but the shepherd came to our help and led us to a black mark against a perpendicular cliff; this black mark defined the place where he lit his fire on the rare occasions when he had any firewood. At the present moment, he explained, he had not got any. Other pretence of habitation or shelter there was none. Even our small tent which had formed part of the Tartar's load had disappeared, and the Tartar himself had vanished into space, Zurfluh, indeed, was inclined to think a crevasse his probable resting place, but my experience of his skill made me pretty confident that he had not chosen that particular method of joining the houris in Paradise. The misty rain pervaded everywhere; the lee side of the rocks was as wet as the weather side, and we gradually lapsed into that soddened condition which depresses the spirits even of the most cheerful. Moreover, we had depended on one or other of the active sheep we saw around us for our dinner; but the conversion of live sheep into cooked mutton is difficult in the absence of firing. We bitterly regretted the Misses kosh, where a Willesden canvas tent and a good store of wood were securely packed in the cave. I even suggested crossing, but Zurfluh absolutely refused to have anything more to do with the séracs while the fog lasted. An hour later, however, our mourning was turned into joy, for we beheld the broad shoulders of the hunter, buried beneath a pile of wood, struggling up the
