by a party which, under the leadership of Franz Burgener, had made the ordinary ascent on the previous day. "Half an hour more and it is done, and the Teufelsgrat is ours," added the excited Alexander as we hurried along, feeling that success was within our grasp. The footprints grew perceptibly larger, and on we ran till we actually placed our feet in the tracks. Here all unnecessary luggage was deposited, and Burgener, seeing I was very cold, arrayed me in his coat and gloves. We hastened up the snow, finding no difficulty other than its extreme softness. A scramble over some sharp slate-like rocks followed, then a little more snow, and at 5.30 p.m. we stood on the sunmait. But for one moment only. At once Burgener began with serious face to say, "I not like a thunderstorm on this ridge." There was no doubt about it, the clouds were wrapping round us, and the distant grumble rolled in our ears. "Go on, go on quicker, Herr Mommerie!" and then with a push he hustled me along the arête. "You must go on, I could a cow hold here," were the encouraging words I heard as I went helter-skelter over anything which happened to be in the way. Soon the snow slopes were reached, and our property once more picked up. We ran our hardest through the blinding storm, almost deafened by the reverberating peals of thunder; but what mattered it? True it was late; true we were cold, hungry, and tired; true we were sinking into the snow above
