This was done; and then the question arose--whereabouts on the glacier were they?

"I think I know," said the guide, rather feebly.

"Yes: but you are not fit to move," said Saxe.

"I must move, young herr," replied the man sadly. "To stay as I am means a terrible illness, perhaps death. But I shall fight it down.

The movement will send life into me. Now, have you the axes? Please to give me mine, and I shall creep along. We must get to the tent and a fire somehow."

"But you cannot lead, Melchior."

"I will lead, herr," he replied, as he rested on Saxe's shoulder. "Here in the mountains man must exert himself if he wishes to live. This way."

To the astonishment of both he used his ice-axe as a walking-stick, holding it by the steel head, striking the spike at the end of the handle into the slippery floor, and walking slowly but steadily on along the edge of the creva.s.se.

Saxe felt a strong inclination to go back and peer down into the black depths again, but he had to resist it, and, carrying the lanthorn, he followed close behind Melchior, with one hand raised, ready to s.n.a.t.c.h at him if he seemed disposed to fall.

It was very dark now, and the light from the lanthorn was reflected in a faint, sickly way from the ghostly-looking ma.s.ses of ice as they threaded their way onward, the guide whispering to them to be silent and careful, as many of the huge pinnacles were unsteady.

But, in spite of their cautious procedure, one ma.s.s tottered over and came down with an awful crash just as Dale had pa.s.sed; and the falling of this meant the destruction of a couple of others, the noise of their splintering raising an echo in the narrow gorge which ran upward reverberating like thunder.

Melchior did not speak, but hurried on, and, turning the end of the creva.s.se, led them diagonally off the ice and down into the narrow stony way between it and the walls of the valley.

Here he let himself sink down on a smooth slope of rock, to remain seated for a moment or two and then lie right down upon his back.

"It is nothing, herr," he said quietly,--"only weariness. May I beg for something?"

"Yes: what can we do!" cried Dale.

"Fill your pipe for me, herr, and light it. My tobacco is so wet it will not burn."

"Of course," cried Dale.

"Hadn't we better give him some more water?" whispered Saxe.

"No, herr," said the guide; "no more. That which you gave me brought life back to me: it would do no more good now. Let me rest and smoke awhile--not many minutes. Then I can go on."

The pipe was filled and handed to the poor fellow, who held it with trembling fingers to the opened lanthorn; and as soon as he had lit it and begun to smoke, he said feebly--

"Have you matches, herr!"

"Yes, plenty."

He blew out the light.

"We do not want that now," he said, handing it back to Saxe, and lying back again, to go on smoking rapidly. "The warmth is coming back to my limbs," he continued. "I shall be able to walk better, herrs, and it will be best for me."

"Then you think you can reach the tent to-night?" said Dale.

"Oh yes: we will reach it, herr. It is not so very far now. There will be a fire, and hot coffee, and rugs to cover us from the cold. Oh yes: we are all faint and hungry."

"But look here, Melk," said Saxe, "suppose I go down and fetch up some wood and the coffee?"

"No, herr: it is life to me to get down to camp. There!" he cried, making an effort and rising, "I am getting stronger now. It is hard work to walk, but it is best for me after what I have gone through."

Saxe looked at the dark figure before him with a feeling almost of awe, and his desire was intense to begin questioning; but he restrained himself, waiting till Melchior himself should begin, and following down over the rugged and slippery stones for what seemed to be a weary interminable time. A dozen times over the boy felt as if, regardless of the cold, and the knowledge that it was freezing sharply, he must throw himself down and sleep. But there was the dark figure of the patient guide before him, struggling slowly along, and fighting against the pain and exhaustion that nearly overcame him, and he took heart and stumbled on till he felt as if all the trouble through which he had pa.s.sed that evening were a dream, of which this was the nightmare-like following, and at last he followed the guide nearly asleep.

How long they had been walking Saxe could not tell, but he roused up suddenly as a peculiar cry rang out somewhere close at hand.

"What's that?" he cried excitedly.

"The mule trumpeting a welcome back," cried Dale. "We are close there now;" and, in effect, five minutes after they were in the sheltered nook, where Melchior stumbled to the tent and dropped down under its shelter.

"Quick, Saxe! The fire and hot coffee for the poor fellow!"

Saxe was wakeful enough now, and in a very short time the coffee kettle was steaming, while the fire threw strange shadows on the rocky wall.

Dale had not been idle. His first proceeding had been to throw a couple of rugs over their companion, who in due time sat up to drink the hot coffee with avidity. He could only eat a few morsels of bread, but he partook of the coffee again, and then sank back to drop into a heavy sleep, and Saxe and Dale sat watching him for some time, forgetting their own mental and bodily weariness in their anxiety respecting the poor fellow's state. But after bending over him several times, and always with the same satisfactory discovery that the sufferer was sleeping easily and well, both Dale and Saxe yielded to their own desire to lie down, carrying on a conversation one minute and the next to be sleeping as heavily as the guide.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

MELCHIOR'S ADVENTURE.

Saxe woke the next morning with a start, and, as full recollection came, he looked round at where Melchior lay; but he was not there. Dale was, however, sleeping soundly; and creeping silently out, so as not to awaken him, Saxe found, to his surprise, that the guide was seated by the fire, feeding it carefully and sparingly with sticks, so as to get all the flame to bear upon the coffee kettle; and, to Saxe's great delight, he seemed to be much as usual.

"Why, Melk," he said, "I was afraid you would be very bad."

"I? Oh no, herr. I was very bad last night, and it was hard work to get back here; but the sleep did me good. You see, we mountain people get used to being knocked about, and I am not much hurt."

"But--"

"Yes, I'll tell you presently, when the master is awake: it is not pleasant to talk about twice. Here he is."

"Why, Melchior, man, you surprise me!" cried Dale, shaking hands warmly.

"Here have I been dreaming all night about a long journey to fetch a _chaise a porteurs_ to carry you down, and here you are just as usual."

"Yes, herr; and the coffee will be ready by the time you have had your bath."

"But I want to know--"

"Yes, herr, I'll tell you soon;" and a very, very short time after, as they sat round their meal, Melchior went on sipping his coffee and eating his bacon, as if he had never been in peril in his life; while the others, in spite of the hunger produced by the keen mountain air, could hardly partake of a morsel from the excitement they felt as the guide told of his mishap.

"I always feel, herrs, when I have had to do with an accident, that I have been in fault, and that I have to examine myself as to what I had left undone; but here I cannot see that I neglected anything. The creva.s.se was not wide. I had seen you both leap in safety, and I followed. It was one of the misfortunes that happen to people, whether they are mountaineers or quiet dwellers in the valley."

"Yes; a terrible accident, Melchior."

"Yes, herr. Sometimes we go to mishaps, sometimes they come to us.