while he looked for a route above me. I was quite safe, but had no place where I could wedge in my ice-axe or secure the rope in case of accidents. Suddenly a queerly quiet voice called to me: "Get out of that, quick to the right; out of the way!" I shifted with haste to the only available place, looking wildly about for something to twist the rope round; there was nothing, so I held it in both hands and waited with a sickening dread, expecting to see my guide fall from above. Instead there was a scrape of nails on smooth rock, a rattle of stones, and with a bound a huge boulder rolled from above; missing me by a couple of feet, it crashed down the slope to the glacier beneath. "You will have to let me haul you up the last bit," came a voice from above; "it's beastly smooth, and you can't reach the hand-hold. I jumped for it." So for the second time that day the rope proved a good friend in time of need. You might have thought the rest of those rook buttresses were made of gold, from the cautious and respectful way in which we treated them. However, we had no more difficulty, and shortly stood upon the snow arête leading to the summit. It was a teaser; it rose at an angle of 65 degrees straight to the sky. Fortunately the snow was in perfect condition, and we just kicked up it to the summit, which we reached in twenty minutes amidst no little excitement. There a cold wind was blowing from the west, and everything was shrouded in mist. The disappointment of having no view was somewhat alleviated by the joy of achieving such an exciting peak. We only stayed a few moments on the actual summit as it was so cold, and then found a sheltered spot on the east side wherein to eat our lunch. After burying a tin with our names scratched upon it on the summit, we began the descent at 2 p.m. We decided to give the rocks a wide berth, and descended wholly on snow to the Eugénie Glacier, and then made a traverse across it, and beneath
