to descend. It was now nearly midday. Reflecting on the probable condition of the snow-slopes, we started straight down the southern face of the mountain at right angles to the Cougar valley. It became hot again at once. The holds were sound but generally small, and a projecting inch was often all that could be found. Being pioneers, we came of course on an occasional pitch that threatened to cut us off. But Feuz skilfully turned them all, with the aid of the instinct that developes in the best Swiss guides. At length we came to a rather nasty bit. My feet, stewing in soaking boots, felt raw, the sharp rocks had torn my sodden puttees, and I was almost inclined to welcome Feuz's proposal to make a diagonal cut across a steep, doubtful-looking snow-bank. He anchored himself in the edge of the little bergschrund, and I started gingerly to kick steps in the slope. I have always hated unstable snow, and my hatred was soon justified. After a dozen steps, the surface began to slide and I with it, until the rope tightened and swung me clear underneath Edouard. The breath was almost squeezed out of me, but I hung on to my axe and was soon on the edge of the bergschrund. We cut down this till we got to the rocks below: some more scrambling, a rather rocky glissade, and we were on the banks of the Cougar once more.
The walk back to the railway was weary work for one of us; but at the tank we found Mr. Bridgland and a party of brother officials, and with the kindness of fellow-mountaineers, they entertained us in a way that soon revived our spirits, and it was not till dusk that we took to the ties for the return to Glacier House.
Thus ended a delightful trip and interesting climb, for which I tender my warmest thanks to Edouard Feuz, Jr.; whatever merit there is in the performance, it is wholly due to his care and skill.
