be "ganz fest." We paid out a hundred feet of rope, and as there was no immediate prospect of his being "ganz fest," and as in the event of a slip it was tolerably certain that it would make no difference whether he were or no, I cautiously followed his track; Gentinetta bringing up the rear, free from the dangerous entanglement of the rope. Having traversed in all about a hundred and fifty feet we were able to turn up the slope, and soon reached firm rock, which, though very steep, offered good hold and plenty of it. Burgener dashed up at a furious pace. Suddenly a splinter of rock caught his coat, and an agonised yell told us that his pipe, his faithful companion in many a hard- fought climb, and the gift of his most trusted Herr, had been jerked out of his pocket and had plunged down to the Matterhorn glacier.
Soon afterwards we regained the ridge, and, without halting, followed it to the point where it not merely becomes perpendicular, but actually overhangs.[1] We had now to traverse to our right on to the great western face of the mountain. Burgener anxiously scanned the huge cliff and then gripped my hand and exclaimed, "The pipe is avenged, we are on the summit," which I took to mean that we should be there sometime.
- ↑ That this is no exaggeration may be distinctly seen either from the Mettelhorn or from the slopes above and to the west of Breuil. From these two opposite points this part of the arête is well seen.
