Now, although the mount was under two hundred feet high, its base, fortunately for us--for otherwise it must have been swept away by the mighty pressure of the avalanche--was broad, so that there was a long expanse of piled-up snow between us and the level ground.
Since, owing to the overhanging conformation of the place, it was quite impossible for us to descend in front where pressure had made the snow hard as stone, we were obliged to risk a march over the looser material upon its flank.

As there was nothing to be gained by waiting, off we went, Leo leading and step by step trying the snow.

To our joy we discovered that the sharp night frost had so hardened its surface that it would support us.

About half way down, however, where the pressure had been less, it became much softer, so that we were forced to lie upon our faces, which enabled us to distribute our weight over a larger surface, and thus slither gently down the hill.
All went well until we were within twenty paces of the bottom, where we must cross a soft mound formed of the powdery dust thrown off by the avalanche in its rush.

Leo slipped over safely, but I, following a yard or two to his right, of a sudden felt the hard crust yield beneath me.