, returning another way, till they had accidentally hit upon a further development of the great creva.s.se into which the guide had fallen.

All this was momentary, and then Dale was speaking.

"He must be a long way off to the right here, cutting his way up, and the ice conducted the sound. Come,--carefully. It would be terrible if you slipped."

"I sha'n't slip!" cried Saxe firmly, and he followed on.

"Ahoy!" shouted Dale. "Where are you?"

"Here!" came from the right still, but apparently from the other side, the voice sounding hollow and strange.

Dale caught Saxe's arm.

"Are we on the wrong side of the creva.s.se!" he muttered. But he went on for another twenty yards and called.

The answer still came from the right, but not from the opposite side, the former effect being simply reverberation. Another thirty yards or so brought them to where the hollow-sounding voice seemed to come up from straight below them; and they lay down to speak.

"Don't ask questions about how he came there. Let me speak only,"

whispered Dale. "Where are you?" he shouted.

"Nearly below you, herr," came up feebly. "So cold and faint."

"Hold on," shouted Dale. "Now, Saxe, the ball of string and the lanthorn. Light it quickly."

The boy's hands trembled so that he could hardly obey, and two matches were spoiled by the touch of his wet fingers before the lamp burned bright and clear.

Meanwhile Dale had been securing the lanthorn to the end of the string.

"Melchior," he shouted, "I'm sending you down the light."

His words were short and sharp, and now he lay down and began to lower the lanthorn rapidly, its clear flame reflected from the ice wall, and revealing bit by bit the horrors of the terrible gulf, with its perpendicular walls.

Down, down, down went the lamp, till Saxe's heart sank with it, and with a look of despair he watched it and that which it revealed,--for he could see that it would be impossible for anyone to climb the ice wall, and the lamp had gone down so far that it was beyond the reach of their rope.

"Terribly deep down," said Dale, half aloud, as he watched the descending lanthorn.

"Ah! I see him!" cried Saxe. "He is just below the light, on that ledge. Yes, and the ice slopes down from there."

"Can you get it?" cried Dale loudly. "Not yet, herr," came up feebly.

"Lower."

"There is not much more string, Saxe," whispered Dale: "get the rope ready."

But before this could be done the feeble voice from below cried, "Hold!"

and they could see, at a terrible depth, the lanthorn swinging, and then there was the clink of metal against metal, and a horrible cry and a jarring blow.

"He has fallen!" cried Saxe. "No: he has got hold, and is climbing back."