"
"Ah! these ravines are well-nigh as bad as those of the Inn. I've
known what it was to be caught on the ledge of a precipice by a sharp
wind, changing its course, mark'st thou, so swiftly that it verily
tore my hold from the rock, and had well-nigh swept me into a chasm
of mighty depth. There was nothing for it but to make the best
spring I might towards the crag on the other side, and grip for my
life at my alpenstock, which by Our Lady's grace was firmly planted,
and I held on till I got breath again, and felt for my footing on the
ice-glazed rock."
"Ah!" said Eberhard with a long breath, after having listened with a
hunter's keen interest to this hair's-breadth escape, "it sounds like
a gust of my mountain air thus let in on me."
"Truly it is dismal work for a lusty hunter to lie here," said
Theurdank, "but soon shalt thou take thy crags again in full vigour,
I hope. How call'st thou the deep gray lonely pool under a steep
frowning crag sharpened well-nigh to a spear point, that I passed
yester afternoon?"
"The Ptarmigan's Mere, the Red Eyrie," murmured Ebbo, scarcely able
to utter the words as he thought of Friedel's delight in the pool,
his exploit at the eyrie, and the gay bargain made in the streets of
Ulm, that he should show the scaler of the Dom steeple the way to the
eagle's nest.
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