ut those crevasses--ugh!"

"The young herr will make a fine mountaineer, I am sure," said Melchior.
"I ought to know. Along here," he added; and, after a few minutes, he
stopped at what was quite a jagged rift in the mountain side.

"There is an awkward bit here, herr," he said, "but it will cut off half
an hour's hard walking."

"Down there?" said Saxe, after a glance. "Oh, I say!"

"It is an ugly bit, certainly," said Dale, looking at the guide.

"With a little care it is nothing," said Melchior. "The herr will go
down first. He has only to mind where he plants his feet. When he
reaches that ledge he will stop till we join him."

As Melchior spoke he unfastened the rope from Dale's breast and placed
the end from his own breast there instead; after which he set himself in
a good position by the edge.

"Hadn't we better get the youngster down first?"

"No, herr, you are heavy, and if you slip he can help me to hold you.
We can do it easily. Then you will untie yourself, and I can let him
down."

"And what then?" cried Saxe merrily, to conceal a feeling of uneasiness
at the awkward descent before him. "Are we to come up again and let you
down?"

"The young herr speaks like a gentleman Irlandais who was with me last
year. He made John Bulls, his friend said."

"Irish bulls, Melchior," said Dale, smiling.

"Ah, yes, the herr is right, they were Irish bulls; but I do not quite
know. Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Dale, preparing to descend the precipitous piece.

"Better keep your face to the rock here, herr. Go on. Take hold here,
young friend. That's it. The rope just touching, and the hands ready
to tighten at the slightest slip. Confidence, herr. But I need not
speak. You can climb."

Dale reached the ledge below without a slip, unfastened the end of the
rope, and Melchior began to attach it to Saxe.

"But, I say," cried the latter, "how can you get down?"

"There?" said the guide, with a little laugh. "Oh, that is not hard
climbing: I can easily get down there."

"I wish I could without thinking it was terrible," said Saxe to himself,
as he prepared in turn to descend, for in spite of the confidence given
by the rope about his chest, he found himself fancying that if the knot
came undone by the jerk he should give it if he slipped from one of
those awkward pieces of stone, he would go on falling and bounding from
rock to rock till he lay bruised and cut, perhaps killed, at the botto