nds about his elbows. Then, slowly bringing
his great strength to bear, he began to heave, the veins standing out
like network about his temples, and his face turning purple as he strove
to draw the prisoner out of the icy fetters in which he was fast. But
for some moments every effort seemed to be vain, and a horrible feeling
of despair came over the guide as he relaxed his efforts once more.

But only while one might have counted twenty before he tightened his
clasp once more, and heaved with so good an effect that he drew Saxe
right out of the icy mould, which had pretty well shaped itself to the
lower part of his figure, and then carried him out of the excavation and
laid him down barefooted upon the snow.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

A GREAT SURPRISE.

"Hah!" ejaculated Melchior, as he wiped the great drops off his brow and
stood panting and waiting for the boy to recover his senses.

At last Saxe uttered a catching sigh and moved his head uneasily. Then,
with his eyes tightly closed, he said feebly--

"Don't--don't, Melk: you hurt me. It's of no use. Go and try to help
Mr Dale. Eh?"

He started as he opened his eyes widely and looked about. "Why, Melk--
you don't mean--"

"Yes, herr," said the guide quietly. "I dragged you out."

"Why!--oh, how it hurts! You've left my legs in the hole! No," he
added, as he struggled into a sitting position and looked down,--"only
my boots."

"I'll bind some cloth round them directly, herr. We can get other
boots."

"But--I feel--just as if I had no legs at all," said Saxe excitedly.
"Not broken, are they?"

"No, herr: only a little numbed with the cold and pressure. There, I am
better now. I'll chafe them before I bind up your feet."

"You couldn't get out my boots?"

"No, herr--not for many hours: we must not wait for that;" and he knelt
down now, and after rapidly chafing the half-dead limbs to bring back
the circulation, he took string from his pocket, cut off both sleeves of
his jacket, and then cleverly tied the wrists, and drew them on to the
boy's legs, where he bound them with the string, forming a pair of boots
and stockings in one.

"Why, Melk, you've made me look like an Italian brigand," cried Saxe
pitifully, as he stood up and looked down at his cross-gartered legs.
"Oh! I can hardly stand. But now we are wasting time: let's find Mr
Dale."

"Yes," said Melchior, drawing a long deep breath: "let's try and find
Mr Dale."

"Which wa