Page:My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus.djvu/345

292 more than once was knocked off my feet by a stone frozen into the floor of the gully. Happily at the small bends it was usually possible to check the speed of one's flight, and regain an attitude suited to the self-respecting mountaineer. The final swoop on to the snow face was simply delightful, and I rejoined Zurfluh feeling that an unsuccessful day is not without its compensations; though, doubtless, the company of a daring chamois hrmter, and the enjoyment of the methods and dodges appropriate to that sport, had something to do with my feelings of satisfaction.

Reaching our camp, we found the Tartar had not returned, and Zurfluh, depressed by the emptiness of the larder, fell a victim to melancholy. The Tartarr he insisted, had fallen into a crevasse, and was probably at that very moment slowly freezing to death between its icy walls. In vain I pointed out that the Tartar was in the habit of hunting the "big horns" on the glacier, and could, as we had witnessed, see a concealed crevasse with an ease that the best of Alpine climbers might envy. The decease of the Tartar, and the consequential absence of dinner, remained the dominant ideas in his mind, and care and sorrow sat in the deep furrows of his face. Just as it was getting dark, however, he espied a moving spot on the glacier, and our shouts were answered by a voice which did not in any way sound as if it belonged to the dead. About 9 p.m. the Tartar arrived,