Sometimes Tom noted that his guide would look back, and more than
once he fancied that he detected him signalling to those below.
This aroused in his mind a doubt of the fellow's fidelity; but
there was nothing to be done now. They were in the midst of
trackless snow plains, ice slopes, and precipices. He must perforce
trust to the leading of the guide, albeit, if he had been tampered
with by those in pursuit, things might look ugly when it came to
the moment of attack.
As the hours wore away, Tom began to wish that the situation might
declare itself. The drear wildness of the mountain height oppressed
him with a sense of personal insignificance which was rather
overwhelming. The great white mountains seemed to stare down upon
him as though pitilessly indifferent to his fate. How could they
care what became of one solitary son of earth? Did they not stand
fast for ever more, from century to century? It was a thought that
he found oppressive and rather terrible.
At one point the guide insisted upon leaving what looked like the
better track, and led him round a sort of shoulder of piled up snow
and rock, where walking was very laborious. Tom began to feel the
need of food, and would have stopped and opened his wallet; but the
man shook his head and gesticulated, and seemed to urge him onwards
at some speed.
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