I did not stop now. I felt that, if I stopped to rest, I should never have the strength of will to rise again. I swivelled round so that I was lying slightly above my skis. I bedded them firmly into the snow and then cleared the snow from my boots. But it was not easy to fix the skis to the boots. My fingers were stiff and they seemed to have no strength in them. And when at last I had the clips round the heels of my boots, the heavy spring clip in front of the toe seemed as though it had lost its spring. It took every last ounce of energy I possessed to pull those powerful clips over.
But at last it was done, and, as I lay panting there, I felt the comfort of the heavy skis on my feet. It is strange — when one comes fresh to skis after a long time, they seem so clumsy on one's feet. But, believe me, if you try to stand in soft snow without them, you feel as though you are trying to row without a boat. And it is a wonderful feeling to have your skis solid under your feet again.
After a little while, I took hold of my sticks and forced myself upright until I was crouched on my toes with the skis under me.
Then at last I rose to my feet and stood there in the snow, looking down at the trampled hole that I had torn with my body in the soft whiteness of the valley.
I could hardly stand for weariness and the cramped aching of my cold limbs. But it was a wonderful sensation just to stand upright again, no longer in the clutches of the snow, but treading it firmly beneath my feet, able to move upon it. I felt like a man who has climbed a great peak and feels the whole world and the elements conquered.
Slowly I stamped my feet to restore the circulation. And whilst I was doing this, I began to consider what I should do. Where was Mayne? To go down to Carbonin was easiest. If I kept travelling downhill, I should strike the pass. But should I? All about me was a jumbled heap of snow hills. Mayne's tracks were completely obliterated. The snow drifted like a white sandstorm, a moving surf of powder clinging close to the lying snow. Mayne had probably led me off the beaten track. If I followed the valley down, it might only lead me farther into the mountains. And suppose I made the pass? Mayne had said it was narrow — so narrow that it was impossible to lose one's way. Suppose he was waiting for me in that pass? He would wait a long time. He would want to be sure. I looked quickly about me. At this very moment he might be standing on the edge of visibility, watching and waiting to pounce on me if I looked like getting out of this white jungle alive. I remembered what Keramikos had said of him.
As I looked about me, the wind suddenly changed. It began to blow down from the glacier. The snow and the leaden sky was swept slowly away like a gauze curtain being drawn back. Black peaks began to stand out above me. The snow hills all round me were no longer blurred shapes, but sharp and clearly defined. Ahead of me and about a thousand yards down the valley was a glacier. It was not the Cristallo glacier which we had crossed much higher up, but another and smaller glacier. Its black moraines showed quite clear against the snow. It was circled by ragged crests. There was no sign of a pass. There was also no sign of Mayne.
I was convinced then that he had led me off the proper track. This was borne out later when I had a chance to look at a map. The small glacier that I was looking down on to was the one under Monte Cristallino. After crossing the main Cristallo glacier, Mayne had swung hard to the right, away from the pass to Carbonin.
It was that freak change in the weather that decided my course of action, and incidentally saved my life. If it had remained thick, I should have gone on down the valley to the Cristallino glacier. And there I should have frittered away my energy until nightfall. And that would have been the end.
But that sudden lifting of the snow showed me that there was only one thing to do; retrace my steps to the main Cristallo glacier, cross the top of the pass under Popena and go down to Col da Varda the way we had come up.
It was a big decision to make, for it meant climbing more than a thousand feet. And if the snow came down again and I lost my way, I knew I should not have a hope. But at least I knew there was a way through and, even if it began to snow again, I might remember the contours of the ground sufficiently to find my way back. To go forward meant facing the unknown and possibly Mayne. And though I would have been glad to go down instead of up, I dared not risk meeting Mayne. He was too good a- skier. I should not have a chance.
So I turned and faced the long white slope down which I had come so easily and so fast. It took me two hours by my watch to climb that slope. I had to go slowly, with many halts, zig-zagging up in a series of gentle diagonals. It was past two by the time I reached the top and looked down on to a grey sea of cloud out of which distant peaks rose like islands. The snow had cleared from the mountain tops and lay like a dirty blanket on their slopes, filling the great valley fissures.
I will not record the details of that journey. There were times when I stood, my head bowed on my sticks, certain I could not go another yard. On these occasions, it was only by the greatest exercise of my will that I prevented my knees from folding under the weight of my body. All I desired was to relax and sleep. Once I was careless and fell. The muscles of my arms and legs barely had the strength to thrust me back on to the skis again. And, of course, the higher I climbed, the weaker I became, owing to the altitude.
The glacier seemed interminable. Twice, as I struggled across it, snow came down in a grey curtain from Monte Cristallo. But each time it drifted on, down into the valleys. The incline was gentle enough here. But, though my skis slipped easily through the powdery snow, it was a real effort to drag each ski forward. I used my sticks. But there seemed no strength in the thrust of my arms. The wind cut into my wet clothing and froze it, so that, despite my exertions, it became stiff and unyielding and as cold as the snow itself.
At length I reached the place where the smooth rock outcropped and took my skis off. Across my shoulders they were a dead weight. They cut into my shoulders and weighed me down so that I staggered rather than walked.
But at length I stood at the very top of the pass. The air was white — translucent with light as it had been when we had passed this point nearly five hours ago. The peak of Popena stood up, cold and black, and all around me was that world of angry-looking crests. The wind came up from Col da Varda with a violence that whipped the snow away from under my very feet. Everything was just as it had been before, except that Mayne was no longer with me.
I stumbled on from outcrop to outcrop until I stood on the rim of that white basin out of which we had climbed. I set my skis up-ended in a drift and stared unhappily at that frightening slope. The tracks we had made were still there, a line of hachures that rose to meet me out of the grey murk of snow that filled the lower reaches of the pass. The ski marks were faint and dusted with snow. But they were still visible, like a friendly signpost, marking the way back to warmth and safe sleep.
I put on my skis again and then, very slowly, began the descent, side-stepping down into grey cotton-wool clouds of snow. I kept my eyes on my feet. Once and once only was I fool enough to look down the line of the faint ski marks I was following. They seemed to fall away from under my skis and my knees became weak and trembled, so that I dared not make the next step down for fear the upper ski would slip. It took me ten minutes, or thereabouts, to nerve myself to continue. After that I kept my eyes on my skis. My exhaustion was so great that I found difficulty in placing my skis properly and several times one or other of my skis began to slide from under me.
But I made it in the end. And it was a great relief to see the ski points sizzling through the snow of their own accord like the prows of two ships, thrusting the powdered snow back on either side. I felt safe then, even though the leaden grey cloud mist closed about me and the snow began to blow into my face.