The shriek of Minnie and the driver’s
cry of despair were both stopped abruptly by the rush
of snow, and were smothered in the heap under which
they were buried. The whole party stood paralyzed,
gazing stupidly downward where the avalanche was hurrying
on to the abyss, bearing with it the ill-fated Minnie.
The descent was a slope of smooth snow, which went
down at an angle of forty-five degrees for at least
a thousand feet. At that point there seemed to
be a precipice. As their aching eyes watched
the falling mass they saw it approach this place,
and then as it came near the whole avalanche seemed
to divide as though it had been severed by some projecting
rock. It divided thus, and went to ruin; while
in the midst of the ruin they saw the sled, looking
like a helpless boat in the midst of foaming breakers.
So, like such a helpless boat, it was dashed forward,
and shot out of sight over the precipice.
Whither had it gone? Into what
abyss had it fallen? What lay beneath that point
over which it had been thrown? Was it the fierce
torrent that rolled there, or were there black rocks
and sharp crags lying at the foot of the awful precipice?
Such were the questions which flashed through every
mind, and deepened the universal horror into universal
despair.
In the midst of this general dismay
Ethel was the first to speak and to act. She
started to her feet, and looking back, called in a
loud voice:
“Go down after her! A thousand
pounds to the man who saves her! Quick!”
At this the drivers came forward.
None of them could understand English, and so had
not comprehended her offer; but they saw by her gestures
what she wanted. They, however, did not seem inclined
to act. They pointed down, and pointed up, and
shook their heads, and jabbered some strange, unintelligible
patois.
“Cowards!” cried Ethel,
“to leave a young girl to die. I will go
down myself.”
And then, just as she was, she stepped
from the sled, and paused for a moment, looking down
the slope as though selecting a place. Lady Dalrymple
and Mrs. Willoughby screamed to her to come back, and
the drivers surrounded her with wild gesticulations.
To all this she paid no attention whatever, and would
certainly have gone down in another moment had not
a hand been laid on her arm, and a voice close by her
said, with a strong foreign accent,
“Mees!”
She turned at once.
It was the foreign gentleman who had
been driving behind the party. He had come up
and had just reached the place. He now stood before
her with his hat in one hand and the other hand on
his heart.
“Pardon, mees,” he said,
with a bow. “Eet is too periloss. I
sall go down eef you ’low me to mak ze attemp.”
“Oh, monsieur,” cried Ethel, “save
her if you can!”
“Do not fear. Be calm. I sall go down.
Nevare mine.”
The stranger now turned to the drivers,
and spoke to them in their own language. They
all obeyed at once. He was giving them explicit
directions in a way that showed a perfect command of
the situation. It now appeared that each sled
had a coil of rope, which was evidently supplied from
an apprehension of some such accident as this.
Hastily yet dextrously the foreign gentleman took
one of these coils, and then binding a blanket around
his waist, he passed the rope around this, so that
it would press against the blanket without cutting
him. Having secured this tightly, he gave some
further directions to the drivers, and then prepared
to go down.
Hitherto the drivers had acted in
sullen submission rather than with ready acquiescence.
They were evidently afraid of another avalanche; and
the frequent glances which they threw at the slope
above them plainly showed that they expected this
snow to follow the example of the other. In spite
of themselves an expression of this fear escaped them,
and came to the ears of the foreign gentleman.
He turned at once on the brink of the descent, and
burst into a torrent of invective against them.
The ladies could not understand him, but they could
perceive that he was uttering threats, and that the
men quailed before him. He did not waste any
time, however. After reducing the men to a state
of sulky submission, he turned once more and began
the descent.
As he went down the rope was held
by the men, who allowed it to pass through their hands
so as to steady his descent. The task before the
adventurer was one of no common difficulty. The
snow was soft, and at every step he sank in at least
to his knees. Frequently he came to treacherous
places, where he sank down above his waist, and was
only able to scramble out with difficulty. But
the rope sustained him; and as his progress was downward,
he succeeded in moving with some rapidity toward his
destination. The ladies on the height above sat
in perfect silence, watching the progress of the man
who was thus descending with his life in his hand
to seek and to save their lost companion, and in the
intensity of their anxiety forgot utterly about any
danger to themselves, though from time to time there
arose the well-known sound of sliding masses, not
so far away but that under other circumstances of
less anxiety it might have filled them with alarm.
But now there was no alarm for themselves.
And now the stranger was far down,
and the coil of rope was well-nigh exhausted.
But this had been prepared for, and the drivers fastened
this rope to another coil, and after a time began to
let out that one also.
Farther and farther down the descent
went on. They saw the stranger pursuing his way
still with unfaltering resolution; and they sent after
him all their hearts and all their prayers. At
last he plunged down almost out of sight, but the
next moment he emerged, and then, after a few leaps,
they saw that he had gained the place where lay the
ruins of the shattered avalanche. Over this he
walked, sometimes sinking, at other times running
and leaping, until at length he came to the precipice
over which the sled had been flung.
And now the suspense of the ladies
became terrible. This was the critical moment.
Already his eyes could look down upon the mystery
that lay beneath that precipice. And what lay
revealed there? Did his eyes encounter a spectacle
of horror? Did they gaze down into the inaccessible
depths of some hideous abyss? Did they see those
jagged rocks, those sharp crags, those giant boulders,
those roaring billows, which, in their imaginations,
had drawn down their lost companion to destruction?
Such conjectures were too terrible. Their breath
failed them, and their hearts for a time almost ceased
to beat as they sat there, overcome by such dread
thoughts as these.
Suddenly a cry of delight escaped
Ethel. She was kneeling down beside Lady Dalrymple
and Mrs. Willoughby, with her eyes staring from her
pallid face, when she saw the stranger turn and look
up. He took off his hat, and waved it two or
three times. Then he beckoned to the drivers.
Then he sat down and prepared to let himself over the
precipice. This incident inspired hope. It
did more. It gave a moment’s confidence,
and the certainty that all was not lost. They
looked at each other, and wept tears of joy. But
soon that momentary hope vanished, and uncertainty
returned. After all, what did the stranger’s
gesture mean? He might have seen her but
how? He might reach her, but would she be safe
from harm? Could such a thing be hoped for?
Would she not, rather, be all marred and mutilated?
Dared they hope for any thing better? They dared
not. And now they sat once more, as sad as before,
and their short-lived gleam of hope faded away.
They saw the stranger go over the precipice.
Then he disappeared.
The rope was let out for a little
distance, and then stopped. Then more went out.
Then it stopped again.
The rope now lay quite loose. There was no tension.
What was the meaning of this?
Was he clinging to the side of the precipice?
Impossible. It looked rather as though he had
reached some place where he was free to move, and
had no further need of descent. And it seemed
as though the precipice might not be so deep or so
fearful as they had supposed.
In a short time their eyes were greeted
by the appearance of the stranger above the precipice.
He waved his hat again. Then he made some gestures,
and detached the rope from his person. The drivers
understood him as if this had been preconcerted.
Two of them instantly unharnessed the horse from one
of the sleds, while the others pulled up the rope
which the stranger had cast off. Then the latter
disappeared once more behind the precipice. The
ladies watched now in deep suspense; inclining to
hope, yet dreading the worst. They saw the drivers
fasten the rope to the sled, and let it down the slope.
It was light, and the runners were wide. It did
not sink much, but slid down quite rapidly. Once
or twice it stuck, but by jerking it back it was detached,
and went on as before. At last it reached the
precipice at a point not more than a hundred feet
from where the stranger had last appeared.
And now as they sat there, reduced
once more to the uttermost extremity of suspense,
they saw a sight which sent a thrill of rapture through
their aching hearts. They saw the stranger come
slowly above the precipice, and then stop, and stoop,
and look back. Then they saw oh, Heavens!
who was that? Was not that her red hood and
that figure who thus slowly emerged from behind the
edge of the precipice which had so long concealed
her that figure! Was it possible?
Not dead not mangled, but living, moving,
and, yes wonder of wonders scaling
a precipice! Could it be! Oh joy! Oh
bliss! Oh revulsion from despair! The ladies
trembled and shivered, and laughed and sobbed convulsively,
and wept in one another’s arms by turns.
As far as they could see through the
tears that dimmed their eyes, Minnie could not be
much injured. She moved quite lightly over the
snow, as the stranger led her toward the sled; only
sinking once or twice, and then extricating herself
even more readily than her companion. At last
she reached the sled, and the stranger, taking off
the blanket that he had worn under the rope, threw
it over her shoulders.
Then he signaled to the men above,
and they began to pull up the sled. The stranger
climbed up after it through the deep snow, walking
behind it for some distance. At last he made
a despairing gesture to the men, and sank down.
The men looked bewildered, and stopped pulling.
The stranger started up, and waved his hands impatiently,
pointing to
Minnie.
The drivers began to pull once more
at the sled, and the stranger once more sank exhausted
in the snow.
At this Ethel started up.
“That noble soul!” she
cried; “that generous heart! See! he is
saving Minnie, and sitting down to die in the snow!”
She sprang toward the men, and endeavored
to make them do something. By her gestures she
tried to get two of the men to pull at the sled, and
the third man to let the fourth man down with a rope
to the stranger. The men refused; but at the
offer of her purse, which was well filled with gold,
they consented. Two of them then pulled at the
sled, and number four bound the rope about him, and
went down, while number three held the rope.
He went down without difficulty, and reached the stranger.
By this time Minnie had been drawn to the top, and
was clasped in the arms of her friends.
But now the strength and the sense
which had been so wonderfully maintained gave way
utterly; and no sooner did she find herself safe than
she fell down unconscious.
They drew her to a sled, and tenderly
laid her on the straw, and lovingly and gently they
tried to restore her, and call her back to consciousness.
But for a long time their efforts were of no avail.
She lay there a picture of perfect
loveliness, as beautiful as a dream like
some child-angel. Her hair, frosted with snow
dust, clustered in golden curls over her fair white
brow; her little hands were folded meekly over her
breast; her sweet lips were parted, and disclosed
the pearly teeth; the gentle eyes no longer looked
forth with their piteous expression of mute appeal;
and her hearing was deaf to the words of love and
pity that were lavished upon her.