“As I got stronger we tried some harder climbs,” Lawrence went on.  “Lucy is clever and steady on the ice; I’d had some practice on Scawfell in winter when I was at home, and though Walters didn’t know much about the work his nerve is good.  At length, we resolved to try the sharp peak yonder.”

It was nearly dark, but Foster, looking up the valley, saw a white summit gleam against the sky.  The shoulders of the mountain had faded to a pale gray, and the darker streak that filled a deep hollow marked a glacier.

“We started early and at first found the glacier rough but safe.  Walters had insisted on two guides; prospectors, used to the rocks, who now and then took a tourist party out.  The glacier brought us up some height, but after a time the surface began to be broken by big crevasses.  We spent two hours picking our way across and at noon saw we must find another route.  The slope on the right would take us off our line; on the left there were high, icy rocks that would puzzle a member of the Alpine club.”

“We sat down and examined the mountain with the glasses.  Above the crags, a snowfield ran up to the foot of the last sharp ridge, but we did not see how we could reach it.  Ragged clouds drove across the ridge and blowing snow streamed about the peak like mist.  Lucy, however, was keen on going on, and by and by one of the guides picked out a coulee that might take us up. Coulee’s good French-Canadian, but Alpinists call it a couloir.  It looked like a thin, white, perpendicular streak on the face of the dark rock.  But perhaps I’m boring you with these particulars.”

Lucy gave Foster a meaning glance and he said, “No; I want to understand the thing.”

“It was awkward to reach the coulee, because the glacier was badly crevassed, but we got there.  The gully was nearly precipitous; a narrow trough that serves as a rubbish shoot for the mountain when the thaw splits the rocks.  I expect it’s ground smooth in summer, but it was filled with hard, slippery snow.  We stopped again and studied it, and I felt doubtful I about taking Lucy up, but she didn’t want to go back.  Walters took my view and said we’d all go back, but he looked disappointed and Lucy wouldn’t agree.”

“I lost my temper,” Lucy admitted.  “I never liked Walters and when he supported Lawrence I got obstinate.  Besides, I thought he really wanted to get rid of me.”

“Anyhow, we decided that one guide should take Lucy back down the glacier.”

“Walters decided,” Lucy objected.  “It’s important, Mr. Foster, that he chose the guide.  Be careful how you tell the rest, Lawrence.”

“He said she must take the best man, and one laughed and said that if we meant to get up we’d better stick to him.  Walters, however, sent this fellow off with Lucy, and then we fastened on the rope and began to climb.  We got up perhaps a hundred feet by kicking steps in the snow, but that’s a tiring job for the leader, and when he found a crack in the wall, where we could stop, the guide had had enough.”