Tut, tut! cutting again. Look out!"

The last two words were roared out; and chip, chip, there came close
upon one another the sound of two ice-picks being driven into the snow,
the guide's like an echo of Dale's, for his axe was raised to cut a
fresh step, but he changed the direction like lightning, drove it in
high up the slope, and held on forward, Dale backward.

For, in the most unexpected manner, one of Saxe's feet had slipped as he
stepped short, and down he went to lie helplessly a dozen feet from
where he had stood, hanging suspended from the two ends of the rope--
fortunately for him tight round the waists of his companions.

"Herr, herr!" shouted the guide reproachfully, as he looked back over
his shoulder, "where's your ice-axe?"

"Here," said Saxe dolefully, raising it a little, and vainly trying to
drive his toes through the hard crust, newly frozen in the night.

"`Here,' sir!" cried Melchior: "but it has no business to be `here.'
Strike! strike hard! and drive it into the snow."

Saxe raised it in both hands, and struck.

"No, no!" cried the guide; "take hold right at the end, and drive it in
as high up as you can reach. Hah! that's better. Now hand over hand.
It will hold. Pull yourself up as high as you can."

"That do?" said Saxe, panting, after obeying the orders and contriving
to get a couple of feet.

"Yes," said the guide, tightening the rope in company with Dale. "Now
then, again! A better one this time."

The boy struck the pick in again as hard as he could, and was more
successful. The rope was tightened to support him after he had climbed
higher; and after three or four minutes he stood once more in his old
place panting.

"Wait till he gets his breath, Melchior," said Dale. "There, boy, it
has been a splendid lesson for you, in a place where the worst that
could have happened to you was a sharp glissade and some skin off your
hands and face. That ice-axe ought to have been driven like lightning
into the snow, or the pick held towards it downward. It would have
ploughed in and anchored you."

"I'll try better next time," said Saxe. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

"The young herr did well," cried Melchior warmly. "Why, I have known
men hang from the rope helpless and afraid to stir at such a time.
Ready? Vorwarts!"

He started again, cutting a step here and there, but very few now; and a
quarter of an hour later a long path took them to where the smooth slope
gave p