t going to lose him now," I said to Alphonse. "If you cannot
keep up with me, say so, and I will go on alone."

"You go at your own pace," answered the Frenchman, with admirable
spirit, "and I will keep up till I drop. I mean to be in at the death
if I can."

Miste never turned, but continued his painful, upward way. He was a
light stepper, as his shallow footprints betokened; but I saw with
grim delight that each step of mine overlapped his measure by a couple
of inches.

There is nothing so still as the atmosphere of a summit, and in this
dead silence we hurried on. Giraud's laboured breathing alone broke
it. I glanced at him, and saw that his face was of a pasty white and
gleaming with perspiration. Poor Alphonse had not much more in him. I
slackened pace a little.

"We are gaining on him, every step tells," said I encouragingly, but
it was clear that my companion would soon drop.

We went on in silence for nearly half an hour and gained visibly on
Miste, who never looked back or paused. At the end of the time we were
within a mile of him, and only spoke in whispers, for at such an
altitude sound travels far. Every moment that Miste was ignorant of
the pursuit was invaluable to us. I could see clearly now that it was
he and no other; the man's back was familiar to me, and his lithe
springy gait.

"Have you a revolver?" whispered Giraud as we stumbled on.

"Not I."

"Then take mine, I cannot--last--much longer."

Supposing that Miste should be in better training than myself!
Supposing that when he turned and saw us he should be able to increase
his pace materially, he would yet escape me!

I stretched out my hand and took the revolver, which was of a familiar
pattern. I made up my mind to shoot Miste sooner than lose him, for
the chase had been a long one, and my blood was hot.

We were gaining on him still, and the heat of the day made him slacken
his pace. The sun beat down on us from a cloudless sky. My lips and
throat were like dry leather. Alphonse had long been cooling his with
snow. We did not care to speak now. All our hearts were in our eyes;
at any moment Miste might turn.

Suddenly Alphonse lagged behind. I glanced at him, and he pointed
upward, so I went on. It was difficult enough to breathe at such an
altitude, and my heart kept making matters worse by leaping to my
throat and choking me. I felt giddy at times, and shivered, though the
perspiration ran off my face like rain.

I was with