The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1895-02-02

slopes, where, f1arked on either hand
by cragS and cliffs, and pinnacles OF
rock, lay the glacier they were about
to cross. 1t had been arranged That
they should make the descent into the
adjoining valley by the Stieffer Pass
to the village of Fluela, which they
would reach in time to catch the dill
gence in the evening, ano so return to
Dorf1i. A guide had been. dispensed
with, and, indeed, with their expert
ence in mountaineering and the COM
parative ease of the present expedi-
ton, there was no occasion for n
The few early watchers from the no.
tel balconies could easily descry them
when they cleared the wood and pro-
ceeded to make their way over the
grassy activities on to the moraine,
and thence to the glacier.
Over this their course was toilsomc
and slow. The suns heat of the pre-
vious day had slightly melted the sur
face of the snow, only to have 1t frozen
hard and slippery at nightfall. In the
higher attitudes. too, a slight covering
OF had fallen. treacherous to the
foot and in addition hiding dangers
that might Turk underneath. However,
they were seen to reach the skyline, to
1inger on the highest level of the snow,
as if for a short breathing space, for a
few minutes, and resuming their toll
some walk to disappear down the 9th
er side.
Here, Lawrence, l will let you have
the benefit of carrying the axe on the
way down. said Grant; IF there are
any steps to be cut I will let you know
in good time"
Grant was leading. as he had done
all along since they had quilted the
stones of the moraine. A strong rope.
some twenty yards long, with the op-
posite ends passed around the waist
of each, bound them together.
Half of the distance over the glacier
had been accomplished, when sudden,
ly the leading man slipped and fell IL
a steep part Of the descent. Before
Lawrence had noticed it, the loose rope
had become taut. and in an instant he
had lost his footing and was following
his companion in his rapid glissade.
A few moments later, and their pace
had accelerated to a dangerous de-
gree, though at first the motion was
pleasant enough. and Lawrence's sub
seqlent wild efforts to retard it with
the help of his. axe We're fruitleSS. be-
cause of their wildness. Their course
Lad become almost headlong. when he
saw his companion, who was m
what in front, bound off a shelving
mass of snow and then disappear. Next
moment he was caught on the same
shelf, buried to the shoulders, and
felt himself almost suffocated, as the
rope frightened around his waist and
chest.
He was safe so far, but in deadly
peril, on the edge Of a crevasse. into
the depths of which his compamCn's
weight was slowly dragging him. To
seek to stay his downward course with
the help of his ice-aXe, and devise
some means of rescue for his friend,
was the n imperative step that lay
before him. But that step, though he
bitterly regretted it after, he did not
take. A struggle Of conflicting emo
tons, of past friendship and present
jealousy, of sympathy and despair, and
in n overwhelming moment of era
ven cowardice he struck a blow at
the rope now stretched to it's utmost
tension. One of the strands gave way,
but the other two still held together,
though almost at the breaking point.
AAothOl oloNs a. hlullclCu CulSt, anu
again il wild curse, and then-Law-
was free, his safety assured, with
a Sickening feeling at heart that whis-
pered to him Murderer"
Without venturing to peer over the
edge of the yawning chasm, he crawled
ON hands and knees from the fatal
spot, and slowly retraced his steps
ever the glacier. He had presence of
mind pnnJoh tn frar- tho an1o aF +Lo
tell-tale strands of rope before reach
ing his hotel, whence 4; search party
was Immediately dispatched for the
recovery of the unfortunate Grants
body. 1t was sunrise Of the next morn
ing before they reached the fatal spot.
Traces of the tragedy We're all too ap-
parent on the surface Of the snow,
but the icy cavern hid all else in it's
depths. A man was lowered. Ills face
was ashy pale when he was drawn
up, and it was some time ere he could
speak.
Il slipped off a ledge some. thirty
feet down." at last he managed to say.
land 1 thought my last hour had come.
Nothing below that but two walls of
ice as far as 1 could look. The fall
would have killed him at once.
llOSe WIZ are HNlnS UWeuty years
hence will find his body at the foot of
the glacier" said old Andreas Mettier,
the guide. Il remember when a boy
an accident like it, and the body was
found unchanged after all that time"
1t was some days ere Lawrence
could set off for home. There had been
a heavy fall of snow, and the roads
We're blocked and all travelling by dill
igence stopped. His physical condition
would not have allowed him to VEN
ture at one so long a journey, and his
Oyerstrung nerves had given way COM
pletely. Nor did the manifest sympa-
thy of all about him help much to re-
cover his ~buoyancy of spirits. His con-
dition was ascribed to grief for his
friends loss, and in a lesser degree to
his own imminent peril at the time
of the catastrophe. But could the SYM
pathiZers have read the secrets of his
mind, they would have known that he
was a prey TO bitter shame and the
grief it ~engenders, and that now his
friends fate and his own treachery
were ever before him in all the hor-
rors Of the situation.
On the evening before his departure,
however, he summoned courage enough
to press his suit with the unwilling
cause of his crime.
DO not ask me now, so soon after
your friends DEATH" was all she said,
but tone and manner made him feel
sure that his subsequent wOoing would