mpa, till I give the order!" he sang out.

"All right, monsieur, but we are losing time. What is Barth doing
there? _Saperlotte!_ If I were in front----"

Bower, who owned certain strong qualities, swallowed something, took
three strides downward, and said calmly: "I was waiting to give
Stampa a hand. He is lame, you know."

Helen, of course, heard all that passed. She had long since abandoned
the effort to disentangle the skein of that day's events. Everybody
was talking and acting unnaturally. Perhaps the ravel of things would
clear itself when they regained the commonplace world of the hotel. In
any case, she wished the men would hurry, for it was unutterably cold
in the crevasse.

At last, then, there was a movement ahead.

Barth began to mount. Muttering an instruction to Karl that he was to
give the girl a friendly pull, he cut smaller steps more widely apart
and at a steeper gradient. Soon they were on the floor of the ice and
hurrying to the next bridge. Not a word was spoken by anyone. The fury
of the gale and the ever gathering snow made it imperative that not a
moment should be wasted. The lightning was decreasing perceptibly,
while the occasional peals of thunder were scarcely audible above the
soughing of the wind. A tremendous crash on the right announced the
fall of another avalanche; but it did not affect the next broad
crevasse. The bridge they had used a few hours earlier stood firm.
Indeed, it was new welded by regelation since the sun's rays had
disappeared.

The leader kept a perfect line, never deviating from the right track.
Helen, who had completely lost her bearings, thought they had a long
way farther to go, when she saw Barth stop and begin to unfasten the
rope. Then a thrust with the butt of her _pickel_ told her that she
was standing on rock. When she cleared her eyes of the flying snow,
she saw a well defined curving ribbon amid the white chaos. It was the
path, covered six inches deep. The violent exertions of nearly three
hours since she left the hut had induced a pleasant sense of languor.
Did she dare to suggest it, she would have liked to sit down and rest
for awhile.

Bower, who had substituted reasoned thought for his madness, addressed
Spencer with easy complacence while Barth was unroping them. "Why did
you believe that I was doing a risky thing in stopping to assist
Stampa?" he asked.

"I guess you know best," was the uncompromising answer.

"Yes, I think I do. Of cour