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The Crystal Hunters: A Boy's Adventures in the Higher Alps, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 5. Strange Quarters |
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_ CHAPTER FIVE. STRANGE QUARTERS Milk, bread, butter and cheese in the rough pine verandah, seated on a homely bench, with the soft pleasant smell of cows from beneath, and the melodious chiming tinkle of many sweet-toned bells--not the wretched tin or iron jangling affairs secured to sheep or kine in England, but tuneful, well-made bells, carefully strapped to the necks of the cattle, and evidently appreciated by the wearers, several of which stood about, gently swaying their heads, blinking their great soft eyes, ruminating, and waiting their turn with the brawny milkmaid, who rose from her crouching position from time to time, taking her one-legged stool with her, fastened on and projecting like a peculiar tail. The light was dying out fast on the peaks around, and they ceased to flash and glow, to become pale and grey, and then ghastly, cold and strange, as the little party sat enjoying the simple meal and the calm and rest of the peaceful scene. Everything around was so still that there was hardly a murmur in the pines; only the hushed roar of the restless river, but subdued now, for its waters were shrinking fast from the failure of the supply; for the many thousand trickling rivulets of melting snow, born of the hot sunshine of the day, were now being frozen up hard. The weary feeling that stole over Saxe was very pleasant as he eat there, with his back against the rough pine boards of the chalet, watching the shadows darkening in the valley, and the falls grow less and less distinct, while a conversation, which did not trouble him, went on close by his elbow. "I think I have pretty well explained what I want, Melchior," Dale was saying. "I have seen a few specimens of the crystals found up in the mountains, and I am convinced that far finer pieces are to be obtained in the higher parts that have not yet been explored." The guide was silent for a few minutes as he sat now smoking his pipe. "The herr is right," he said at last. "I have often seen places where, such treasures may be found. But you are a stranger--I am a Swiss. Is it right that I should help you?" "When I tell you that I am moved by no ideas of greed, but solely as a discoverer, and that, as I have before said, your country would be the richer for my find, you ought to be satisfied." "I should be, herr, only that I do not quite like the secrecy of your movements. It is not like anything I have done before, and it troubles me to think that I ought not to tell anybody the object of our excursions." "Tell any curious people that we are making ascents because I am studying the mountains. It will be the truth; for, understand me, I am not going alone for this search. I want to find out more concerning the forming of the glaciers, and the gathering of storms on the mountains. There are endless discoveries to be made, and ascents to be attempted. You will show me mountains that have not yet been climbed." "I will show the herr all he wishes, and keep his counsel loyally," said Melchior. "No one shall know anything about our search. Look, herr: the Alpen glow!" A slight rustling sound beneath the verandah had just taken Saxe's attention, and he was wondering whether any one was in the low stone cowhouse over which the chalet was built--from the economical ideas of the people, who make one roof do for both places, and give to their cattle an especially warm winter house--when the guide's words roused him from his drowsy state, and he started up to gaze at the rather rare phenomenon before him. A short time before the various mountain peaks had stood up, dimly-seen, shadowy grey and strange, the more distant dying out in the gathering gloom. Now it was as if a sudden return of the golden sunset had thrown them up again, glowing with light and colour, but with a softness and delicacy that was beautiful in the extreme. "All that's bright must fade," said Dale, with a sigh. "I wonder what our English friends would say to that, Saxe!" "What I do,--that it's lovely. Is it like this every night?" "No," replied Melchior, refilling his pipe; "it is only at times. Some say it means storms in the mountains; some that it is to be fine weather." "And what do you say, Melchior?" asked Dale. "I say nothing, herr. What can a man who knows the mountains say, but that this is a place of change? Down here in the valley it has been a soft bright summer day, whilst up yonder in the mountains storm and snow have raged, and the icy winds have frozen men to death. Another day I have left the wind howling and the rain beating and the great black clouds hanging low; and in an hour or two I have climbed up to sunshine, warmth and peace." "But you mountaineers know a great deal about the weather and its changes." "A little, herr," said the guide, smiling--"not a great deal. It is beyond us. We know by the clouds and mists high above the mountains when it is safe to go and when to stay; for if we see long-drawn and rugged clouds hanging about the points and trailing down the cols and over each icy grat, we know there is a tempest raging and we do not go. There is not much wisdom in that. It is very simple, and--Look! the young herr is fast asleep. Poor boy!--it has been a tiring day. Shall we go to rest?" "Yes," said Dale, laying his hand on Saxe's shoulder. "Come, boy, rouse up and let's go to bed." "Eh? What? Where? Sliding down and--Did you speak, Mr Dale?" said Saxe, after starting up and babbling excitedly for a moment or two, just fresh from his dreams. "Wake up! I'm going to bed." "Wake up, of course," said Saxe tetchily. "Mustn't a--?" He stopped short, colouring a little; and at that moment he turned sharply, for there was a loud sneeze from below, and directly after a youngish man, with a lowering look and some bits of hay sticking in his hair, came out from the cowhouse and slouched by the front, glancing up with half-shut eyes towards the occupants of the verandah, on his way to a low stone-built shingle-roofed place, from which sundry bleatings told that it was the refuge of the herd of goats. Saxe was too sleepy to think then, and their host being summoned, he showed them through the chalet into a long low room with a sloping roof and boarded floor, in two corners of which lay a quantity of clean hay and twigs of some dry heathery-looking plant. "Gute nacht," he said briefly, and went out, leaving the door open. "Do we sleep here?" said Saxe, yawning. "No beds no chests of drawers, no washstands, no carpets." "No, boy: nothing but clean hay and a roof over our heads," replied Dale. "Shall you mind?" "Mind?" said Saxe, plumping himself down in the hay. "Well, it seems so queer. I can't undress and lie in this stuff: see how it would tickle. It is pretty soft, though, and--Oh! murder!" "What's the matter?" cried Dale excitedly: "some insect?" "No, it's a jolly old stumpy thistle, like the top of a young pineapple. It did prick.--Yes, it is pretty soft, and it smells nice, and heigh ho hum! how tired I am!" "You'll take the other corner, Melchior," said Dale; "I'll lie here. There is no occasion to fasten the door, I suppose?" "Fasten the door!" said the guide, with a quiet laugh. "Oh no. The only intruder likely to come is the wind, and he might open it and bang it, but he will not be abroad to-night. Look!" "Look! what at?" The guide pointed to the corner where Saxe had lain down, making a pillow of his arm. Dale smiled. "Comfortable, Saxe boy?" There was no reply. The hay made a pleasant, sweetly scented couch. Saxe was fast asleep. _ |
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